Page 11 of The Art of Us by Symone

Eric squeezes his forehead while shifting from one leg to the other. “I didn’t want to cross a line with our friendship by going after your sister.”

“Honestly, man, it’s fine.” I say in a firmer tone, “Just don’t hurt Brit, and we won’t have problems.”

Tension leaves his shoulders. “I would never do that. But I do need to find the courage to ask Britney out. Maybe if we all chilled at my pool later, I could ease into it?”

Raising my hand in retreat, I tell him, “You’re on your own there.” Then I step past him, heading toward English class.

My gaze travels to Kayla.

Her eyes steer to me. They linger for as long as I’m staring at her.

Catching myself, I blink away and continue walking.

Forget it, Brandon. You’ll hurt her.

And yet it’s so hard to stop doing the one thing I detest nearly as much as people touching me: continually staring.

Why the hell am I sitting beside her in class, anyway?

Her presence is alerting my damn senses.

Subtle things make my throat tight: her sweet, floral scent, moistening her full lips, tugging the bottom one between her teeth, and the way she slowly crosses one leg over the other.

Kayla attempts to play it off, but I catch her sneaking glances, too, in both of our classes.

I continue watching her during lunch break in the cafeteria. She’s sketching while bantering with Sam and Rajid.

I’m curious about her drawings—about her.

Intrigue is a gnat pricking at me, forming an overwhelming urge to touch her. So much so, I’m starting to fidget from frustration.

Kayla laughs with her friends, and that does it for me.

I shoot to my feet like a bomb about to detonate and roughly drag my hand through my hair.

Eric and Steve pause their conversation, staring wide-eyed.

“You all right, man?” Steve asks.

Eric adds, “Someone pissed you off?”

They both appear ready to stop me from charging.

“I’m fine,” I grit, then hasten to the bathroom, leaving the rest of my lunch behind.

Arching over the sink, I splash my face with water and scold my reflection, “Get a fucking grip.”

I stand there, glaring, wishing I was normal. Perhaps I should return to therapy, or even give Ms. Hall another chance.

The sound of the bell yanks me out of it.

Mask falling back into place, I straighten and head from the bathroom.

As I turn the bend, my steps halt when I glimpse the girl that’s been on my mind since the moment our eyes met the day before.

Kayla’s hurrying to retrieve a book from her locker. She twists to leave, and one of Madison’s friends bumps into her on purpose, causing Kayla’s backpack to fall. A few contents spill to the floor.

“Thanks a lot,” Kayla reproaches.

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