“Nosy much?” I hissed, turning the laptop away, my anger and surprise overcoming my initial nervousness.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” drawled Bo. The rumor about Bo being a southerner? True. His drawl was as recognizable as the shocking blue eyes he sported. They were so blue I wondered if they were fake. I stared at them for a moment too long, looking for the outline of a contact lens, but saw nothing but pure ocean blue, like the waves you see in the spring break pamphlets of the Caribbean Sea lapping against the white sand beaches. Who needed Cancún when you could stare at Bo Randolph’s eyes for a week?
I wrenched my gaze away. Bo was the poster child for every disaster that female singers warbled about. He’d break your heart and do it smiling. Worse, he’d make you think you were better off for having your heart broken because it was done in by him.
“Why are you even here? Aren’t you a senior?” I said, anger at myself making me sound peevish. At least I kept my voice low enough to avoid getting us in trouble. The professor was on the other end of the stage, making sure everyone in the room was sufficiently depressed with their dim prospects for survival.
“No, I’m a junior college transfer and I’ll be a junior forever unless I get my science prerequisite out of the way,” Bo said, unperturbed. His reportedly quick trigger was apparently not set off by snippy girls. “Why are you here? You seem like a responsible person who would’ve taken her science elective in her first year.”
His gaze swept me like a scanning machine and I felt so thoroughly examined I wondered if he was planning to make a 3D model of me later. Probably wishful thinking, but it didn’t stop a thrill from shooting up my spine at the thought of Bo pulling up a mental picture of me during a private moment.
“How do you know I’m not a first year?” I whispered.
He looked at me disbelievingly. “Because you were a sophomore when you sat behind me last semester in advanced economic theory, AnnMarie West.” He emphasized my name. It was my turn to be disbelieving. I could not believe that he knew both my name and that I sat behind him in class last semester.
I didn’t have a chance to respond because the professor had strolled back to our side of the auditorium and was instructing us on how to sign up for a lab partner.
“The TA will hand out sign-up sheets. If you know someone and have arranged to be their lab partner, please indicate that on the sheets. If you don’t have one, one will be assigned for you at the end of the day, randomly. Thirty-five percent of your grade will depend on your lab work. Choose your partner wisely.”
My heart sank into my feet. With Ellie in geology, I would be assigned to some random freshman. It could be some guy who would think he could make obscene passes at me because I was that girl, or a girl who thought I’d try to steal her man. This was part of the reason I’d put off my science requirement.
The teacher’s assistant handed Bo, who was sitting at the end of our table, a sheet and he scribbled his name and another. I wondered who he was partnering with and why he wasn’t sitting next to that person. I didn’t know what to write down, given that I avoided all the other students and knew only a few names, none of whom were sitting in this room. But Bo didn’t hand me the sheet when he was done. Instead, he leaned past me and laid it on the far side of the empty table, where another student grabbed it and started writing.
“Hey,” I said, trying to reach for the paper, but Bo covered my hand and jerked his chin at the first-year to go ahead.
I rounded on Bo. “I didn’t get to write my name down.”
“You don’t have to,” Bo said, still holding my hand in his. His large hand made me feel tiny and fragile and, briefly, I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of being protected, like Bo was the shell of my frail turtle body. I shook it off and reminded myself I had my own protective casing called self-reliance. I tugged gently, but he refused to let me go. “We’re going to be lab partners.”
“We? As in you and I?”
“That would be the correct composition of individuals making up the ‘we’ in my sentence.”
“But…” I wasn’t sure whether I was secretly indignant or relieved.
“You don’t want to be stuck with a first-year. You’re smart, given that you were in advanced theory last semester. You’ll be a good lab partner.”
“But are you a good lab partner for me? You’re taking a first-year elective in your third year. You were in advanced economic theory with me, a sophomore.”
Bo laughed but then grew serious. “Fair enough. Yes. I have good grades, and I never let a teammate down.”