All I Ever Knew Was Your Name [Nick Robinson]

EIGHT

my body by young the giant

Once I feel like I've caught my breath from the completely foreign situation I'm in, I go back into the art room to do whatever it is that my mind allows me to do. After all, Nick's sudden interest in me has me spiraling. I'm just so not used to it. I'm not saying boys never expressed interest in me, because they have on rare occasions, but it was never someone I could see myself with.

Nick seems to be different.

Unlike virtually every other guy at my school, he appears to have a genuine personality. Perhaps he's faking it, and he's a complete sociopath. Perhaps he's just using me for something. Perhaps he wants to make Bethany jealous!

Or ... perhaps I watch too much television.

The rest of the day goes on normally. Nick smiles at me in our history class, but we're so busy cramming for the final that there's not much time to socialize.

Tyra, however, makes sure she can find time to ask me the question of: "Who in the hell's sweatshirt is that?"

Although I'm blushing like a madwoman, and I hope to god that Nick isn't listening in on our conversation, I quietly tell her that the sweatshirt is, in fact, Nick's.

"What?" she nearly exclaims. It seems as if she thinks I'm kidding, because why would I, of all people, associate with someone outside of my designated friend group?

I shush her, then proceed to tell her The Story of The Sweatshirt. From the catastrophic paint spill to the melancholic absence of my own sweatshirt, she gets all of the details. There aren't many, but it seems like a lot to me. After all, this is the most riveting thing to happen to me since the cafeteria stopped serving pizza everyday last year.

"It looks great on you!" she gushes. Her voice is much quieter now; she understands my shyness. "I still know absolutely nothing about him, but he's definitely your type!"

I scoff. "How do you know my type?"

"Don't know," she shrugs. "He's nothing like Austin, and that's a good thing. You guys were just better off as friends anyways," she goes on about my one and only ex boyfriend.

She's right. Our breakup was mutual due to his relocation, but I was never severely heartbroken over it. It was sad, but the recovery process was quite brief.

"I guess, but that doesn't mean Nick is my type."

Her eyes find him quickly, then she looks back at me. "He most certainly is. I can just tell."

I roll my eyes, and the bell suddenly rings. Study hall is next, and Tyra's prodding is only going to continue from there.

From the history room, down the hall, up the stairs, and to the right, Tyra is asking me questions like: "how did he look when he gave you his sweatshirt?" or "what was his expression like?"

My reaction, or lack thereof, will hopefully tire her out eventually. She's a determined girl, though, and I know it'll be a battle to ease her curiosity.

"What if he asks you to prom?" she nudges me once we take our seats in study hall.

My eyes widen, and I turn to face her. "Jesus, Tyra! He gave me his sweatshirt, not an engagement ring!"

"You don't need an engagement ring to go to the prom."

"You know what I mean!" I huff. "Look, he's just my neighbor. Do I think he's nice? Absolutely. Do I think he's cute? Of course! But do I think he's going to take me to the prom?"