As Hartley contemplates my question, I mentally catalogue her. She’s a tiny thing—probably a foot shorter than my six-foot, one-inch frame. There’s not much to brag about in the boob department, and down below she’s wearing a pair of really ugly loafers. Footwear is the only thing that isn’t dictated by the school’s dress code—the one expression of individuality we’re allowed. The guys run around in sneakers or Timbs. Most girls opt for something fancy like a Gucci flat or the red-soled heels. I guess Hartley’s statement is I don’t give a fuck. I can appreciate that.
Everything else about her is ordinary. Her uniform is standard. Her hair is straight and long. Her face isn’t striking enough to draw the eye. Ella, for example, is drop dead gorgeous. My ex, Claire, was recently named debutante of the year. This Hartley girl has manga big eyes and a wide mouth. Her nose kind of tips up on the end, but none of her features are going to be gushed over in Southern Living Quarterly.
Said nose wrinkles as she finally responds. “Well, let’s think about what I actually saw back there, right? I mean…technically, I saw a teacher picking up something off the floor. And a student was, um, holding her hair out of the way so she could see better. It was very sweet. And kind. If Headmaster Beringer asked, I’d tell him you’re an upstanding citizen and nominate you for student of the week.”
“Really? That’s what you’re going with?” The urge to laugh is strong, but I figure that will ruin the effectiveness of any threat I need to dish out.
“Swear to God.” She holds a small hand over her chest. Her nails are short and missing the picture-perfect manicure that most of the Astor girls sport.
“I’m an atheist,” I inform her.
A frown mars her face. “You’re being difficult.”
“Hey, I’m not the one playing Peeping Tom.”
“It’s school!” Her voice rises for the first time. “I should be able to peek into any classroom I want!”
“So you admit to watching me.” I struggle to keep the smile off my face.
“Okay. Now I see why you have to get it on with a teacher. No normal girl would want to put up with you.”
At her exasperated outburst, I give up on the intimidation because I can’t hide my grin any longer. “You won’t know until you try.”
She stares at me. “Are you seriously flirting with me now? Hard pass.”
“Hard, eh?” I lick my bottom lip. Yes, I am flirting, because as ordinary as she might look, she intrigues me. And, I, Easton Royal, am bound by the laws of the universe to pursue all things interesting.
There’s a flicker of fascination in her eyes. Brief, but I’ve always been able to tell when a girl thinks I’m hot, when she’s imagining what it’d be like to hook up with me.
Hartley’s totally thinking about it right now.
Come on, baby, ask me out. Take what you want. I’d love to see a girl grab me by the metaphorical and literal balls and tell me she wants me. Straight up. No games. But despite the whole girl empowerment thing, I find that most chicks want the guys to chase them. Bummer.
“Ew.” She tries to inch away. “Seriously, Royal. Move.”
I plant both hands against the cool wood on either side of her head, effectively trapping her. “Or what?
Those gray eyes glint, piquing my curiosity again. “I might be small, but I have the lung capacity of a whale, so if you don’t move I’m gonna have to release the oral Kraken until the entire school is in this hallway rescuing me from you.”
I crack up. “The oral Kraken? That sounds pretty dirty.”
“I’m thinking everything sounds dirty to you,” she says dryly, but a smirk toys with the corners of her lips. “In all seriousness, I only opened that door because I’m trying to transfer into Ms. Mann’s calculus class. But I’m going to keep your little secret, all right?” She spreads her hands wide. “So what’s it going to be? Oral Kraken or stepping aside?”
Threats aren’t likely to work with Hartley, mostly because I don’t think I could carry one out. Intimidating girls isn’t my style—making them happy is. So I’m going to have to take her word for it. For now, at least. Hartley doesn’t seem like the narcing type. And even if she does spill the beans, I can fall back on the wallet. Dad might have to endow another scholarship to get me out of the Ms. Mann mess, but he’s already done it once for Reed and Ella. I think I’m due for a little bequest in my name.
Grinning, I move aside. “Listen, if you want to take AP Calc—” I gesture to the room at the end of the hall, “I recommend you talk to her now. You know…” I wink. “Catch her when her defenses are down.”
Hartley’s jaw drops. “Are you saying I should blackmail her? Tell her I’ll only keep my mouth shut if she approves my transfer?”
I shrug. “Why not? Gotta look out for yourself, right?”
She studies me for a long, long moment. I’d give a lot to know what’s going through that head of hers. She gives me nothing.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she murmurs. “Later, Royal.”
Hartley brushes past me. I amble behind her, watching as she knocks on the door and then enters Ms. Mann’s classroom. Will she go the blackmail route? Somehow I doubt it, but if she does, her transfer will be approved in no time; Ms. Mann would do anything to stop Hartley from ratting us out.
Even though I’ve successfully executed my orders to “fix this” (or at least I think I have), I don’t leave the hallway. I want to make sure nothing bad goes down between Hartley and Ms. Mann. So I cool my heels outside the classroom, which is where my friend and teammate, Pash Bhara, finds me.
“Yo,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re supposed to be giving me a ride home. I’ve been waiting downstairs for, like, fifteen minutes.”
“Aw shit, man. I forgot.” I shrug. “But we can’t go just yet—I’m waiting for someone. You okay to wait a few more minutes?”
“Yeah, it’s cool.” He comes to stand beside me. “Hey, did you hear about the new quarterback they’re trying to bring in?”
“Really?” We lost our first game of the season on Friday, and based on the way our offense played, we should get used to it. Kordell Young, our starting QB, busted his kneecap on the second play, leaving us stuck with two underclassmen who are in the running for Dumb and Dumber.
“Coach thinks with the injuries and all, we’ll need someone.”
“He’d be right, but who’s going to come here after the season’s started?”
“Rumor has it that it’s either someone from North or Bellfield Prep.”
“Why those schools?” I try to remember the quarterbacks from either school but draw a blank.
“They run the same type of offense, I guess? The guy from Bellfield is cool. I’ve partied with him a few times. Straight-laced but decent.”