Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(3)

“The football season?” she guessed, and I nodded.

“Where did you transfer from?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” I said.

“It’s the standard interview process.”

I smiled. “It’s a small school in Pennsylvania. You wouldn’t have heard of it. I wanted to stay close to home. And they had a decent football team.”

“Then why did you transfer?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to be close to home anymore.”

I knew it was a cryptic answer. She waited for more, but I didn’t offer up any details.

She tapped her fingers on her notebook, probably wondering why someone would transfer their senior year of high school. I noticed a red Adidas gym bag on the floor, next to her feet. I had the same one. They were only issued to student athletes.

I looked back at her, piecing a few things together. So she was an athlete. That explained her don’t-fuck-with-me gaze.

“Time’s up,” Professor Watford interrupted us. “Who would like to begin?”

I leaned closer to her. “I don’t know anything about you,” I whispered.

She threw me a cocky smile, like she was daring me. “Make something up.”

I smiled back, a scheming smile. Challenge accepted.

Professor Watford started with me. I cleared my throat, gearing up for my monologue.

“My partner prefers to be called by her nickname, Sparkles,” I said. “She grew up in Fargo, North Dakota, and she can’t wait to go to college to pursue a major in Poultry Science.”

I looked down at my notebook and pretended to refer to interview notes.

“Her favorite sport is cheerleading. Her hobby is body painting. She collects elephant figurines. Oh, and she’s allergic to tree nuts,” I added, carrying off my speech with the cheeky aplomb of someone who had just aced a public speaking class.

The class was quiet and a room of unbelieving eyes stared at us. The girl next to me cleared her throat and opened her mouth, probably to one-up me in the creative bullshit department when Professor Watford cut her off. She moved on to the next group of partners before she had a shot at retribution.

By the time we made it around the room, I had forgotten all the trite details about everyone’s life. And that’s when the other shoe dropped.

“Now you all know someone in the class, if you didn’t already,” Professor Watford announced. She went on dramatically, “This is a reading-intensive course. Each week, two people will be assigned to lead a class discussion. You have just become acquainted with your first discussion partner.”

Her eyes turned directly to me and my newfound partner. “In the future, understand that all of my teaching methods, despite how trivial they may seem to some of you, have a purpose and will be taken seriously.”

I looked down at my notebook and blew out a sigh. Great first impression.

I leaned over to the girl sitting next to me. I figured it was time to make amends. “Nice to meet you. I’m Emmett.” I held out my hand. She stared down at it for a second, hesitating, and then cautiously extended her own. We shook, and it felt like a truce.

…

CECE

When class ended, Emmett scooted his chair back and shrugged his backpack over his shoulders. I grabbed my duffel bag as he walked out the door ahead of me.

“Hey,” I said to his back once we were in the hallway. “You got me in trouble today.”

I normally don’t stalk after guys, especially the type of guys that were probably used to a female fan parade, but I had the habit of speaking my mind when someone irritated me. After all, if you don’t call people out on their bullshit, you are just perpetuating a generation of assholes.

He turned and smiled widely, and I tried to appear unaffected by the way his smile hit me, like a drum banging in my chest. I was still trying to process the fact that this guy sitting next to me was playing classical music an hour ago.

“You told me to make stuff up,” he said.

I frowned. “I wasn’t expecting a creative writing essay,” I said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have pinned me for a dumb jock here purely on a sport’s contract.”

I looked away, annoyed he completely read what I had been thinking. I couldn’t shake the way he had studied me during the lecture. I had kept waiting for the usual expression of sympathy, or disgust, or awkward embarrassment to settle on his face. But he never looked put off, more thoughtful.

“If Watford docks my attendance grade because she thinks my name is Sparkles, I have you to blame,” I said.

He shook his head. “Do you really think Professor Watford would do anything as conventional as take attendance?”

I turned away, a little at a loss for words. I had met enough football players to assume the terms quick and agile applied to muscles outside of their brains. People rarely surprised me, but in the last hour he had surprised me more times than I could count.

Emmett glanced down at my duffle bag. “So, I take it cheerleading isn’t your sport?”

I could feel his eyes on me. It was unnerving. I wanted to turn his face away with the shove of my hand.

“You’re pretty short for basketball or volleyball,” he mused. “Maybe tennis? Or maybe you just like to smack the shit out of something. Golf?”

I narrowed my eyes, but it only made him grin. The smile lit up his face, especially his eyes, but I looked away before I could determine their exact shade.