Then he leaned over with his fruity breath and whispered, “Hi Sara.”
I startled, head snapping toward him, eyes narrowing. How did he know my name? He tapped my notebook, sitting closed on the desk, but I had doodled on the front—I doodled on everything—a little heart with an arrow and “Sara loves Tyler” scrawled in the middle. I flushed, grabbing my notebook and turning it over, realizing there were just as many Tyler doodles on the back as there were on the front. I felt him shaking with silent laughter beside me when I opened my notebook to a blank page, leaving it on the desk that way.
“Can I ask you something?” His voice low in my ear, not touching me but so close I felt his body heat.
“You just did.” I glanced up at Woodall, heaping more abuse on the poor periodic table up front. He was randomly calling on people to identify elements—something he claimed we should all already know—and I knew I’d better pay attention before he randomly called on me.
“She speaks!”
I gave him a withering look. Behind him, the Flashdance twins mocked me with big eyes, pretending to lick their palms, batting their eyelashes. Frowning, I crossed my arms over my chest and turned my attention back to the front of the room, where it should have been all along, I reminded myself, if I ever wanted to graduate and get the hell out of this town.
“You like Tyler Vincent?” Dale nodded toward my notebook, leaning back in his chair again to shove the Skittles packet back into his jeans pocket.
I shook my head, feeling a rush of heat in my cheeks, knowing exactly how red and blotchy that made me look but unable to help it. I couldn’t believe I’d just denied my adoration for Tyler Vincent. Who was I? What was wrong with me? But of course he knew—he’d seen my drawing, plus all the doodles of hearts and flowers and the adolescent practicing of signing with Tyler’s surname instead of my own—Sara Elizabeth Vincent.
“I hear he’s coming to the Silverdome in December.”
I nodded. Okay so I couldn’t deny it, that much was clear. Besides, why did I want to? There was no shame in being a Tyler Vincent fan. He had lots of them. Millions of them. So why was I blushing like a school girl?
“You going?”
I nodded again. Aimee and I had plans to camp out for tickets, like we always did, determined to get closer than thirteenth row, which was the closest we’d ever been, even in spite of being the very first in line on the day Ticketmaster began selling tickets.
“Is there a problem, young lady?” Woodall’s pointer was pointing right at me.
“No.” I straightened in my seat, putting my feet on the floor.
“Good.” He glanced between me and Dale, lips pursed. Then he slapped the periodic table with his pointer. “Then perhaps you could identify this element for me?”
I stared at the big K on the chart and the only science word I could think of was “Kelvin” which was a unit of temperature, not an element. K? What in the hell did K stand for?
“Kryptonite?” I croaked and the whole class cracked up. My face was on fire.
Dale leaned in, closer this time. I felt his nose brush my hair as he whispered into my ear, “Potassium.”
“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.”
Woodall 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?”