JESS

CHAPTER 1

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Jess

"Hey Jess, what's up?" Dre stuck his fist out for a bump. He caught me completely off-guard, so I accidentally gave him one of those deer-in-the-headlights stares. Oops. A deer-in-the-headlights stare, right into his eyes. Oh, those eyes. They were hazel, with little flicks of gold: clear and intense, but there was something more to them. Whenever I looked, it was like somehow he KNEW that I liked him.

Dre's eyes just stared right back at me, clenched fist hanging mid-air, waiting until I awkwardly raised my fist and lightly hit his knuckles. And smiled. Cheesily. Oops, again.

He tossed me a grin.

"Well," I glanced around, rubbing my arm with my opposite hand and trying not to sound super amazed that we had actually touched , and feeling the heat build in my cheeks, "not much."

"Coming to class today?"

Wow. I NEVER had this much personal attention... I wrapped my finger in my backpack strap and twirled it around.

"Um... yeah." I avoided his gaze, swinging my backpack onto my shoulder, "Oh, look! There's Maggie!" I pointed up the hallway; his gorgeous eyes followed my finger.

"Hey, Mags! Wait up!!" We both jog-walked to Maggie. Which was another major mistake. Basically, if you've never seen me jog-walk, you don't want to. I practically look like a gimpy turtle. Or at least, I feel like one.

"Finally! You guys are SOOO slow." Mags looked cute today. Her bright, curled hair bounced a little as she turned and grinned. Her hand shot up and slugged my shoulder, "Red!!"

"What was THAT for?!?" I pursed my lips a little and narrowed my eyes.

"Red. Bug. Slugbug. VW. Beetle. Red," Mags talked in mock broken English. I just glared at her.

"Got it. There was a red VW. I CAN speak English, you know. And where'd you even see it? We're inside." I continued to give her my most killer glare, but it obviously wasn't working: she stood unfased and smiling.

"Sorry. I always forget." She smirked at me and rolled her eyes.

"It's because I'm brown, isn't it?" I looked at her, hoping that a challenging sparkle was in my eye. It probably wasn't there, but at least I was trying. See, I'm half Bolivian. A latina. And, that is also my "clique's" biggest inside joke. 

She laughed, "Of course!" And with that, I ran and malled her: poking, tickling, and laughing. She fell to the floor, giggling and screaming. Mags was half Cuban, so she couldn't really talk about being latina. Except that she was pale with oodles of rust colored hair. No idea how THAT happened to a Cuban. Whatever. I continued to tickle and poke as she flailed around on the floor, crying from laughter.

Soon, the hall was practically a major traffic jam, as all kids within in a six mile radius were gawking at the commotion. Everyone was there, snickering, pointing. The jocks tried to walk past, the nerds pulled back into the shadows, and the cheerleaders just rolled their eyes. And then there was Dre. Who was rolling on the floor, dying of laughter.

"Alright! What's the problem?" Bad news. It was Principal Graham. Thanks, Dre, I thought sarcastically, I appreciate your sense of humor at this point. I stood up, pulled up Mags to her feet, and swung my backpack bag over my shoulder with a small thunk.

 In marched Principal Graham, caressing his precious hunter-orange tie that read JUVENILE CORRECTION FACILITIES. Sick joke. "What is the problem?" He tended to repeat himself a lot. His moustache twitched as he looked down his nose.

Dre was up on his feet in a moment. Always willing to impress the adults, he flashed a broad, charming, smile.

"Oh, nothing, Mr. Graham. I mean, obviously, there was a little traffic congestion on the northbound side of the hall, and the onramp is completely backed up. Southbound was almost just as slow, but with the wreck COMPLETELY taken care of, students should be able to commute to class in about 3 minutes." Dre stood there, a small grin starting again on the right side of his mouth. I love that child. Mr. Graham stuck his fist out, and they fist-bumped.

"Thanks for taking care of it." Graham spun on his heels, and cleared his throat, as if embarassed that he had actually interacted one-on-one with a student. His mustache twitched as he sped-walked down to his office. As soon as he was out of sight, everyone started on their way, fist-bumping and high-fiving Dre.

Dre. Charming, funny, tall, cute Dre: theboy I have a MAD crush on.

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Dre

"Dude! Are you okay?" Kyle looked at me, cocking his head sideways, and thumping me on the shoulder, "You never miss a shot, and that one just bounced off the rim."

"Yeah, man, I'm all good." I dribbled a couple times, and released the ball for a shot. It swished right through the net. I tried to concentrate, but she kept coming back into my head, and I couldn't pay attention.

The guys cheered, then picked the game back up. I started to follow the ball with my eyes, but I couldn't get her face off my mind. It's like everytime we talk, she is afraid of me or something. I pretend like I don't notice, but sometimes I don't know how to react. Like today, I thought, I just tried to walk up, have a casual conversation... but she ran to Mags. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm just wanting something to be there, but there isn't. I thought today was progress, since she returned my fist bump. But on the other hand, she ran. I just can't tell.

The ball flew in my direction. I caught it, then dribbled around the court, coming in for a lay-up.

I mean, she's definitely attractive. Ever since the first day of school, I noticed her. In the words of my "girl charming" guys, her eyes are like a "never ending cup of cocoa: deep, dark, and delicious." Haha. But it's not like I get to actually look at them a lot. Like I said, she avoids me looking into her eyes. Her hair is soft (well, it looks soft) and long. It's jet black, and it perfectly frames her face. She has a beautiful smile. Sometimes she's kind of cheesy, but it's cute.

Kyle passed the ball to me, yelling, but I wasn't paying attention, and the other team grabbed it. I heard him groan in the background. I looked up and shrugged. 

"What's up with you, man?" He walked toward me.

"Nothing, man. I'm good. Just have a lot of homework." I couldn't tell him. 

But she doesn't have confidence, or something. In fact, I swear she could write a doctoral thesis on floor tiles at Hillcrest High because she studies them so often. I don't know... There are a couple other possibilities: maybe she doesn't like me. Or she could just be shy.

"Haha, yeah man. Who needs homework though? Let's play some ball!" He started dribbling, and  I started focusing a little better. But one phrase stuck in my head: I don't know what's up, but I totally wish she'd like me.