On my way to school the next morning, basically everything—pedestrians, squirrels, fire extinguishers, air—scares me half to death. My heart leaps from my chest to my throat so often, by the time I make it to the parking lot I'm ready to hurl the omelet Gigi made me eat before she'd let me out the door.
The packed hallways only intensify my anxiety. It takes me three tries to get my locker open, and I'm completely absorbed in switching out my books as quickly as possible when a light tug on my braid makes me almost jump out of my skin.
Before I can turn around, I feel a hand on the small of my back, and the hair-puller leans in close to me from behind. "Relax, I-uhh." The cold breath of a certain green-eyed monster rushes past my ear, and the superfine hairs on my arms rise to attention. "I just wanted to say you look gorgeous today," he says. "I really like your hair like this."
I turn around to face him. "Wow," I say backing into the locker. "Way too close."
Of course he steps closer. "Oh, you don't like me now? Weren't you stalking me in the library a few days ago?"
"Seriously, back off," I say, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back a few inches. "It's called 'personal space' for a reason." I'm trying to keep my cool, but the sheer mass of people rushing through the hallway around us combined with the very new sensation of a boy's heartbeat against my palm throw me into sensory overload. My fingertips spark against his shirt, and I don't pull away quick enough to hide it.
His head snaps up, and our eyes connect. I go into full-on panic mode, and the same dreadful feeling from our first encounter floods my system. I'm trapped between my neighbor's open locker door and my own with Reign blocking my path from the front, and my temperature begins to climb as questions race through my head: What's he going to do? Will he tell everyone what he saw? Does he know what I am?
His eyes slide down my nose to my lips, and he smiles. "You're something else, New Girl."
"My name is Bliss," I say, still uneasy.
"I know what your name is." He glances over my head and points up. "Try to get to class on time today okay, Bliss?" I follow his finger to the clock above me: four minutes to the bell. When I look back down, he's gone. I turn back to my locker and take a deep breath.
"What was that all about?" The voice startles me, but I'm relieved to see Luca's face when I shut the locker door.
"I couldn't even tell you," I say. "On the first day of school, he knocks me down and doesn't help me up. Now he's all telling me how good I look. He's just... weird."
"Well, watch your back, girl. That boy is rumored to be CFSHS's Highest Scoring Senior, if you know what I mean. He's super smart—early-action Princeton—but he's got more notches on his belt than a Sumo-sized cowboy. You should really steer clear, no pun intended."
"That's exactly what I told her," Candis says from behind me. I have no idea how long she's been standing there. "Although, I do have to concur with the wily philanderer. Despite yesterday's lamentable encounter with the devil incarnate, you do look very 'BAM' today, Bliss. You really nail that whole bohemian-chic, 'drapey, yet figure-flattering layers' thing—"
"Uh-oh," Luca interrupts. "Incoming."
The noise level in the hallway drops to near silence, and a path appears in the crowd as everyone moves to make way for someone to pass through.
"What's going on?" I whisper. It seems to be the only speaking volume appropriate at the moment.
The color drains from Candis' face (which is saying a lot—she's already super pale). "We need to go," she says, grabbing my arm. "Now."
YOU ARE READING
Little Spark
Teen FictionOne of the most *frequently asked questions* I get from readers of my published novels: "Was Dear Martin the first book you ever wrote?" The answer is no. Dear Martin was the third. The second (at long last!) will be published in Spring 2022, but th...
