Thankfully, I’m a pro at the whole I-give-zero-craps attitude and manage to hold my head up high to my first class of the day. I try to keep a casual vibe for my outfit, sporting baggy jeans and a gray top that reaches just above my belly button. I have a few tattoos; one on my arm, another on my side, and the final one is on my leg, but none of them are on display. My hair is in a ponytail, and I rocked my scuffed boots. Again, it’s evident I’m from northside, but what else am I supposed to do? Hide who I am? No, thanks. And I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
“Hey, new girl,” a guy calls out as I stroll into class, adjusting my backpack. He has blond hair and the body of a football player. He’s also donning a grin as he leans over and pats the seat beside him. “I saved you a seat.”
“Hard pass,” I reply then veer toward an empty seat that’s as far away from him as possible and plop down into it.
“Well, that was rude.” Humor rings in his tone. “I saved you a seat, and you blow me off? Do you even know who I am?” His voice is growing closer, which means he’s walking toward me.
I ignore him, but I’m on guard, my fingers curled into fist. If I have to hit him, I will.
“Porter, leave her alone,” another voice joins the conversation, deep and male and recognizable.
I sigh. River. What is this guy’s deal with me?
“Why does it matter to you?” the blond guy replies.
“That’s none of your damn business,” River tells him in a glacial tone. “Now go sit the hell down.”
This causes me to twist around in my seat. Up until this point, I thought River was a quiet, brooding sort of guy. He has an intense side to him, too, that he likes to display.
Today, he’s wearing gray pants and a black short-sleeved shirt. Like every other time I’ve seen him, his dark hair is dangling in his eyes. He’s also standing right behind me and glaring at the blond dude, who has his hands raised in front of him and backs away.
River continues to glower until Blondie sits his ass back down. Then he turns to me with his lips parted.
“Don’t ask me if I’m okay,” I speak first. “I can handle assholes. I’ve been doing it my entire life.” I twist back around in the chair.
I’m sitting in the middle row. The seats are staggered, like in a stadium, only this room is much smaller. The ceiling is high arched with beams, and bookshelves line the walls. Fitting since it’s American Literature.
“I wasn’t going to ask you if you were okay about Porter.” River hesitates before sitting down in the chair beside me. “I was going to check and make sure your ankle is okay.”
“It’s fine. Your sister said you texted and asked if I was okay.” I pause then add, “Thanks for checking on me.”
Amusement flashes across his face.
“What?” I wonder if I have pieces of bagel stuck in my teeth or something.
“It’s nothing.” But his amusement suggests otherwise. He attempts to scrub his hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide it, but I see it, there and glittering.
I narrow my eyes at him as I swing my bag off my shoulder and drop it beside my feet. “Clearly, it is, or you wouldn’t be smiling like that.”
He lowers his hand from his mouth and rests his arms on the table in front of us. “Fine, it’s just that you said thanks.”
“And …?”
He shrugs. “And it was almost like you were getting your teeth pulled.”
Okay, it’s frightening how on-point he is. Still … “I say sorry on occasion.”
“Okay.”
“I do,” I insist defensively.
“And I said okay.” He’s on the verge of smiling again.
“You know, when I first met you, back in that place we’re both pretending we weren’t at, I got the impression that you were the quiet, brooding type, but I misread you.” I lean over to dig a pen and notebook out of my bag. By the time I sit up, his smile has faded. I heave a dramatic sigh. “What did I say now?”
“Nothing.” He falls silent. I’ve struck a nerve, yet I’m not sure if it was the subtle mention of us being in jail or my remark about him being quiet and brooding. And I shouldn’t care. I’ve never cared about a guy before. But I told Lily I’d try.
He remains silent as he unzips his leather bag and pulls out a laptop.