CinderEli by Rosie Somers Page B

science building. We were the only two people
on the stairs, but Roman seemed to fill every inch of that space,
own it. Own me. I should have known that being in such close
quarters with the hottest boy to ever grace a high school campus
would lead to butterflies taking up residence in my stomach.
    A million miles later, we reached the bottom,
and I headed out into the warm mid-morning air toward the Language
Arts building. Halfway down the hallway, he was still trucking
along behind me. When we reached my class, I turned to face him.
“Are you following me?”
    He sputtered and stepped back. He shook his
head vehemently and opened his mouth, but it was a few seconds
before he managed to say anything. “No! Definitely not! I’m right
over there.” He pointed to the class across the hall.
    “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. There
probably wasn’t anything I could say to salvage any shred of
dignity at that point. I dug my hands into my pockets and turned
toward the relative safety of the classroom.
    “Hey.” Roman pressed soft fingertips to the
inside of my elbow, and I turned to face him. He made a show of
checking the syllabus he still held. “We um . . . we’re supposed to
read the first three chapters of the book and be prepared for the
quiz.” He paused to stare at the toe of his sneaker as he scuffed
it along the pavement.
    I shook my head. “It’s the first quiz of the
semester. He’ll probably drop the grade anyway.”
    He looked me square in the eyes for the first
time that morning. The action gave me a glimmer of hope that maybe
working together for the next few months wouldn’t be devastatingly
awkward. It also set those butterflies off in my stomach again.
“Maybe we should get together before the next class and study. You
know . . . since we get a shared grade on the classwork and
all.”
    Ah, he wanted to make sure I knew my stuff so
he didn’t get a bad grade. Well, it was good enough for me. “Sure,
here.” I dug his BIC out of my backpack and grabbed his arm,
turning it to bare the smooth underside for prime writing space.
When I’d finished writing on him, I recapped his pen and handed it
back to him. “That’s my phone number.”
    “Okay, cool. I’m open Friday, if you want to
get together then.” His voice rumbled in the quiet hall.
    “Friday it is.”

Two

     
    Roman
     
    Katie Lennox had no idea who I was. And why
would she? We’d only been attending the same high school for the
last three years. Now, I was supposed to study with her tonight and
what? Pretend I didn’t know her either? All day, I’d rolled every
scenario around in my head, imagining what I would say, what her
reaction would be. And I always came back to the same thing: the
path of least embarrassment seemed to be acting like I’d been just
as oblivious to her existence as she’d been to mine. When the last
bell of the day rang, I took my time packing my book and notebook
into my backpack, waiting for the other students in my American
Government class to head out into the hallway before I stood and
slung the bag over my shoulder.
    I dragged my feet on the way to my locker,
killing time, letting the hallways empty before I left for home. My
Chem book was already in my bag; I’d been holding onto it like a
life-preserver since class yesterday. Every time I looked at it, I
remembered Katie landing in my lap, the way her eyes had widened
and her lips had parted in surprise, the scent of her shampoo—a
light, melony scent. It was the closest I’d ever been to her, not
that I hadn’t thought about it. I’d spent more time than I would
ever admit out loud thinking about Katie, about being near her.
    When I was satisfied that the hallways were
deserted, I headed toward the gym. The boys’ locker room was silent
and empty when I got there. There were no games tonight, so there
was no reason for anyone to stay late—everyone was probably eager
to start their weekend. For the first time since I could