Page 2 of Reckless Roses
His smile grows wider, and again, I can’t stop staring at how soft his skin looks. His cheeks are a natural rosy color, but I likeit. I kind of want to touch them. He has big, broad shoulders, and veins in his arms that run into his clenched fists atop the desk.
I think he has definitely gone through puberty already. Even my brother hasn’t gone through puberty. His voice still cracks, and he only has, like, three armpit hairs. Zach’s is deep. I bet Zach grows hair all over the place.
My cheeks heat.God, why am I thinking about his body hair?
“I’m in eighth grade.” He shrugs. “And my family just moved to town this past summer.”
That explains it. We don’t share any classes with eighth graders, not unless they’re a teacher’s assistant, I guess. “Oh.”
His arm touches mine again, and it feels like a bird’s wings are flapping in my chest. “I still think you’re cute when you’re talking, by the way.”
“You think I’m cute?” I blurt.
He tilts his head, smirking. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know you’re cute, Elena. I’m sure boys tell you that all the time.”
I shrug. Yeah, boys have had crushes on me before, at least, I think. “Most boys are too afraid to talk to me. They only want to text, and I share a phone with my brother.” I roll my eyes. “And he’s crazy.”
Zach laughs. “Well, they’re missing out, because you’re pretty when you blush.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, hiding my face.
Is he flirting with me? He must be flirting with me.
Why does my whole body feel hot? Why do I feel like I’m going to throw up?
“Bet you’re even prettier when you smile.” He mindlessly twists his finger in one of the curls hanging by my shoulder. He’s so close to touching me, but he’s not, and I kind of wish he were.
I’ve had boys pass me notes in class, or had their friends run up to me at lunchtime to tell me someone has a crush on me.I’ve had boys ask for my phone number and then ask me to date them over text message, but I’ve never had a boy tell me I’m pretty right to my face.
I don’t think anyone has ever had the courage before.
Zach thinks I’m pretty, and he’s touching my hair. He’s smiling at me, andhewantsmeto smile at him too. That makes me feel like I have wings, like my stomach is flying out of my chest and doing somersaults down the street.
I thought I’d had crushes on boys before—boys I thought were cute, or maybe funny.
But this feeling of flying is something new, something I think I hate because it’s scary, but at the same time, I don’t want it to go away.
I realize I’m frowning.
As quickly as possible, I flash him a smile, hoping he can’t see the brackets on my teeth, and then I return to my resting frown-face.
He chuckles. “Yeah, you’re pretty when you smile.”
“Even with the braces?”
“Definitely.”
I can’t help the small giggle that comes out of my mouth. Inevergiggle. He tugs on the hair wrapped around his finger, opening his mouth to say something just as the bell rings, signaling the end of the class period.
His mouth clamps shut, and he slides my textbook back to me. “We didn’t get much work done.” Snatching my pen from my hand, he grabs my notebook and scribbles something down. “Here’s my number. I get home from practice around seven.” He stands from the table, smirking down at me. “And you can call me. That way, your crazy brother won’t see our texts.”
Words, thoughts, and my entire stomach are caught inside my throat.
I’m basically a blushing, giggling, gaping fish at this point. Embarrassing.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He walks to the front and swipes his backpack from the floor, tossing it over his shoulder. I’m paying way too much attention to the way he looks in a pair of jeans. As if he knows it too, he turns back one more time, winking at me before he exits the classroom.
My face feels like it’s covered in flames, my heart beating out of my chest, and I spend the rest of the day counting down the seconds until I can call him and ask him to help me with my homework, even though homework is the last thing on my mind.
