Page 13 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“No, Miss Wilson. Krypton is over here.” He slapped the periodic table with his pointer. “Kryptonite only exists in comic books.”

I looked at Dale suspiciously, doubtful, but I said it anyway. “Potassium. It’s potassium.”

art felt like it wanted to burst out of my chest, my body betraying me with every breath, every damned beat of my heart. What the hell? What was wrong with me? I’d never had a reaction like this to any guy—even David Hall, who I’d dated during most of my junior year and had finally lost my virginity to on prom night. We had a horrible break-up, including him calling me an obsessed, crazy bitch in front of our algebra class, a fight that continued out in the hallway where I told him every time we’d ever had sex, I’d been thinking about Tyler Vincent.

Which, of course, just served to prove him right.

But this feeling, whatever it was, this dizzy, soaring, sick-to-my-stomach feeling, I hadn’t ever experienced it with any guy I’d ever dated or had even been attracted to.

Tyler Vincent aside, of course.

That’s it. It’s because he looks like Tyler!

I was just transferring my feelings for him to this imitation sitting beside me! Relieved, I went back to sketching, even if my palms were still sweaty and my breathing far too shallow, at least I had worked out an explanation for my body’s response. It wasn’t my fault. It was like Pavlov’s dogs responding to a bell. Tyler Vincent made my body react this way. It made sense a look-alike might get the same response.

My stomach growled loudly, reminding me of the lunch I hadn’t eaten. Carrie had obviously interrupted my fry-stealing far before I was full enough to get through to the end of the day. That, too, could have explained the slightly sick, dizzy feeling I was experiencing. In fact, I was sure it was mostly that. I’d been shoving a granola bar in my purse in the morning to eat after lunch, but of course that morning I’d woken up late and had forgotten.

Growwwwwwwwwrrrrreeeerrrrrrlllll.

My stomach sounded like a beached whale and I sank down further in my seat, thankful Woodall was still going on—and on and on—quite loudly about his disappointment in our performance and his plans for correcting our shortcomings as a class. If it had been yesterday, when the whole class was quietly taking the “pop quiz,” my stomach would have interrupted everyone like Moby Dick looking for Ahab.

Greeeeeeeeeooooowwwwrrrrrrrrlllll.

That one sounded more like a distraught cat—Garfield lamenting a missing lasagna perhaps. Lasagna! Now I was really hungry. Mortified, I sank even further in my seat. I was going to be drawing under the table if I got much lower.

“Hungry?” Dale’s breath was warm on my cheek when he leaned in to whisper his question. I smelled a combination of spearmint and Polo cologne.

I didn’t look at him, vehemently shaking my head, cheeks burning. I expected him to leave me alone, but he didn’t move, and I realized, too late, he was looking over my shoulder.

“Nice drawing.”

I snapped my notebook closed, tossing it on the table and crossing my arms over my stomach. It wouldn’t stop rumbling. Loudly. Dale leaned back in his chair again, straightening his long legs and digging into his jeans pocket. I looked at the clock and saw it was only one-fifteen—forty-five minutes left. Now I really did feel faint.

I glanced over at the crinkle of Dale opening whatever he’d taken out of his pocket. Skittles. We weren’t supposed to eat in class. He popped a few into his mouth, cocking his head at me and tilting the red plastic package in my direction.

“Want some?”

I shook my head, concentrating on looking straight ahead like Mr. Woodall was the only thing in the room but my stomach growled so loudly the two girls sitting at the table next to us giggled and pointed. I ignored them, feeling Dale shift in his chair, leaning forward to put one yellow Skittle on the edge of the table right in front of me. I ignored that too, watching Mr. Woodall waving our pop quizzes around like a madman, still on a rampage.

It was just a piece of candy, a little bit of sugar-coated lemon-flavor decorated with an “S” sitting there looking sweet and delicious and mocking the hell out of me. I resisted, watching Dale out of the corner of my eye, his jaw working as he ate another handful of Skittles. My stomach growled again, not just a noise this time, but an actual, gripping pain.

I grabbed the piece of candy off the table and popped it into my mouth, lemon flavor bursting on my tongue, savoring the sugary sweetness, but it was gone far too soon. Next to me, Dale leaned forward again, this time putting a green Skittle on the table, but not directly in front of me. This time it was six inches to the right of where he’d put the first one—six inches closer to him.

I turned my head to look at him and saw him smiling, still chewing Skittles. Damn that smile. It was infectious. I smiled back, unable to stop myself. He nodded toward the candy as if to say, “Go on,” so I did, popping it into my mouth and chewing blissfully. My stomach was actually protesting even louder now, clamoring for more.

Dale put a red one up, another six inches closer to him, and I didn’t hesitate this time, grabbing and eating it quickly. I loved the red ones. He raised his eyebrows under that shock of dark hair, reaching into the bag and putting another red one up, but we’d progressed far enough across the table this one was directly in front of him. I would have to reach across him to get it.

He jerked his head toward it, that same motion, “Go on,” but I hesitated to lean so far into his personal space. He just watched me struggle, pouring more Skittles into his hand and popping them into his mouth, chewing them up while he waited. Finally, I reached over his lap, leaning in to sweep the piece of candy into my hand, when Dale caught me.

I looked up, surprised, meeting his eyes, and then down at our hands, his thumb and forefinger encircling my wrist. I couldn’t breathe. All the air had escaped my lungs. I might as well have been on the moon for all the air I could manage to take in. I couldn’t do anything but watch him turn my hand over and pry my fingers open, where the piece of candy was already leaving a red stain because my hands were so damp.

Dale touched the red spot, rubbing it into the skin at the center of my palm, a sensation that sent electric shockwaves through me, as if that one tiny spot on my hand was connected to every nerve ending in my body. I watched as he put his finger in his mouth, sucking off sweetness, lips puckered like a kiss, eyes never leaving mine. It was the first time I noticed they were blue, not hazel like his rock star look-alike’s. They were a deep, bottomless ocean blue, a bright, sun-on-the-water, blinding sort of blue, and there was so much revealed there I found myself torn between not being able to look away and feeling like I couldn’t hold his gaze for one more second.

Then he took the Skittles package and tipped it over, spilling a rainbow into my palm. He closed my hand over the myriad of colorful candies, letting me go with that same motion of his head. “Go on.” I smiled, opening my hand and looking down at the already melting little bits of sweetness he’d offered. My head argued with my body, telling me I should eat them like a girl, one-by-one, draw it out, tease him, make it sexy and fun and even a little erotic because—well, even I couldn’t deny there was something going on here, some sort of attraction, even if it was just my Pavlovian response to his Tyler Vincentness.

Instead, my body won—somehow my body always won—and I opened my mouth wide, probably looking like a snake unhinging its jaw but too hungry to care, shoving all of the Skittles into my mouth at once and chewing them into a mass of indistinguishable flavor, just pure sugar, glorious energy, my brain lighting up as I looked at him, thanking him with my eyes. There were so many Skittles in my mouth I felt like a chipmunk.

He grinned, tilting the package at me again, but I shook my head, licking the traces of the rainbow off my palm in a very embarrassing but unavoidable way. He tilted the package back, spilling Skittles into his mouth, chewing with me.

---