Standing back up, I move loose pieces of hair behind my ear. The color is usually brown, but I asked Mom to help me dye it before the new school year started. Now I have auburn and caramel highlights that makes my hair look anything but brunette.
When my gaze wanders back over to where the boy sits, we lock eyes until I flush under his direct stare. He doesn’t seem ashamed to be openly gawking at me like I am him. That’s when I notice how unnerving his eyes are. They aren’t just any normal gray, but a striking shade of silver. From here, the light hitting the mischievous gleam of the hues turns them almost white.
Grandma told me once that you can tell a person is bad news by the way they smile. It’s the way their lips curve, Kinley. It’s even worse if they have a twinkle in their eye.
And this kid, whoever he is, has the very twinkle Grandma always warned me about. She said she's had decades of experience, making her an expert on who to avoid. Yet, my interest is piqued by the boy sitting across the room from me. The way he’s perched in the chair is both casual and not, like he knows he needs to be here, but doesn’t want to be. Who are you, New Kid?
Wetting my dry, chapped lips, I examine the thin layer of dust on Mrs. Lewis’s fake plant. I’m half tempted to grab a tissue and wipe it off, but I force my hands to remain at my sides.
“Um, Mrs. Lewis?” The clock on the wall shows that homeroom is almost over, which means I’ll be late to first period if she doesn’t tell me why I was called down here.
“Just one more moment, dear.”
Internally sighing, I plop down into the closest seat. It’s an uncomfortable plastic chair that belongs in the elementary wing, but I don’t complain too much because it puts distance between me and the boy with silver eyes.
For some reason, I feel the need to look up again. I’m not sure why, because there are plenty of other things to look at. Like the new assistant principal who’s talking rapidly on the phone in his office. His image is cut off by the busted blinds on the windowed wall, but whoever he’s speaking to is getting an earful.
New Kid shifts in his seat when he catches me watching him. “You just going to stare or do you plan on saying something?”
My eyes widen. “Uh…”
He chuckles and reaches for his pocket, pulling out his phone. After a few seconds, his music stops, and the room is bathed in silence. From a distance, I hear heels clicking on hard flooring, girls laughing, and a ball dribbling.
“Sorry,” I murmur, embarrassment prickling the back of my neck and cheeks.
Shoes scuffing against tile has me looking from the grubby floor to the new kid as he grabs his belongings and moves over to the chair next to me.
He shoots me a wink with eyes that look far more magnetic from up close, especially framed with dark lashes. “I’m always down for a cute girl giving me attention.”
Thankfully, I don’t need to reply before Mrs. Lewis looks up between him and I. Her signature bright blue eye shadow covers her lids, and there’s black mascara smudged under her right eye, magnified by her thick brown glasses.
“Oh, good! You’ve met Mr. Callum.” Her smile is wide and showcases the slightest hint of smeared lipstick on one of her front teeth. I debate on saying something but opt to focus on the name I’m supposed to recognize.
Mrs. Lewis picks up something from the printer beside her and waves it at us. “This is his schedule. You know the drill, Kinley. Locker number and everything is listed by his information on the top. Principal Gilbert just wants you to show him around.”
Lips parting in surprise, I chance a quick look at the new kid. I figured my chances of being summoned to the office weren’t severe. I’ve never been in trouble in my life. Well, not intentionally. I agreed to hold onto a flash drive once for a friend and then got escorted to the office in tears when I found out it had a recorded fight on it that the school was investigating. I broke down as soon as the principal called me in to ask questions. One of the teachers who was helping investigate vouched for my good behavior. It pays to be a teacher’s pet I suppose.
New Kid smirks again. “This new school is looking better than my last one already.”
His last one? Why was there one before this? Military families don’t exactly settle into the middle of nowhere. Civilization is at least two hours in any direction—cities, stoplights, businesses don’t exist here. Lincoln has more cows than humans, and the only stoplight in the middle of town is usually ignored because it takes too long to change.
That leaves other possibilities. Behavioral ones. I’ve gotten my fill of becoming friends with all the wrong people since high school started two years ago. My plan now is simple—go to school, get good grades, and get out. I don’t want distractions deterring me from graduating a year early and living out my dreams. Especially distractions with silver eyes and an up-to-no-good smile.
New Kid gets up and takes the schedule from Mrs. Lewis, who gives us her toothy smile before dismissing us with her eyes. She has Bejeweled Blitz to get back to.
Sighing, I walk out of the office with the new kid on my heels. His long legs catch up to me quickly, and I feel his gaze on my face. He’s taller than me, that much I can tell from my peripheral. Six two? Six three? He reminds me of Justin Fully, who sprouted well past six foot after seventh grade. Except unlike Justin’s lanky frame, the new kid has an athletic build that fills him out in a flattering way—like he’s involved with sports or physical labor. Some of the farm kids have thick arms they like to show off when the school year starts, especially the tans that color them until the first cold snap hits.
A white earbud hangs out of New Kid’s pocket, unwound from the device he stuffed there before chasing after me. He pays it no attention, but it bugs me more than I like to admit. The wires will get all tangled and ruined.
He glances down. “You see anything you’re interested in?”
At first, I don’t understand what he’s getting at, but when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively my whole face heats up. I keep my gaze pointed at my boots as I walk toward the high school stairwell at the other end of the hall.
New Kid finally falls into step beside me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. I think he’s going to put his music back on and ignore me, but he winds up the buds and lets it drop back into his jeans instead.
“Is black your favorite color or something?” His black jeans are distressed with scuffs and rips along the left leg. I always liked the style, but Dad always makes comments about how pointless they are, especially because they cost so much money for what little material is offered.
“No.”
One word, that’s all I get.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Where’s your locker listed? I can show you that first.”
Instead of answering me, he studies the class photos lining the main hallway. It goes back to when the school merged with the neighboring town’s district in 1996. He goes to each one until we’re farther from where we need to be.
I blurt, “I don’t like the way you walk.”
He peels his eyes away from the glass frames and grins at me like I just said something amusing instead of randomly insulting.
“Why don’t you like the way I walk?”
We spend a few moments in silence as he saunters back over to me. There’s a big watch on his wrist that looks expensive and out of place considering most people our age use their phones to look at the time.