“I bet his parents are mortified.” Looking around, as if scandalized on their behalf, Abigail presses her hands to her lips.
“Was he always such a prankster?” Samantha asks.
The answer is a definiteyes, but before I can respond, another one asks, “Was he always so dreamy?”
The others probe for more. I pray no one catches wind that Freddie and he are best bros. They want all the details: was he as perfect-looking in real life? Did he have good breath? Was his hair as soft as it looked?
Marlow wears a sly smile. “Didn’t you sit with Chase at lunch once? I vaguely remember. Tell usthatstory.”
The others urge me on, wanting all the sordid details.
Panic floods me, my battery runs dry, and the lions lick their chops in the distance. I’m not so sure I was cut out for gladiator sparring, but I do my best to rise to the occasion. Also, this situation shouldn’t surprise me, considering my weird luck.
There is no getting out of telling the sponge cake prank. Setting the scene, I say, “I was walking with my lunch tray and I admit I was a bit distracted by,” I clear my throat, “by Chase and I tripped. He was very apologetic and helped me up.”
“Such a gentleman,” Olivia says approvingly.
“He offered for me to sit with him,” I continue.
They let loose a chorus ofoohs.
“He had a slice of cake.”
“Sponge cake,” Marlow interjects.
“Not chocolate, I hope,” Chelsea says.
I shake my head. “He offered me a bite and I took one. It was a sponge alright; a cleaning sponge covered in frosting.” My heart sinks as I recall the deep humiliation as I rushed out of the dining hall. I add, “The worst part was he had no idea about the mega crush I had on him.”
I expect a giggle or two from the women, but they don’t come.
“At least I didn’t have melted chocolate in my pocket and tomato sauce on my skirt, but still, it stung because of the whole mega crush thing senior year.” Oops. I did not mean to say that, signaling it’s time for me to retreat, so I don’t do anything else to embarrass myself.
The other women stand frozen in silence, staring. Eyes wide. Mouths open.
I blink a few times, slightly confused, and then identify the looks on their faces. They’re swooning.
But at what? Who?
Abigail begins to lift her finger, pointing behind me.
Relieved by their lack of laughter, for a second there, I forgot I was in the gladiator arena. But I instantly know what’s happened. A lion, no,THE LIONmust be behind me.
My throat is suddenly dry. My eyes bulge. My cheeks flame the exact color of a firetruck.
“He’s behind me, isn’t he?”
Ever so subtly, Abigail nods in affirmation.
My surroundings go fuzzy, but I’m not at risk of swooning. More like fainting from embarrassment.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn my head. The frame doesn’t quite come into focus, but I glimpse a blurry shock of brown hair, the shelf of a broad pair of shoulders, and the edge of a smile that threatens to send me scurrying for shelter.
He tilts his head in surprise.
I open and close my eyes, and probably look like a short-circuiting lady robot trying to bat her eyelashes.
Strong jaw? Light blue eyes that sparkle? Impossibly perfect hair? Check, check, and check.
