She started to walk away, but he quickly stepped in front of her. “Come on. I just want your name.”
The fog intensified, making her judgment waver, her tongue starting to form the first syllable of her name. She slammed her mouth shut before it could slip out.
“It’s only one little word,” Seth pressed, his voice becoming silky and sweet.
This was getting stranger and stranger to her by the second. His presence was like a drug, dulling her senses and making her unaware of the cobra in front of her. And she wouldn’t have it. “Beat it! I’ve got to get to tennis class,” she hissed.
Seth didn’t even seem perturbed by her words or the glare she shot him. He just continued to stare into her eyes, almost as if he were lost in their gaze. “I’ll walk you,” he offered while his hand slipped down her arm.
Natti pulled away, scared of the exciting, tingling sensation from his touch. Her heart skipped, and the headache flared. What the hell was he doing to her? “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own!” she shrieked.
“Whoa, okay. No need to be snippy about it.” He came toward her, his hand reaching for her again.
She lurched backwards. “Just stay away, okay!”
Seth leapt away from her, his eyes reflecting the confusion and pain her reaction caused him. “All right, I got the message.”
Natti felt the strange sensations affecting her mind slowly start to recede, allowing her to think more clearly again. She glanced at Seth, wary of him, yet she wondered if she might have overreacted. After all, she was already stressed with the sudden murder of her grandmother and the move to the middle of nowhere. She was angry and frustrated, and the intense, inexplicable attraction this boy generated probably caused her to use him as target practice for her emotions.
A sneer spread over Seth’s beautifully full lips. “You better get moving or you’ll be late for class.”
Natti snatched her cell out of her pocket and looked at the time just as the bell rang overhead. “Bloody Hell!”
She headed down the hall when Seth gave a slight cough. “Um, the gymnasium is that way.” Natti wheeled around to see him pointing in the opposite direction. He smiled. “Sure you don’t want me to walk you?”
Natti growled, her entire body flashing hot. She dashed off without another word.
Natti pushed past a crowd of girls already in their drab uniforms, heading out for class. By the time she reached the locker room, it was completely empty. Every one of her footsteps echoed along the rows of small gym lockers. She looked down at her schedule.
“Locker twenty-nine. Where the bloody hell is locker twenty-nine?”
Natti scanned the little cubbies until she spotted a bench with a set of rust colored clothes lying out. She stepped forward, noticing her name pinned to the shirt. Natti unlocked her locker and quickly got changed, shoving all her clothes into the tiny space. The spare uniform was a size too large for her, and the shorts continually slipped down her hips.
“Just perfect,” Natti hissed while looking into a mirror and tying her hair in a ponytail.
She jogged from the locker room, around the indoor basketball courts, and burst outside toward the track and tennis courts. The blazing sun warmed her skin while she dashed over the green grass. The four tennis courts were surrounded by an eight-foot chain link fence where she could see fourteen students gathered on a single bench. The teacher marched in front of them calling out student’s names.
“Natara Stone,” the woman called. Her short, curly hair was a flyaway mess. “Natara Stone!”
“Here!” Natti panted, still twenty feet away. “I’m here!”
The teacher paused; a stern glare peeked over her pink and green reading glasses. She folded her hands over the edge of the clip board and waited until Natti finally reached the gate.
“You’re late, Ms. Stone,” the teacher growled.
“I’m sorry. I swear it won’t happen again.”
“Stay after class, today, Ms. Stone. You’ll be running a few laps around the track for your tardiness.”
Natti let out a deep sigh of frustration. “Yes, ma’am.”
She took a seat at the end of the bench, and the teacher continued her roll call.
The tall, well-built Black American boy next to Natti nodded a greeting and whispered, “Mrs. Kuft is a bit tough, but you’ll get use to her. I’m Kevin.”
“Natti.” She offered a small smile.
“I take it you’re new here.”
Natti laughed. “That obvious?”
“Well, the accent is kinda a dead giveaway, among other things.” Kevin smiled, his eyes traveling over the T-shirt and shorts she was wearing. “You’re in my Trigonometry and Chemistry classes. Junior, right?”
“Oh, ah, yes. I am.” Natti recalled her new educational stage. “You?”
“Same.”
“Wanda Winfall,” Mrs. Kuft hollered.
“Here!” called the petite girl with square-framed glasses Natti had seen in her American Literature class.