“So, is it free? Can I sit?” I ask again, this time with a teasing smile that clearly annoys him more.
He shrugs. “If you must...” he mutters, reopening his book.
I giggle and plop down beside him. “Well, I can’t exactly sit on the floor, can I?”
He rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath—something like“I just wanted to be left alone... not sit next to a crazy hippie.”
He’s wearing worn jeans and a sweater at least two sizes too big. His blond hair’s almost the color of ripe wheat, and his eyes are a deep, magnetic blue. There’s arrogance in his posture, but his gaze feels softer—good, even.
Turning toward him, I smile. “I’m Nova. Nova Marshall.” I hold out my hand, but he doesn’t take it.
He shoots me a wary look. “Didn’t ask,” he replies, turning back to his book.
It’s smaller than any book I’ve ever seen. I lean closer, frowning. The cover’s on the wrong side. “Why’s the cover upside down?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow. “What?”
I point. “Your book. The cover’s upside down.”
He studies me for a long moment before the ghost of a smile flickers across his face, but it vanishes too quickly for me to call him out on it.
“You’ve never seen a manga before?” he asks, closing the book and handing it to me.
A manga? What’s that? I glance at the cover.One Piece. A boy in a red shirt with a straw hat grins from the artwork.
“Nope. What is it? Looks cool.”
He slides his chair a little closer, gently taking the book back. With obvious care, he flips through the pages while I watch.
“Manga are Japanese comics,” he explains. “They’re read backwards, because in Japan, books open from the left. They even write starting from that side.”
I nod, intrigued. He’s so passionate, and I’m glad he’s actually talking to me. “So it’s like Mickey Mouse comics but backwards and without color?” I ask.
“Exactly. And there are cartoons based on manga too. They’re called anime.”
“And this one?” I point at the book. “It has an anime too?”
He nods again, brushing a hand through his hair. “That’s how I found it. They air the anime every night at seven.”
Before I can answer, Mrs. Taylor bustles into the classroom and announces today’s project: chocolate chip cookies. She’s so scatterbrained she doesn’t even seem to notice a new student sitting in her class. She doesn’t mention Vincent either.
During class, my blond lab partner barely speaks to me, completely absorbed in what he’s doing. Still, he’s impressive. He handles the ingredients and tools like he was born to do it—calm, precise, not even glancing at the recipe sheet everyone else is using.
All I can really do is hand him spoons and ingredients. Still, I get to taste the results.
By the end of class, steaming chocolate chip cookies sit on our tray, and my mouth waters just looking at them. Mrs. Taylor goes around, evaluating each group’s results.
The bell rings. Before I can even say a word, my lab partner grabs his backpack and bolts out of the room in less than ten seconds.
I take a bite of one of his cookies and nearly melt—they’re delicious. That’s when I realize I don’t even know his name, and, at the same time, I make up my mind: this afternoon, Vincent and I are definitely looking up episodes ofOne Pieceon his dad’s computer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nova Marshall
PRESENT (2023)
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