“You look tired,” Jen says, tossing back her black hair from her shoulder. “I’m the Asian; I’m supposed to have squinty eyes, not you.” She smiles but it fades when I don’t return it. “Your parents again? Or is it Hayden, because you deserve better than that asswipe.”
I shrug. “Both. But my parents today. They’ve been down one another’s throats. Ever since Dad got caught, it’s been hell. She froze his underwear, Jen.” I widen my eyes. “They were fighting when I left this morning.”
Jen tries her best to hold back a laugh but it slips. She hits the table with her fist. “Damn, I love your Mom.”
“This is serious,” I whisper, giving her my best serious face. She rolls her eyes and twist her gum some more.
“No talking, ladies. Let’s get class started. Today we’re going to talk about sex.” Someone lets out a wolf whistle from the back and Mr. Fringe shakes his head. “Knock it off. This is very important science, not a two minute feel good moment for you guys in the back of your mother’s minivan.” Mr. Fringe rolls his eyes. He is only twenty six and always knows what we’re doing. Whether it be cheating, passing notes or making googly eyes at one another, he always knows. He also is never afraid to call us out on it.
“I last longer than that,” someone yells from the back.
Mr. Fringe lifts an eyebrow and smiles. “Highly doubtful.”
The class burst into laughter.
“I’d like Mr. Fringe to take a little two minute break with me,” Jennifer whispers. I swat at her. Jeez. This girl is hopeless.
“Ms. Chang, do you have something you would like to share with the class?” Mr. Fringe asks, cocking and eyebrow.
“I just said--,”
“She said nothing,” I interrupt her, shaking my head. “Nothing at all,” I grumble. She laughs behind her hand.
Mr. Fringe straightens out his button down shirt and leans back against his desk, crossing his arms. He eyes Jen and me suspiciously. He always knows. “Tell ya what. All of you have had the same lab partner all year. It’s time to switch it up.” Everyone groans. “I know, life is so horrible. Everyone on the left move up a seat, we need a change of venue.”
Jennifer crosses her eyes then grabs her things, scooting up to the lab station in front of us. I hear the chairs being scrapped against the tile floor. Who sits behind me? I never look back there. I keep my head down anyway, writing useless things in my notebook until I hear the stool next to me move.
I glance over. He sets his books down and looks over to me. His dark gray eyes slice into mine but he is smiling, the corner of his lips moving up slowly. Oh no. I sigh. It’s Liam. “Great,” I mumble. “Perfect. Just perfect.”
“Ouch,” Liam says his voice deep and slow like velvet. He rubs his large hand over his chest and shakes his head. “That might have hurt a little if you were anyone else, and I actually cared.”
I narrow my eyes and he lifts a black eyebrow. “Mr. Fringe,” I say, raising my hand. “Well, look who didn’t graduate Kindergarten, still raising their hand like a five year old.” Liam laughs to himself, leans back and shakes his head, his black hair swinging with each move.
Mr. Fringe turns toward me. “Yes, Ms. Taylor.”
“I need a new partner.” I give him my best please help me; Liam is a mean, horny, teenage boy look.
“No trading.” He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
“But, Mr. Fringe, Liam---,”
“None,” he says, sternly. He turns his back toward me and begins to write on the board. I fight the urge to throw my pen at the back of his perfectly quaffed head.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me, sweetheart.” Liam wiggles his dark eyebrows.
“Don’t call me that. In fact, don’t call me anything, just pay attention.”
“Like I would call you. You probably don’t date, anyway, too busy studying, right?” He slaps his forehead with his open palm. “Wait, no. That’s right. You date that Hayden guy, don’t you? He is an ass, toots.” Liam picks up his pencil, twisting it in-between both of his palms.
I grit my teeth. I write what Mr. Fringe is writing. “What? You don’t? Did pretty boy break up with you?”
“Shut up,” I yell, slamming my pen on the desk.
Liam throws his hands in the air in surrender. “You don’t have to be mean,” he says. “I’m very sensitive. You might hurt my feelings if you keep throwing things.”
Is this kid serious? I groan and continue to write. I’m going to stab him with that pencil.