“So, what made you leave DC? Running from something?” I joke.
He laughs, his face flushing. I take a step closer, noticing the color of his eyes. They’re a bluer gray than they appeared from afar, a shock of brightness against his olive skin and brown hair.
“I’m here because of soccer, actually,” he replies. “Your school recruited me.”
Knew that already. I bite my lip, considering whether to go for the blatant flirting or keep it coy. I go for the flirting.
“Well. It looks like our school got lucky.”
My efforts are rewarded. Chace breaks into another smile, bigger than the first, and it gives me a bubbling feeling in my stomach, a sensation I can’t remember experiencing since I was a kid ready to rip open a present on Christmas morning.
“Looks like I got pretty lucky myself, meeting a total knockout on my first day.”
His eyes twinkle, and there go those dimples again. I suck in my breath. This is happening.
“You’ve got some good karma working for you,” I say, aiming for a breezy tone. “Especially since I was just about to offer to show you the ropes around here.”
“Really? That sounds much better than getting the tour from Mrs. Braymore.”
Chace brushes his hand against my arm, and it’s so quick and casual that I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or by accident. I look at Stephanie and the other girls, hoping they saw. Of course they did. The word will spread quickly now. The new guy may be the most intriguing prospect to set foot on Oyster Bay grounds since we all arrived as freshmen, but just like that, he’s off-limits. I got to him first.
“Come on,” I say, giving him a gentle nudge. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
We leave the oak tree and join my friends, just in time for the end of Headmaster Higgins’s speech and the beginning of the barbecue. As we cross the South Lawn, I envision the rest of the afternoon. Chace and I will wait in line for food together, then we’ll sit next to each other at the picnic tables, laughing as barbecue sauce drips onto our fingers and our knees touch beneath the table.
If I play my cards right, it’ll only be a matter of time before he’s mine.
He keeps a polite space between us as I lead him through the trail of cherry trees, over the little wooden bridge, and down toward the quadrangle of redbrick campus buildings.
“Let me see your class schedule. I’ll let you know if you got screwed or not.”
Chace hands me a folded paper from his back pocket, and I give it a quick scan.
“AP English, damn. So you’re an athlete and a smarty?” I raise an eyebrow at him over the top of the paper.
His face flushes again, and I feel a small burst of triumph at the realization that he’s nervous around me. Or shy. Or something.
“Latin III with Ms. Garcia,” I continue reading. “That’s one class we have in common. I’ve got to warn you, it’s a pain in the ass.”
“Noted,” Chace says with a nod, the dimples reappearing in his cheeks. “So, everything is in this building here, right?” He nods up at Academics Hall.
“All your typical classes are, but music and arts are in Joyce Hall, where the theater is,” I explain. “And of course, PE is either on the field or at the pool, depending on whether you have swimming or field sports.”
“Yeah, I noticed a Choral Music class on my schedule,” Chace says with a grimace. “Is that, like, mandatory here?”
I roll my eyes. I feel his pain.
“Until senior year, it is. Oyster Bay goes after musicians and artsy types the same way it recruits athletes like you. They’re basically fishing for maximum celebrity alumni. Only a few get into the Virtuoso Program, but they still force even the most untalented to take at least one performing arts class through junior year, I guess on the off chance they might discover someone.” I shrug. “Come on, let me show you how to get to your classes. Academics Hall is kind of a labyrinth.”
He closes the space between us by a hair as we walk through the mahogany double doors. A high-ceilinged foyer welcomes us, its walls lined with banners and trophy cases dating back to the last century, pointing the way toward the first cluster of classrooms. Only the nerdiest among us could be found studying on our day off, before term has even started, but of course there are a few stragglers in the building, eyes sunken from reviewing who-knows-what all morning.
As I give Chace the grand tour, I feel oddly like I’m on a stage, all too aware of everything I’m saying, of the inflections of my voice. I’m only talking about teachers, classes, and the best shortcut from Algebra III to Physics II; it’s hardly high-stakes stuff. This should be easy. I can flirt with my eyes closed. But something about the way this new guy looks at me, as though there’s only good to be found, makes my temperature rise. And I want to be done with this tour charade. I want more.
My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out while Chace is busy peering at all the high-tech equipment in the science lab. It’s a text from Mom.
Met him yet?