Page 6 of Inception

I nodded that I would and breathed a sigh of relief when he went on with his lesson, taking all the attention and curious eyes back with him.

All except one, I noted.

He was sitting clear across the classroom, leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him like he owned the room, and was staring at me through the most striking blue eyes I had ever seen before—piercing cobalt eyes, like the clearest part of the deepest ocean.

An ocean I had the sudden urge to swim in.

While everyone else was busy taking notes, he sat in front of a closed notebook with his pencil tucked behind his ear and absolutely no intention of connecting the two. His jet-black hair was thick and long. Just long enough to be slicked back neatly, and dark enough that it made his eyes soar out at me from across the room.

I noticed he averted his eyes as soon as I met his stare but they quickly returned, and then it was my turn to look away. Only I didn’t. Icouldn’t. My eyes locked in on him, and in an instant, I was embroiled in an entanglement of feelings I was neither ready for, nor prepared to understand.

There was something about him—about those eyes and that stare—something familiar. It was the kind of something that made everyone else in the room fade away into the dark recess of my mind until there was no one left but me and him. He was the picture. Everything else around him was just white noise.

His eyebrows pulled together as he stared back at me from across the room, and then, seemingly despite himself, his expression softened and gave way to a faint smile that caused two of the most beautiful dimples I’d ever seen ignite on both sides of his marvelously sculpted face.

Before I had a chance to react, to catch my breath again, the moment was abruptly detonated when the scowling brunette from earlier leaned forward in her chair and pushed herself into my frame of vision, breaking the connection and sending a tirade of daggers over to me by way of her glowering eyes.

It was a warning shot if I ever did hear one, and I knew enough to leave well enough alone.

I turned away quickly and spent the rest of the class with my eyes glued to the lackluster Mr. Bradley whose monotone voice almost put me to sleep on three different occasions, and even though I felt eyes burning into the back of my head, I never once turned back to see who’s eyes they might have been.

3. FRIENDS AND RIVALS

The sound of the lunch bell blaring was music to my overstimulated ears. I felt an unmistakable pang of relief when I saw Taylor Valentine walk up to my locker and invite me to eat lunch with her and her friends in the cafeteria. She had already become my favorite person at Weston, and it wasn’t just because we both hated history, or liked the same shoes, or because she’d gone above and beyond all day—showing me to my classes, introducing me around, and breaking the ice when it got awkward. We just sort ofclicked.

That wasn’t to say that the other students weren’t nice. Most of them were, but in a different way. There was a forced politeness about them, a shallow curiosity about the new girl, whereas with Taylor it felt genuine. She was herself right off the bat and had this kind of, “this is me, take it or leave it,” attitude, which pulled me in like a moth to a flame.

The cafeteria was overcrowded and buzzing with heavy chatter and laughter when we walked in together. Thankfully, most of the student body was too engulfed in their own conversations and lunches to bother noticing me as we headed over to the lunch line, though the sentiment was short lived.

“Yes she’s new! Get over it and quit staring at her,” snapped Taylor at some kid standing in front of us.

He turned around before I could see his face.

“You’d think they never saw a new student before,” she said rolling her eyes, and then leaned back against the aluminum divider railing. “So? How do you like Weston so far?” she asked, and then went on in a more hostile tone, glaring at another group behind us. “Aside from all the creepers, that is.”

“It’s fine—It’s great,” I said shrugging my shoulders.

“Yeah, I know, it blows,” she laughed. “The uniforms suck, the teachers suck, and our hockey team has the worst record in the entire league. If it wasn’t for all the cute, rich boys, I would have transferred out of here a long time ago.”

At least she had her priorities straight.

“Any of them yours?” I asked.

“Cute rich boys?” she raised her eyebrow. “Nah, not me. I’m far too capricious to be tied down to just one boy.”

I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

“Meanwhile, I totally saw you and Trace Macarthur making googly-eyes in history,” she accused, her lips curving upwards.

Trace Macarthur. His name swept through me like a summer breeze.

“Nikki looked like she was about to go postal on you,” she continued, laughing.

“Nikki?” I asked her casually, though I had a fairly good idea who she was referring to.

“Nikki Parker, hisgirlfriend.” She tweaked her eyebrows.

Of course she’s his girlfriend. That’s just the kind of luck I have.

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