PROLOGUE – Ten Years Ago
March 2016
"Michael, right?" I look up from my notebook, and I'm immediately blinded by the sun.
By the sun, I mean Blaire Alexander.
"Uh, yeah." I fumble my pen. It rolls off the table, and she's already leaning down to pick it up before I can process the sequence of events that led to Blaire Alexander crouching at my feet in the school library.
I can already feel the blush in my skin starting to betray me.
Yes, I am in love with Blaire Alexander. I have been since freshman year.
Yes, she is objectively, categorically, cosmically out of my league. These are established facts I've made my peace with.
"Here you go." She sets the pen on the table and smiles at me.
Good God, she’s smiling at me. Stay calm.STAY CALM.
And it’s not even the polished one she uses in the hallways, the reflexive,maintains-social-ordersmile she gives to teachers and underclassmen. She’s always smiling to cover up some kind of pain; I just wish I could be the one to take it away.
But this smile? This one actually reaches her eyes, and it’s directed at me.
Fuck, my heart is doing something medically concerning.
“I was wondering if you could help me study for the AP exams. They're closing in and I'm nowhere near ready."
I hear the words. I cannot process them.
Blaire Alexander is, by broad consensus and my own extensive observation, the most beautiful girl in this school. Possibly in the greater Houston metropolitan area, though I don't have enough data points to confirm. Long, dirty blond waves that look effortless and probably aren't. She has the kind of presence that reorganizes an entire room just by walking into it. Every guy in this school has noticed her, so I’m not special for noticing her, too.
What I am is six-five and a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. All sharp angles and limbs that don't know what to do with themselves. I trip over my own feet in the hallway. I've eaten lunch alone in the library three out of five days a week since I stepped foot in Lee High, and I've always been okay with that. I was just never willing to change who I am just to fit somewhere I don't.
"The AP exams," I repeat.
Very smooth. Very natural progression of the conversation. No need to panic.
"Chemistry, especially." She pulls out the chair across from me and sits down like I've already said yes. "I've been staring at my notes for two weeks and none of it is sticking. Someone said you basically run the curve."
"Someone said that?"
I’m going to have to use more words.
"Is it not true?"
It's true. "It's — I mean. It's AP Chem. It's not exactly—"
She reaches across and lays her hand on my forearm. "Please, Michael?"
Alert.
A-fucking-LERT.
She’s touching me.
Her hand is on my skin.
"I, uh, yes. Of course." What was that sound? Was that me? I clear my throat. "When do you want to start?"
