Page 17 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“Don’t do it!” he begged me. “Don’t drink the Kool-Aid!”

“You know you look like him.” I changed the subject, glancing up at the red light we were stuck at, waiting for it to turn, trying to keep my cool, but the hair on the back of my neck was standing up.

“Nah, he looks like me.” His eyes—a decidedly devilish blue—narrowed slightly at my comment. The light still hadn’t turned and we looked at each other across the console. I didn’t like to be teased about my thing for Tyler Vincent, but from the look on his face, he didn’t like to be compared to him either. It was a brief, tense moment. “Is that why you offered to give me a ride home instead of making me call a cab?”

“No, it was the front row seats you promised.” I stuck my tongue out at him as the light turned green and I gave it some gas.

ll raised his eyebrows and gave a short nod. “Correct. Mr. Diamond? This element?”

Woodall stayed over on that end of the periodic table, pointing to the PO.

“Polonium,” Dale replied and Woodall gave that short nod again, moving on to the Flashdance twins. I would have logically thought PO was potassium. Who named these things? Some confused, dyslexic scientist with no life, obviously.

“Thanks,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth and saw the flash of his smile.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

He cocked his head so I could see both of his eyes on me, a gesture I was beginning to find quite endearing. “So are you going to the Tyler Vincent concert?”

“Yeah. We go every year.” Probably too much information. I wondered if he was a fan. He had to know how much he resembled the rock star. People must have told him before.

He frowned, brows knitting together, his perfect mouth—was there anything about him that wasn’t perfect?—puckered slightly like he’d just tasted something sour. “Who’s we?”

Neither of us noticed the class had grown quiet and Mr. Woodall was looking right at us. Not until he spoke up anyway.

“Would you two like to come have your conversation up here so we can all share in whatever is clearly far more important than chemistry?”

I shook my head, trying to make myself as small as possible, thinking if Mr. Woodall only knew... It was pretty clear that there was nothing in the world more important than chemistry, and it was happening right now at my table, far more dangerous than any experiment. Elements were mixing over here that had the potential to blow up my entire life. Things had been mixed that couldn’t be unmixed. Chemistry. Indeed.

Dale glanced up, looking annoyed at the interruption, and some part of me thrilled at the aloof, cool way he eyed Mr. Woodall up at the front of the classroom.

“We’re good, thanks.” Dale gave him back that same, short, dismissive nod and, to my surprise, Woodall hesitated only a moment before moving on with his questions. He was up to Holly now, two tables over.

Dale picked up my drawing pencil—I never used number-two’s and always had to borrow them for Scantron tests. My pencils were always B’s or H’s. The one Dale picked up was a softer B-2. He turned it over in his hand, black instead of yellow, unfamiliar in a school environment, outside of an art class, and then pulled my notebook over in front of him on the desk.

I raised my eyebrows in a question as he began to write on the blank page.

Sorry about that. This guy is totally lame.

Nodding in agreement, I made a face, and he smiled again. Oh that smile—and that dimple! I wanted to touch it, just put my finger right there, just once. It was almost as appealing as the familiar dent in his chin. He was writing again.

You have a great smile.

Had I been smiling? I shook my head, covering my smile with my hand, but he silently protested, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand back down to my lap. That just made me smile more.

So who’s WE?

He underlined WE twice, raising his eyebrows at me in question, tipping the pencil toward me. I took it, turning the notebook so I could write a response.

My best friend, Aimee, and me.

He nodded, smiling again, taking the pencil back.

No boyfriend?

I shook my head, feeling my cheeks starting to get red for the millionth time that afternoon, and that’s when I noticed the class had grown quiet again. Woodall came around the desks, stalking toward us, slapping his hand down on my notebook.

“I said… no distractions!” He picked up my notebook, taking it up to the front of the room while the rest of the class watched with amusement as he threw it into the garbage can. It was like throwing my heart in the trash. All my drawings!

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