Page 5 of All In
I open my mouth to answer him and tell him he can sit here every day just as Mr. Madison starts class. “Alright, people! Let’s get started!”
I moan internally at the interruption. Sam clears his throat and drops his hand, releasing his grip. The warmth of his touch lingers as he turns in his seat to face the front of the class, looking completely unaffected by the events of the last two minutes.
Class begins, and Mr. Madison drones on and on about … something math-related. The chalk is gliding over the blackboard as he explains equation after equation. I have no clue what he’s trying to teach us because I can’t stop thinking about something as simple as a handshake and how cute Sam’s smile is.
And how intense his stare was.
And how it made me feel.
The minutes tick by and instead of paying attention, I doodle. It’s no wonder I’m struggling in this class. Suddenly, I’m taken aback when, out of nowhere, Sam’s hand extends across the aisle to my desk, gripping a pencil. He’s jotting down a note next to my flower doodle. I watch as his hand pulls back, and I scan the words on the page.
You didn’t answer my question.
I glance up at Mr. Madison to make sure he isn’t looking, then my eyes dart to Sam. He’s playing the part of the star student, paying attention as if geometry is his favorite subject. Mr. Madison’s back is to us, oblivious to what’s happening in the last row of his class. I take my pencil and reach across to his notebook. Sam slyly slides it closer to me. I write.
You can sit here. I don’t mind.
He reads it and gives me a quick side glance and a slight smile, checks Mr. Madison, then reaches over and starts writing again. His words appear one at a time as the anticipation grows in my belly. I’m mesmerized by his masculine hand manipulating the pencil as I swallow the nervous lump in my throat.
I have lunch next period. Care to join me?
I smile when I read the words and glance up to look at him. I know his lunch is next period, like mine, since I always try to find him in the crowd. His stare is pleading, as his brow furrows, a clear sign that he genuinely cares.
I mouth my answer. “Yes.”
Relief floods his face as he lets out a long breath. He sits back in his seat, a look of pure satisfaction washes over him.
I think geometry is my new favorite class.
The bell rings, and the entire class stands up and leaves like it’s on fire as Mr. Madison spews off our homework assignment.
Mr. Madison is no one’s favorite, apparently.
As I bend over to gather up my stuff, Sam lightly grasps my elbow. “I’ll meet you there, okay?” I turn to face him, and his eyes tighten. It’s like he thinks I’m going to change my mind.
I’m not. “Okay,” I choke out and plaster on a nervous smile.
He grins, grabs his books, and practically runs out of the classroom. Honestly, I was kinda hoping we would walk down together, but whatever.
After a quick stop at my locker to grab my afternoon books, I weave through the crowded hallway as the next bell rings.
As soon as I cross the threshold of the open cafeteria doors, I hear my name from across the room.
“Maria!”
My head snaps up at the sound of my name, and I see Sam waving me over from a table in the corner. It’s the most coveted table in the cafeteria because it’s out of the way and private.
My heart thumps, quick and hard, as I wave back and maneuver through the other students to reach him. He continues to watch me as I pass the popular table, the band geeks, the burnouts, and the nerds. A knot of nervousness tightens in my stomach. Once I get closer, I spot him clenching andunclenching his hands. He’s nervous, too. Why in the world would he be nervous? It’s only me. Boring Maria. Unless he actually cares.
Now that’s a crazy thought.
I reach the table, and the first thing that catches my attention is the colorful floral tablecloth. One that looks like it belongs on my grandmother’s dining room table. Gently, I place my books down, and my eyes immediately focus on a handmade tented sign.
Reserved.
Also, in the center rests a small vase with two fake red roses in it. Two pieces of rolled plastic ware lie in front of our seats.
I shake my head, trying to process what is going on. Then, it clicks into place. The reason he rushed out of class now makes sense. He was here … doing this.
