had at
Hillsburg, and a double thanks to the fact we’d already started learning about
the Periodic Table, because no way could I have concentrated on that first
lesson, not when I was stuck wondering how much Ryder Yates had to be staring
through my head to watch the teacher lecture.
The back of my neck burned and sizzled; I was surprised I
didn’t set off the smoke alarms. I pressed the tip of my pen astutely to my pad
of paper and wrote words in a fury. Most of my mad ramblings consisted of how
much I wanted to return to Hillsburg, flee from this foreign place, and treat
my mother to some kind of nasty prank—nothing permanent or painful, mind you,
just something humiliating enough to make her feel exactly how I felt at that
very moment.
About thirty minutes through the agony, Dockman finally
passed out a worksheet for homework. When I turned to hand off my stack, Ryder
and I made eye contact. He paused a moment and gave me a vague, brief, tight
smile before turning his attention to his friend to receive his own homework.
Yep, he remembered exactly who I was.
The teacher explained the assignment
and then gave us the rest of the hour to work on it. As he sat at his desk,
some students bent their heads and began to fill in the blanks, but most of the
room relaxed, each person turning to a friend and chatting quietly.
I planned to be an assignment worker, until Ryder’s pal spun
directly toward me. “So, you’re Grace, huh?”
I jumped. Shocked someone had finally spoken to me, I lifted
my head and glanced over at him. The first person to voluntarily talk to me at
my new school just had to be the very buddy of Ryder Yates, didn’t he?
Great.
I didn’t want to be rude and lose all chance of making any
friends, but seriously, did it have to be Ryder Yates’s chum who first spoke to me?
“Yeah,” I answered, forcing the friendliest smile I could
manage. Since I wasn’t sure what else to say, I sucked in a breath, lifting my
eyebrows as if to stretch out my friendly demeanor as far as I could, and went
right back to studying my homework. From the corner of my eye, I watched the
friend glance back at Ryder, who grinned smugly at him and gave him the thumbs
up sign as he sarcastically mouthed the word “ smooth” .
The friend gave Ryder a dirty look and turned back to me.
“I’m Todd.”
Okay. So now, I’d forever think of him as Todd, Ryder
Yates’s staring friend. Still not sure where all my social skills—or my
brain—had gone, I offered him another one of my smiles, pretty sure by this
point, I looked like I’d just come from the dentist and had a little too much laughing
gas flowing through the bloodstream.
“Hi, Todd,” I said, and turned my attention back to my
homework. Feeling as if I should write something, I scrawled in my name across
the top, misspelling Indigo as I forgot to jot down the N.
“So, where’d you move from?” Todd persisted in talking to
me. Guess he didn’t catch on to how nervous or shy I was.
“Hillsburg,” I answered, not even bothering to glance up. I
hadn’t left a whole lot of room to fit an N between I and D, but I managed to
wedge in a tiny, misshapen one.
“A Viking, huh? What made you come here?”
Finally, I looked up. Todd continued to stare at me. He
wasn’t bad looking. In fact, if he wasn’t always sitting or standing so close
to Ryder Yates, I might label him attractive. But compared to number forty-two,
he ranked a measly four or five with his hazel eyes, blond hair, and scruffy
start at a goatee.
It puzzled me why high school boys tried to grow facial
hair. I’ve only ever seen a limited few manage anything past peach fuzz. Todd,
Ryder’s staring friend, did not belong in the limited few.
“My mom got married,” I said, trying not to concentrate on
the pimple embedded in his chin he was probably growing his peach fuzz to
cover. “My new stepdad lives here so we moved in with him.”
He nodded. “Is that a good thing or a bad
Hillsburg, and a double thanks to the fact we’d already started learning about
the Periodic Table, because no way could I have concentrated on that first
lesson, not when I was stuck wondering how much Ryder Yates had to be staring
through my head to watch the teacher lecture.
The back of my neck burned and sizzled; I was surprised I
didn’t set off the smoke alarms. I pressed the tip of my pen astutely to my pad
of paper and wrote words in a fury. Most of my mad ramblings consisted of how
much I wanted to return to Hillsburg, flee from this foreign place, and treat
my mother to some kind of nasty prank—nothing permanent or painful, mind you,
just something humiliating enough to make her feel exactly how I felt at that
very moment.
About thirty minutes through the agony, Dockman finally
passed out a worksheet for homework. When I turned to hand off my stack, Ryder
and I made eye contact. He paused a moment and gave me a vague, brief, tight
smile before turning his attention to his friend to receive his own homework.
Yep, he remembered exactly who I was.
The teacher explained the assignment
and then gave us the rest of the hour to work on it. As he sat at his desk,
some students bent their heads and began to fill in the blanks, but most of the
room relaxed, each person turning to a friend and chatting quietly.
I planned to be an assignment worker, until Ryder’s pal spun
directly toward me. “So, you’re Grace, huh?”
I jumped. Shocked someone had finally spoken to me, I lifted
my head and glanced over at him. The first person to voluntarily talk to me at
my new school just had to be the very buddy of Ryder Yates, didn’t he?
Great.
I didn’t want to be rude and lose all chance of making any
friends, but seriously, did it have to be Ryder Yates’s chum who first spoke to me?
“Yeah,” I answered, forcing the friendliest smile I could
manage. Since I wasn’t sure what else to say, I sucked in a breath, lifting my
eyebrows as if to stretch out my friendly demeanor as far as I could, and went
right back to studying my homework. From the corner of my eye, I watched the
friend glance back at Ryder, who grinned smugly at him and gave him the thumbs
up sign as he sarcastically mouthed the word “ smooth” .
The friend gave Ryder a dirty look and turned back to me.
“I’m Todd.”
Okay. So now, I’d forever think of him as Todd, Ryder
Yates’s staring friend. Still not sure where all my social skills—or my
brain—had gone, I offered him another one of my smiles, pretty sure by this
point, I looked like I’d just come from the dentist and had a little too much laughing
gas flowing through the bloodstream.
“Hi, Todd,” I said, and turned my attention back to my
homework. Feeling as if I should write something, I scrawled in my name across
the top, misspelling Indigo as I forgot to jot down the N.
“So, where’d you move from?” Todd persisted in talking to
me. Guess he didn’t catch on to how nervous or shy I was.
“Hillsburg,” I answered, not even bothering to glance up. I
hadn’t left a whole lot of room to fit an N between I and D, but I managed to
wedge in a tiny, misshapen one.
“A Viking, huh? What made you come here?”
Finally, I looked up. Todd continued to stare at me. He
wasn’t bad looking. In fact, if he wasn’t always sitting or standing so close
to Ryder Yates, I might label him attractive. But compared to number forty-two,
he ranked a measly four or five with his hazel eyes, blond hair, and scruffy
start at a goatee.
It puzzled me why high school boys tried to grow facial
hair. I’ve only ever seen a limited few manage anything past peach fuzz. Todd,
Ryder’s staring friend, did not belong in the limited few.
“My mom got married,” I said, trying not to concentrate on
the pimple embedded in his chin he was probably growing his peach fuzz to
cover. “My new stepdad lives here so we moved in with him.”
He nodded. “Is that a good thing or a bad
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