“Go sit by him. Hold his hand. Tell him he’s pretty. And then call me later.”
“Millie,” I whispered frantically as she inched away from me.
She only laughed. “Go give those hams a little pat hello.”
I made a very convincing gesture of threatening to cut her head off, but she only gave me her signature eyebrow waggle and waved as she made her way toward the art department. The traitor.
He was sitting in row six, behind the rest of the faculty, three seats in from the aisle. He leaned forward, talking languidly with the coaches, aka history teachers, sitting in front of him. They were laughing and conversing easily as I trudged toward them as though death was imminent. When I reached the aisle, Miles turned and looked at me. His eyes skittered down my body, landing on my torn tights. It figured that my flaw would be the first thing he noticed. My skin flushed with his gaze, which immediately set me on edge.
“Get in a fight over the Oxford comma again?” he asked, looking at me as though something amused him.
“I’m surprised you’ve heard of the Oxford comma,” I replied pleasantly.
“Some of us take our grammar seriously in this school, Carrot Stick.” He paused, making a face. “Nope, scratch that. I’ve tried out all the vegetables on you, but Celery Stick is just my favorite. It really rolls off the tongue.”
“You haven’t tried Olive yet,” I said, sitting down warily, keeping an empty seat between us, and smoothed out my skirt so that it covered my knee.
“Too on the nose.”
“It’s not even a vegetable.”
“And yet, it’s always on the veggie tray.”
I blew out a breath. “So funny. I’ll bet all ten fans on your author newsletter get a kick out of your impressive wit.” Did I not mention that Miles was an author? He’d recently been picked up by a publishing house for his middle-grade adventure series.
When Miles laughed, his entire face showed it. From the laugh lines on his upper cheek to the golden inflection in his eyes, it was everywhere. If I liked him, I would have been proud of the effect of my words, but I didn’t, so I just sat there…unaffected.
He leaned closer, his proximity almost begging me to allow just a quick scan of his strong jawline, long eyelashes, and annoyingly confident smile, but I stayed strong. Eyes on his. No need to stroke his already inflated ego.
“How’d you know I was up to ten? Don’t tell me you’re englishteacherbuttsdrivemenuts at Gmail?”
I racked my brain for a quick comeback, but all I could think of was Millie’s wildly inappropriate ham comment, and I felt my face flush.
Mr. Piper, the middle-aged balding man in front of us who was paid to teach American history but was really just there so he could coach football, turned back to Miles, picking back up on the conversation my arrival must have interrupted. “Hey, did you ski any black diamonds this weekend?”
Miles turned his attention toward him with a friendly grin. “A couple. I was almost too chicken to do that run you were telling me about. I was white-knuckling it the whole way down.”
A laugh exploded out of Mr. Piper as he turned back around in his seat. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
A large shadow suddenly loomed over us, blocking one of the harsh auditorium lights. I turned, grateful for more interruptions which would mean I wouldn’t be stuck talking to Miles—until I saw who it was: Kenneth Harvey, one of two biology teachers at Stanton. His light-brown hair was balding on top, which resulted in an impressive comb-over to the side. His fingernails were about half an inch too long for comfort. And he had breath that could kill a small rodent, which was perhaps fitting for a biology teacher. There had been rumors that someone once saw him eat something with a tail from the lab. I didn’t let my mind or my up-chuck reflex go there at that moment, however, and forced myself to smile up at him.
“Hey there, Olive—er, uh…Miss Wilson.” He threw me a shy grin. “You’re looking nice today.”
Did I mention that he had a massive crush on me? His eyes roamed curiously down my body, and I automatically folded my arms across my chest. He was a fairly harmless male species, and my discomfort stemmed mostly from him being socially clueless as to how long he allowed himself to ogle at a person.
Miles leaned across the empty seat, looking up at our visitor. “How’s the thesis going, Harv?”
Harvey’s attention shifted to Miles, and I felt my body relax, though it wasn’t long before his eyes flitted back to mine.
“Well, that’s what I came to talk with Miss Wilson about. Are you still okay to edit my thesis? You mentioned a couple of months ago that you wanted to.”
My heart sunk deep into the abyss of horridness. I had completely forgotten about agreeing to help with his thesis. That was months ago. And for the record, I hadn’t said I wanted to. I believe my exact words were, “Um…sure,” which, looking back, I could definitely understand the confusion.
With some effort, I smiled up at him. “Sure. I can do that. That’s great you got it finished.”
He grinned. “Thanks. I was having so much fun doing all the research I almost didn’t want it to end.”
“What did you write about?” Miles asked, seeming way too happy to be a part of this conversation.
“The reproductive habits of the African dung beetle.”
My face dropped.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Kenneth said, raising his hands up while he grinned at Miles and me.
“I doubt it,” Miles answered cheerfully.
“You’re thinking there’s no way I could get a hundred pages of material on the topic, but you’d be very wrong. There are actually a few different species of dung beetle, and they all mate in different ways. Did you know that the dung beetle actually buries its eggs in dung?”
“Fascinating,” Miles agreed while I shrunk further down in my seat.
“It really was.” Looking at me, Kenneth said, “Anyway, I finally finished and put it on your desk before coming here. I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got Christmas break coming up, so you’ll probably have lots of extra time.”
Yup. Extra time. I would definitely have that. Though, it would be hard deciding which was worse between spending Christmas with my mom and her new husband or the African dung beetle’s mating habits.
“I left my number on the first page in case you needed to call me about anything…or meet up sometime,” Kenneth said, staring at me hopefully.
Call him? Was it 1995? If I needed to ask him any questions—and I wouldn’t—I would text him like a normal human of my era.
“I’ll be out of town for most of the break, but I’ll let you know if I have any problems,” I said evasively.
The room was finally beginning to settle down. Pamela had moved onto the stage and was shifting boxes around near the microphone. Kenneth said thanks again and moved to sit in the middle of the room with the other science teachers.