Page 1 of The Boy

1

JORDAN

“Jordan—”

I don’t let the professor finish. Instead, I raise a hand and yell, “Here!” at the same time someone does the same. Someone up front. Someone with black hair in a ponytail. Someone who whips her head to me, her dark eyes widening when her gaze meets mine.

“—Bates,” the professor finishes, her forehead furrowing as she darts her eyes from me to the other student.

Even though my heart feels like a drum and my whole world shifts from under me, muscle memory kicks in, and I respond the way I always do in these situations.

“That’s me.” I raise a brow and smirk at the way also-Jordan reddens. “Unless you want to take my last name, which I’m totally game for.”

As expected, the room erupts with chuckles. Also-Jordan turns back to face the professor, her head down. Ah, I see. From the way she doesn’t laugh or rise to my bait, she’s probably one ofthe shy ones. Judging by the way she makes herself smaller and pulls out her scrunchie to cover her face with her hair, I think I’m right.

I normally tune out the professor when it comes to roll calls, but I wait for her name. I can’t even look away from her, even though all I can see is the long, shiny mane cascading down her back.

“Jordyn Lee.”

“Here.” Her voice is so low I almost don’t hear it.

The professor nods. “Now I understand the confusion.”

“And here my mother said I was special,” I can’t help but add. As if on cue, they laugh. Even the unflappable professor, who always looks like she’s perpetually sucking a lemon, purses her lips to hold back a smile. The first day of school, and I already own this class. Too predictable.

Jordyn doesn’t even glance my way. She hunches her back and furiously writes on her tablet. For some odd reason, that deflates me. I’m used to the high I get when my jokes land perfectly. And yet, having zero effect on Jordyn kind of hurts my ego.

No.

Not just my ego. Something else. The moment our eyes met, an unfamiliar ache of longing knotted in my chest. If I weren’t sitting, I would have fallen to my knees. Me. Everyone’s golden boy, falling on his knees. There’s a joke there somewhere; I just know it.

It’s my last year at university, and no one has ever affected me this way. What is it about her? Is it the way she glared? The small dimple in her forehead when she scrunched it as she stared at me? The wide-eyed innocence I can sense all the way from here?

I’m five rows behind her, but it’s like no one else exists in this classroom except for me and her.

How the hell did I spend three years on campus and not see her? Where was she all this time?

“The last time I checked, Mr. Bates, you should be looking at the board in front and not at Ms. Lee.” Our professor crosses her arms over her chest and peers at me over the rim of her thick glasses.

For the first time, I’m at a loss for words. I’m usually sharp and quick-witted, and I’m known for having an answer to everything. Not this time. My thoughts are all over the place. No, that’s a lie. The only thing occupying my head is Jordyn.

All I can say is, “Oh, sorry.”

She gives me a tip of her head and goes back to the lecture. This time, my eyes are glued to the whiteboard behind her, but the words keep swimming. My brain feels like sludge, and it takes an insane amount of effort not to swing my gaze back to Jordyn.

This kind of magnetic draw is foreign to me.

Half an hour later, the sharp sound of the bell barely registers as I shoot up from my seat. My well-worn sneakers squeak against the polished floor while I bolt down the narrow aisle, weaving between the other students filing out and nodding to those who call my name. I spot her easily enough. Front row, fifth seat from the left. She’s still packing her tablet, a notebook, and a pencil case with a calm that feels at odds with my racing heart.

She stiffens when she feels me standing in front of her desk, my hands braced as I catch my breath, but she doesn’t lift her face and deliberately ignores me. At the back of my mind, I’m awareI’m about to make an idiot of myself. Surprisingly, I don’t give a fuck.

“Hi, I’d like to formally introduce myself. I’m Jordan.” I extend a hand to her, and she looks at it with so much disgust, I briefly wonder if I accidentally brushed against shit. Like, literal shit.

“I know.” Jordyn gives me a tight nod before zipping her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

Her canvas backpack, the kind I used to lug around back in high school, is frayed at the edges. It’s pale pink now, but maybe it was crimson red when she first bought it. It definitely looks like it’s gone through so much.

“You carry that every day? It’s gonna hurt your back.”

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