Forces of Nature

Better Than A Lollipop

 World history used to be my favourite class.

I say used to, because I wasn't really liking the way Miss Clarke kept frowning over at our table every ten minutes or so. She obviously had something on her mind, and my stomach sank when I realised it probably had to do with the latest drafts of our project we'd handed in last week.

While I was over analysing her each and every stare and trying to develop some intense telepathy skills, Tyson was either ignoring her or oblivious as he took notes in that surprisingly elegant script of his. I had to keep biting back a ridiculously giddy smile at the feel of his thigh pressed firmly against mine and the way our shoulders felt like they were fused together. That was the upside to him being a lefty; we could sit as close as we liked without him wanting to strangle me for bumping him as he wrote.

Sometimes it was hard to believe we'd gone from being at each other's throats most of the time, to one step away from me climbing into his lap instead of sitting in my own seat.

"You're giving me a complex."

I started at Tyson's unexpected comment. "What?"

One edge of his mouth turned up, and he tilted his head just enough to pass me a knowing stare. "Either I've got something on my face, or you're staring because you want to pick up where we left off earlier."

Heat suffused my cheeks, and I made a tiny squeak of protest, ignoring how weak it sounded to my ears. "Face. You've got something on your face."

His lips quirked further, a mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes. "Liar."

My hand shot up before he could do more than blink, and a splotch of blue ink appeared on his cheek. Grinning, I retracted my pen. "Like I said, you've got something on your face."

"Excellent, now we match."

Frowning, I wiped absently at my own cheek. "What are you talking ab-"

I broke off on a gasp as Tyson flung his arm around my shoulders to keep me in place. His left hand came up, pen in hand, and as well as stifling a laugh, I had to work to keep my voice from drawing anyone else's attention.

"Tyson," I hissed, attempting to ward off the attack. I was failing miserably. "Quit it. You're going to get us in trouble."

I felt the tip of his pen touch the end of my nose, causing me to go cross eyed as I struggled to assess the damage. Chuckling, Tyson relented, but kept his arm loosely over my shoulders. I endeavoured not to focus too closely on this new development; usually we didn't do anything more stimulating than holding hands if there were people in our vicinity.

Instead, I asked a very valid question. "Really? How is this a matching mark?"

Great, it was almost like I was begging him to continue drawing on my face.

"You know, you're right." His pen came back up and this time my squeal gained us the attention of the two tables nearest ours. They watched with great amusement as Tyson aimed for my cheek, and I braced a hand against his solid chest to keep him at bay.

Recognising I was about to lose the battle, I gave up protecting my face in favour of getting a few doodles of my own in. By the time Miss Clarke stopped in front of our table to ask for last week's homework, Tyson had a complete N on one of his cheeks, along with a severely deformed O, where I'd started to write my name.

I could only guess at what he'd managed to scrawl on mine, considering he'd gained himself the upper hand by wrangling me into a headlock. Eyes dancing with laughter, Tyson managed to keep a straight face, resting his knuckles against his mouth as a means to keep from laughing outright. I, on the other hand, had devolved into a fit of giggles, and not even Miss Clarke regarding me with raised eyebrows could douse my good mood.