Page 2 of Race to Me

“That means you, Foster Jennings. I don’t want any trouble.” He gives the tattooed boy a pointed look, then his eyes travel the room. “From any of you.” The gritty sound of chalk on the board makes me jump. In cursive he writes out, ‘‘Human Biology with Professor Dyer.’’

“I’m going to need you to pair up.” The class groans about being given an assignment on the first day and having to immediately start on it. I don’t mind, though; I love presentations. I know that’s weird, but it’s kind of my thing.

My eyes float around, trying to see who my partner will be. Everyone has someone at their table except for me, and—

“Foster, sit with Skyler.” The professor tells him. “Welcome to UOM by the way, Ms. Johnson,” he adds. I’m so thankful we don’t have to go through the embarrassing tasks of telling our life stories to strangers.

I smile back politely, nervous about pairing up with someone that looks so ... edgy? Maybe I’m being judgmental. I’m sure this will be great!

The boy, Foster, rolls his eyes. Lazily sliding his books off the table, he heads towards me. I first notice his height, since he towers over the room; people either look to him or away from him when he walks.

“It’s Ghost.” he informs the professor, his black hair a disheveled mess that looks like he just woke up, yet also as though he spent hours designing each piece to lay where he wanted it to.

The professor shrugs. “Doesn’t matter how many times you tell me that, Foster. Your birth name sticks.”

Foster’s legs lay languidly under my table. His attention turns to me, a toothpick sticking out from his mouth. My eyes flit to his sharp jawline and the tattoos that decorate his neck.

The black ink matches the obsidian shade of his eyes. He cocks his head, and I give a bright smile, extending my hand. “Skyler,” I say. He’s the first person besides Kate to acknowledge me, even if I am his forced lab partner.

He takes one look at my outreached hand and gives a crooked grin. “Freckles.” he corrects me, his deep voice bleeding into my ears. I retreat my hand quickly and open my book to no particular page. I look down, letting my hair blanket my face.

The professor hands us our assignment, and my eyes graze over the sheet. We get human anatomy, which makes me blush knowing at some point me and Foster will have to discuss the makings of the male and female bodies. In length.

Foster peels the paper from my hands, mulling over the assignment we’ll be working on for a month together. He smirks when he reads over the contents.

“This project will be worth thirty percent of your grade in this class, and that’s why we’re starting it now.” Mr. Dyer announces, sitting and thumbing through a book.

I take the sheet from Foster’s hands. Thirty percent is huge, and we need to get started immediately. I can’t risk my grades plummeting. “So, it looks like we can break this into two par—” I’m cut off when Foster playfully snags the paper away again.

Sighing, I begin to get prepared. Foster directs his hard gaze to me, the corners of his mouth tilting as he observes me pulling out colored pens and notebooks from my bag.

He throws his elbows on the table, planting his hands under his chin. “So, you’re new here.” he states, taking off his leather jacket and chunking it on the table. I stare at it for a moment. How will we get work done if he’s taking up so much space?

“Yup,” I smile, eagerly waiting to get started. “I came from Crestview.”

“Ah,” He grins back, as if he’s figured me out. “The posh all-girls campus?” He laughs, nodding his head. “Should have known.”

A light scoff escapes me. “What does that mean?”

His tattooed finger touches my diamond bracelet. “Well, this. The matching earrings and your plaid ... skirt. You scream prep school.” His condescending tone annoys me. It also intrigues me, but I’m not sure why.

I scoff, pulling my wrist away. “Are you always so judgmental of people you don’t know?” I’m surprised by my tone, but that was rude.

He collapses in his chair, folding his muscled arms over his broad chest. “Oh, I know your type. But I can almost guarantee you don’t know mine.”

“Rude,” I mutter under my breath, but he’s not wrong.

Foster leans forward, grinning. “What was that, Freckles?”

“My name is Skyler. Why do you keep calling me that?”

His demeanor shifts from playful to downright stoic in an instant. “It suits you.” Foster sits back in his chair, pulling out his phone.

I inch closer, “Won’t they take it?”

His expression is confused for a moment, then a grin spreads across his face. “You’re not in private school anymore, Freckles.”

I ignore the nickname and continue to obsess over our assignment.

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