Page 3 of Someone Knows

She blinked a few times and cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry. Yes.”

Mr. Sawyer placed a packet of stapled papers face down on her desk—her graded assignment—and waited until she looked up at him. “See me after class, please.”

Great. Just great.

Jocelyn glanced once more at the finch before forcing her attention to the front of the classroom. Her eyes landed on Mr. Sawyer’s ass as he continued down the row, handing papers back. It wasn’t her fault her gaze lingered. The man had a good body—way better than the boys her own age. She chewed her lip, contemplatinghow many hours of exercise her English teacher must do to look like that. Firm and fit, his ass complemented the rest of the man—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a smile that belied the sternness of his voice.

Her friend Ivy leaned over and whispered, “Close your mouth. You’re drooling.”

Jocelyn squinted. “I am not.”

Ivy chuckled and turned over her own paper. C−.

And Mr. Sawyer hadn’t askedherto stay after class . . .

Jocelyn had thought she’d nailed the assignment. She drew in a deep, steadying breath before flipping it over to check her grade. A+ was written at the top in red, a big fat circle around it.

Oh, wow.

Ivy leaned over again and snuck a peek, rolling her eyes.

After that, Jocelyn managed to pay attention for the rest of class. When the period was over, she approached Mr. Sawyer’s desk. Without looking up at her, he shuffled some papers and gestured to the first row. “Have a seat.”

Once the last students cleared out, he closed the classroom door and leaned a hip against the front of his desk.

Jocelyn sat up a little taller.

“Talk to me.” Mr. Sawyer folded his arms across his chest. “Do you have an interest in studying writing in college?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m even going to college.”

“Why not?”

Jocelyn’s eyes shifted to the window. She couldn’t see the finch now, but it was on her mind. She didn’t want to say her only goal in life was to find a job that paid enough money to get the hell away from her mother, so she said nothing.

“Jocelyn?”

Her eyes jumped to meet Mr. Sawyer’s.

“Look at me when I speak to you.”

She nodded. But instinct drew her eyes down again, so it wasn’t as simple as it sounded. Especially not when Mr. Sawyer—her secret crush—held her gaze in silence for a full minute.

Eventually, he smiled. “Thank you. I think you’re an excellent storyteller. Do you enjoy writing?”

Jocelyn nodded.

“Speak, Miss Burton. Use your voice. You’re not a bobblehead.”

She met his eyes once again. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I enjoy writing.”

“Excellent. Tell me what you do in your free time. Do you write for fun? Do you keep a daily diary?”

“I don’t have a diary I write in every day, but I keep a notebook that I like to write random things in.”

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