Page 4 of All In
Maria
God, I hate geometry.
Or math in general, if I’m being honest with myself.
I roll my shoulders as I ready myself for the next forty-five minutes of torture. I grasp the old copper doorknob of room 213, Mr. Madison’s geometry class. A gust of air that smells like mold and chalk dust smacks me in the face as I swing it open. None of my friends are with me in this class, so not only do I struggle, but I have no one to help me through it. Or pass notes to. Not that I’m close to any of them, but it helps. The only saving grace is that my lunch period is right after.
With my books clutched to my chest, I walk over to Mr. Madison’s desk and drop my homework into the black plastic tray that rests in the corner.
“Hello, Ms. Bryant. Soniceof you to join us today.” His comment is dripping with sarcasm because side note—I skip this class from time to time.
He looks over his dirty glasses at me with a sneer, his greasy nose shining like a disco ball. “Should we expect at least a C today?” As usual, he smells like mothballs. He’s wearing another ugly 80s sweater, and his toupee is two shadeslighter than the natural hair that he has. He looks like the uncle you can’t stand to be around at family dinners.
I hate this teacher.
I lower my head and murmur back to him, “Mm-hmm.” Pretty sure that paper will get me a D at best.
On heavy feet and with an anxious heart, I make my way to my seat, last row, corner desk right by the window. This seat is perfect because it allows me to blend into the background, making me feel invisible. Plus, I can look out the window and let my mind wander instead of focusing on how to calculate the distance of a triangle.
As I approach my desk and tear my eyes away from the floor, my heart skips a beat and I stop dead. I’m met with the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen, staring at me, following me as I land at my desk.
It’s Sam Harper.
He’s the one guy that I’ve always had a little crush on. Okay … a big crush. Huge crush. We’ve never spoken, but when he’s in the hallway, my eyes always find him somehow. He’s the type of guy that exudes confidence but isn’t cocky, nice without being fake, and gorgeous without being too full of himself. Also, he is one of the oldest in our class. Sixteen.
He’s kinda perfect.
But right now? Well, he’s sitting in the seat right beside mine, which is weird because it’s been vacant all year. I know he hasn’t been in this class—trust me, I would have noticed—so I can’t seem to figure out what he’s doing here. My eyes dart around the room, still trying to process what’s going on and also looking for an answer. I find none. Obviously.
Our eyes meet again as I shift my focus back to him, and he responds with a gentle smile. The moment his attention lands on me, my face becomes warm, and my knees turn to jelly. Which causes me to stumble into my desk as it shifts, scraping against the floor. He snickers.
Way to be graceful, Maria.
Settling into my seat, I shove my books into the tray below. With a tired exhale, I grab my math book and open it, dreading the next lecture full ofequations and formulas. I’m also trying my hardest to regain my composure because the air has escaped my lungs. How in the world one small smile can affect me this way is mind-boggling, to say the least.
His eyes are on me as I tap my pencil on my notebook, looking straight ahead at the chalkboard because if I look at him, I may melt.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is husky and masculine, like I knew it would be.
Oh, God! He’s talking to me. Sam Harper is talking. To me!
I turn my head, which feels woozy, and offer him a nervous smile. “Hey.” He pivots in his desk to face me. He stares, not talking, which is unnerving, to say the least.
It is intoxicating.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Have you always been in this class?” I ask out of pure curiosity because I’m sure I would have seen him.
“Nope. Just transferred yesterday.” He extends his hand across the aisle. “We’ve never actually met. I’m Sam.”
He wants to shake hands? Who does that? What are we, thirty?
After sitting my pencil down, I reach out and grab his hand to shake it because what else am I supposed to do? What I wasn’t expecting was the jolt of electricity that surges through me when our hands connect. My breath catches because it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. He must feel it, too, because his grip on my hand tightens. We study each other, our eyes locked across the aisle.
Now that I have a second to take him in, I do. Sitting behind the desk, his tall frame is concealed from sight. Sam’s height is perfect, making him appear both confident and approachable. He isn’t basketball tall but not the average girl height either. I haven’t been close enough to him to know if he towers over me. I wish I knew, though. His hair is dark and cut close to his head and styled perfectly. His shoulders are broad, and his grip on my hand is firm and not letting up. Which I like.
With a sly smile and his eyes filled with mischief, he asks, “Is it okay that I sit next to you, Maria?”
Wait. HE KNOWS MY NAME!?!
