This Girl (Slammed #3)(25)

“What?” I say with a clear amount of annoyance. They both look at each other, then back at me.

“Um. We just wanted to ask you something,” Caulder says nervously. He slides into one of the bar stools and rests his chin in his hand. “Maya said if Layken becomes your girlfriend and you marry her, me and Kel will be brothers of law.”

Both boys are looking at me with hopeful expressions.

“It’s brothers-in-law, and Layken’s not going to be my girlfriend,” I say. “We’re just friends.”

Kel steps around me and climbs into the other seat at the bar. “She burped too much, didn’t she? Or did she leave her bra in your car? I bet she wouldn’t let you have coffee, would she?”

I force a fake smile and step toward the stack of papers. “You nailed it,” I say. “It was the coffee. She’s so stingy.”

Kel shakes his head. “I knew it.”

“Well,” Caulder says. “You could try going on another date to see if you like her better. Me and Kel want to be brothers.”

“Layken and I aren’t going on another date. We’re just friends.” I glance at both of them with a serious expression. “Drop it.” I sit down and pull out my pen, then grab the test off the top and flip it over.

It’s her test.

Of course it would be hers. I stare at it, wondering how in the hell this is going to get any easier. Just seeing her handwriting makes my pulse race. Makes my heart ache. I lightly trace her name with the tip of my finger. I’m pretty sure it’s the most beautiful handwriting I’ve ever seen.

“Please?” Caulder says.

I flinch, having forgotten they were even standing here. I have got to stop thinking about her like this. She’s a student. I slap her test facedown on the pile and stand up.

“Kel, do you like pizza?”

He shakes his head. “No. I love pizza.”

“Go ask your mom if you can chill with us tonight. We need a boy’s night.”

Kel jumps out of his chair and they both run toward the front door. I take a seat at the bar again and drop my head into my hands.

This entire day is definitely my suck.

I REST MY hand on the door to the administration office, almost second-guessing my entrance. I’m not in the mood for Mrs. Alex today. Unfortunately, she sees me through the glass window and waves. Her flirty wave. I suck it up and reluctantly open the door.

“Good morning, Will,” she says in her annoying singsong voice.

I know I was “Will” to her just a couple of years ago, but it wouldn’t hurt her to extend me the courtesy that she extends to all the other teachers here. I don’t bother arguing, though. “Morning.” I shove a form across the desk toward her. “Can you have this signed by Mr. Murphy and fax it to my faculty advisor?”

She takes the form and places it in a tray. “Anything for you,” she says and smiles. I give her a quick smile in return, then spin toward the exit, very conscious of my own ass this time.

“Oh, by the way,” she calls after me. “That new student I registered yesterday just came by to drop your class. I guess she isn’t a big fan of poetry. You’ll need to sign the form I gave her before I can make it official. She’s probably on her way to your classroom right now.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, exiting the office.

This is going to be impossible. It’s not like I can just erase the fact that Lake exists. I’ll more than likely see her at work on a daily basis, whether in passing . . . in the lunchroom . . . in the parking lot. I’ll definitely see her at home every day considering her house is the first thing I see when I walk out my own front door. Or look out my window. Not that I’ll be doing that.

Kel and Caulder are becoming inseparable, so I’ll eventually have to interact with her regarding them. Trying to avoid her isn’t going to work. Lake is absolutely right . . . it isn’t going to work at all. I kept trying to tell myself over and over last night that what she said wasn’t true, but it is. I wonder if the only other alternative would be to try and at least be her friend. We’re obviously going to have to work through this situation somehow.

When I round the corner to my classroom, she’s standing next to my door with the transfer form pressed against the wall, attempting to forge my name. My first instinct is to turn around and walk away, but I realize these are the exact types of situations we’re going to have to learn to confront.

“That’s not a good idea,” I say, before she forges my name. If anyone could recognize my handwriting, it would be Mrs. Alex.

Lake spins around and looks at me. Her cheeks flush and she darts her eyes down to my shirt, embarrassed. I walk past her and unlock the door, then motion for her to enter the classroom. She walks to my desk and smacks her form down.

“Well, you weren’t here yet, I thought I’d spare you the trouble,” she says.

She must not have had her coffee today. I pick up the form and look it over. “Russian Lit? That’s what you chose?”

She rolls her eyes. “It was either that or Botany.”

I pull my chair out and take a seat, preparing to sign the form. As soon as the tip of my pen meets the paper, it occurs to me that in a way, I’m being incredibly selfish. She chose poetry as an elective before she even knew I would be teaching it. She chose poetry because she loves it. The fact that the thoughts I have about her make me uncomfortable is an extremely selfish reason to force her into Russian Literature for the rest of the year. I hesitate, then lay the pen back down on the paper.