Man of My Dreams(49)

“Hey guys. How was your summer?”

Lisa answers first, ripping my program from my sweaty grip. “Not long enough.” She says, not looking up from the paper. “Do we have lunch together? John has fourth period and I have third. I don’t want to walk into that cafeteria alone. I might die.”

I know the answer to that before she can find it. Yes, Lisa and I share the same lunch period. The gods of freshman programming have showed mercy on me so far. I don’t want to have to walk in there alone either.

“Thank you, God! And it looks like we have algebra together too. Okay, I can breathe now.” She squeals in delight as we settle in our seats. We still have a few minutes before the bell rings, announcing the beginning of our day.

I scope the room, sizing up my new classmates. Will that girl with the freckles be my lab partner? Will that boy with the mohawk be the class clown? I hate judging books by their covers, but right now I have nothing else to base my opinion on.

And then my pulse starts to race at the sight of the boy making his way into my homeroom. Oh my God! This is exactly how I pictured this part of high school. Some gorgeous boy would walk through the door and from that moment on my world would rotate on his axis. This is the guy who will make me want to come to school every day. The guy who will make me long for my first real kiss. My first real everything. Wow! He’s hot!

There are no empty seats around me, Lisa and John. Now I want to curse the fact that I sat back here with them instead of in the front row, where there are plenty of unoccupied desks. Where he’s parked his fine ass. A pretty girl with long blond hair held back in an elastic headband sits next to him, punching him on his muscular arm. Muscles? I don’t know many boys our age with arms that look like that. But maybe all the boys from junior high had transformed into teenage gods over the summer.

Barbie, as she will always be in my mind going forward, drapes her arm around his broad shoulders. Is this his girlfriend? My competition for the next four years? I certainly hope not. While it isn’t the shade of her hair or her large beautiful eyes that make me feel inferior, it’s the confidence she exudes. If she doesn’t know him, she’s going to know him, really well, really soon, looking so cozy like that.

She giggles, throwing her head back. I hear her say his name, “Oh Noah, that’s hilarious.”

I want to be on the receiving end of whatever is so hilarious. I want to flip my own long blond hair and bat my big brown eyes for him. My face burns with heated envy—I’ve been introduced to my arch nemesis, my rival, in the first five minutes of my high school experience.

I tap Lisa on the shoulder, “Who’s that? The blonde in the first row. Do you know her name?” I bet it’s something like Brittany or Ashley.

“That’s Lila Peters,” John answers.

Great! Even her name is pretty. Next question. “And who’s her boyfriend?”

“Oh, that’s not her boyfriend. She only wishes it was. That’s Noah Matheson.” I realize John’s laughing when I see his shoulders bobbing up and down.

“What? What’s funny?” I ask, irritated.

Lisa waits for his answer too, staring an imaginary hole into the side of his head.

“Nothing, you’re quick, that’s all.”

“Elaborate, John.” I tap my brand new Adidas shell tops on the linoleum floor. I’m losing my patience while Barbie is making her mark on my potential man.

“If this were ‘High School—The Movie,’ Noah would be the popular jock that all the girls drool over and Lila would be the cheerleader, homecoming queen that all the girls envy. Lucky for us they stepped right into our homeroom...we get front row seats.” He’s smug. He thinks he’s got it all figured out.

“Yeah, front row seats my ass. I’m starring in this movie too. I’m the sweet girl-next-door type who gets the guy at the end.”

Lisa turns around, smirking. “Well, well, well! Someone grew a set over the summer. Can I be the sweet girl’s best friend?”

John looks pretty shocked himself, “Oo oo, and can I be the sweet girl’s cute guy friend who secretly thinks she’s pretty awesome?”

I smile at both of them, pleased.

This is exactly how high school had played out in my head.





Algebra has been a real bitch. I studied my butt off and reviewed my notes, but for some reason I just can’t grasp the concept of solving for x and y to save my life. Math is about numbers, not letters, right? I’m going to bomb this test and my parents will be pissed at me for not telling them I was having trouble. But I don’t want a tutor. I’d finally broken free of dance classes and piano lessons three days a week. I’m getting used to my freedom; spending afternoons at the mall or pretending to like Starbucks with Lisa and Grace, while swooning over Noah Matheson.