I nod, pulling my head out of my ass.
Did I just ask this guy if he’s real?
Dude, I smoked way too much this morning.
“Good morning, Mr. Hathingford,” the secretary greets him with what can only be described as a somewhat tolerant, somewhat amused look. Still, the look lets me know this pretty guy is totally real. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence today?”
He rests his arms on the counter and gives her the same charming smile he tried to dazzle me with. “Now, what’d be the fun in just telling you? Let’s make a game out of it. I’ll give you three tries to guess, and if you guess wrong, I get to walk out of here, free and clear.”
I glance at the secretary, expecting her to get annoyed. Instead, she shakes her head and cracks a small smile. “I’m not going to guess, because I already know. And I’ll give you the pass for today. This is the last time, though. I swear, the next time you come and ask me for one, I’m going to give you a detention slip instead.” Then she pushes back from the desk, stands up, and walks off toward the back of the room.
Grinning, the guy leans over the counter, steals a sucker out of a bin on her desk, and then pops it into his mouth.
Okay, I guess it’s going to take a while to get my schedule.
I start to lift my earbud toward my ear, preparing to go back to my Zen state, when the guy smiles at me.
“So, girl who’s most definitely real, are you new here?” he asks, rolling the sucker in his mouth. “I haven’t seen you around.”
I could just answer him. It’d be the polite thing to do. I could try to be nice and see if I can make a friend, but that’d be pretty naïve of me. And while I may be a lot of things, I’m not polite or naïve.
I let out a quiet sigh and lower my earbud. “Do I really need to answer that?”
Amusement sparkles in his eyes as he angles his head to the side in confusion. “Yeah … Why wouldn’t you? And, I mean, I did answer you when you asked me if I was real.”
True, but still…
I cross my arms on top of the counter. “Yeah, but this school has a total of what? Like two hundred people? So I’m pretty confident you know you’ve never seen me around before and already know I’m new.”
His confusion fades, amusement taking over and he pulls the sucker out of his mouth. “That’s an excellent point.” He gives a glance around before leaning toward me. “Want to know a little secret? I really did know you are new. I was just trying to find an opening to start a conversation with you.”
I struggle not to smile. “As flattered as I am, I can totally assure you that, come lunchtime, you’re going to pretend like I’m invisible.”
His amused smile remains, but his brows pull together. “And why’s that?”
“Because you’re an FH,” I reply with a half-shrug.
His amusement doubles. “Do I want to know what that stands for?”
I shrug. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”
His grin widens. “Maybe you should just tell me now and spare me the headache I always get when I think too much. And while we’re at it, why don’t you tell me something about you? Like, what grade you’re in. Where you moved from. If you have a boyfriend.”
Wait … Is he flirting with me?
It’s not like I’ve never had a guy flirt with me before. I have a couple of times, but it usually happened at school, and Dixie May always found a way to ruin whatever allure I had toward the few guys who gave me more than a second glance. And while I’m totally flattered that the prettiest guy that I’ve ever seen is semi-flirting with me, I know that, when Dixie May spots him, he won’t ever smile at me again. Because she will spot him. The guy is way too pretty for her not to notice. And while style-wise, the two of them don’t look similar, their pretty faces will go well together on those shotgun wedding invitations.
“Nah, I’d rather not,” I tell him, figuring he’ll back off. But he only grows more intrigued.
“Oh, come on. Just a little bit of information. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“Nah. I think I’m going to hold on to my mysteriousness for now. Make sure I’m representing the symbolism of my name to its truest form.”
He chuckles softly. “Hate to break it to you, but you already messed up with that, because you just gave me a little bit of info about yourself.”
“Um, no, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“How?”
He grins, pointing the sucker at me. “You let me know you’re amusing.”
“Oh, I’m not,” I assure him. “I’m being totally serious.”
“I have no doubt you are, but it’s still amusing.” He gives a short, considering pause. “And I also think you’re a little bit stubborn.”
I roll my eyes. “You can’t determine that after talking to me for, like, thirty seconds.”
He throws a dramatic glance at the clock. “Actually, it’s been a little over a minute.”
“That’s still not enough time.”
“Says who?”
“Says the person who determined the time length required to be able to give an accurate analysis of someone’s character.”
He cocks a brow. “And what’s this person’s name? Because, as far as I know, no one has ever come up with such a thing.”
“His name is Jerry.” I make up a name then decide to make up a story. “And he lives somewhere in Switzerland where there’s no internet or cell service, so he hasn’t been able to publish his findings yet. But I met him once while I was on vacation, and me and Jerry had a good, long chat about his theory on the time it takes to get to know a person. And he told me that you have to know someone a lot longer than a minute to determine what kind of person they are.”
He stares at me confoundedly, and I wait for him to back off, to realize I’m a weirdo that he doesn’t want to know. Instead, a grin takes over his face.
“You and I have to be friends,” he insists.
I shake my head. “Sorry, but that can’t happen.”
“Why not?” He sulks, jutting out his lip, pouting. He looks adorable when he does it and seems like the kind of guy who knows it.
“Because it just won’t work.” Again, I struggle not to smile, but I’m totally gonna blame it on being buzzed.
He shakes his head then grins. “I think it totally will. In fact, I think we might be the perfect match.”
“Trust me; I know it won’t work.” Because Dixie May will make sure of it, even if she has to tell you about how I’m a murderer.
“There’s no way you can possibly know that.” He gives me a curious look. “Unless you’re a psychic.”
“As awesome as that would be, I’m just a normal girl,” I assure him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
He stares at me in a way that makes me squirm. “I really doubt that. In fact, I think you might be one of the most interesting people I’ve met in a long time.”
I tug at the sleeve of my jacket, a self-conscious move I always do to make sure my scars are hidden. “Do I really need to tell you again about Jerry and his theory?”