Brooks gave me a how-could-you-have-forgotten look.
“Oh, Aunt Elle’s money. Dinner tonight.” I thought for a second and tried to ignore the flirty giggle that Nevaeh Jenkins—the most popular girl in school—shot toward Brooks as she passed us. “Just give me the money.” I heldout my hand, locking eyes with Nevaeh, who turned to look over her shoulder at me and mouthedHe’s gonna be mine.
Really?
I swear some girls had nothing better to do than hop from guy to guy like they were some sort of trophy.
“I left it at home.” Brooks was completely ignorant of the little exchange between Nevaeh and me.
I snatched my hand back. “Later then. I need to get to class.”
“Which one? I’ll walk you there.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I know how to find Lit.”
Brooks grinned. “Hey. That’s my class this hour.”
“Great!” I tried to smile. I tried to sound perky even. But between last night’s blow-up with my dad, my coffee-drowned shoe that was now seeping into my sock, and Nevaeh’s irritating claim on the guy who wassupposedto be my boyfriend—I just wasn’t feeling it.
Nothing wasgreat.
In fact, if I were honest, it all pretty much sucked.
Mrs. Templeton from study hall was also my Lit teacher. For the most part, she was okay, and I will admit, there had been times we’d had some really great conversations about books. For whatever reason, Mrs. Templeton didn’t mind reading some of the books I gushed over, and when she agreed with me that a series by aNew York Timesbestselling author was way better thanLord of the Rings, I gained a new respect for her.
“Good morning, Brielle.” Mrs. Templeton smiled at me and then sipped her coffee. She had some gray hair at her temples and a few wrinkles. I think I’d heard somewhere that she was in her late fifties. “How’s your morning?”
“Fine, thanks.” I fabricated a smile.
Mrs. Templeton’s attention shifted to Brooks. “Ahh, your first day in Lit here at Driftwood High. I’ve had a chance to look at your transcripts from your previous high school.”
There was something in her words that made me glance at Brooks.
He didn’t seem comfortable. He even dipped his head, and a strand of hair fell over his eyes. I moved to brush it away for him and then jerked my hand back. What the heck was I thinking?
Thankfully, Brooks didn’t notice.
Mrs. Templeton continued. “We’ll want to chat soon.” She smiled at Brooks, but he didn’t really look her in the eye. Instead, he nodded and hurried to find a seat.
Mrs. Templeton shifted her attention to me with a knowing smile. “I hear you two are dating already.”
I swallowed hard. “Um—sorta.”
“Maybe we should do a devo on dating God’s way in Sunday School,” she commented.
Dating God’s way?
I managed a nervous smile and opted to find my seat before I engaged her in further discussion. That sounded like a nightmare Sunday School class. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for making good choices, good morals, and all that—but I didn’t think I wanted a whole Sunday School lesson about dating. Especially if we were really going to just end this whole charade today and try to get things back to normal.
I slid into my seat, and Mrs. Templeton waited another thirty seconds before launching into the lesson. I tried to concentrate. I ended up doodling on my notebook and drawing baseballs with hearts on them. And then I wroteNiall Horanabout twenty times, practicing my cursiveNwhile I did so.
“You know Niall Horan is over thirty now, right?” Claire whispered from her seat beside me.
I realized she’d been craning her neck to see what I was writing. I shook my head at her. “Doesn’t matter. Have you heard his voice?”
We shared smiles, and then Mrs. Templeton cleared her throat, very aware of our whispering.
“As I was saying,” she said pointedly, catching my eyes. “With Valentine’s Day next week, I was inspired to create a unique extra credit project that I believe will not only help you all hone your skills, but also encourage you to look into the nuances of characterization within fiction and real life. It’s not required, but many of you would benefit from extra credit.” Her look meant that at least half the class should consider this option. “As we’ve discussed, in good literature, characters are believable and layered, and—” Mrs. Templeton paused, and I swear she meant the next part for me. “And they’rehonest. They’re real. They’re raw and . . .”
