101 Ways to Save a Life

Haiden | 01

Someone was staring at her.

She'd known it since the moment she'd stepped into the cafeteria—had expected it, even. It had begun that Monday and never failed to give her the heebz. She could feel it all over her skin, emanating from that weird spot right at the back of her neck where her hairs stood on end.

Lyla hadn't really been this annoyed since her freshman year, when she'd had to dodge a million questions, avoid a million people, and stare a million bullets into a million heads before she was left alone. Since then, Lyla hadn't been stared at (except maybe by Sirah), and there wasn't a good enough reason in the universe for someone to be staring at her now.

A part of her wanted to just ignore it—hey, just because she didn't have a problem confronting people didn't mean she liked doing it—but another part of her knew this game had gone on for too long. Lyla had thought she'd made her position in the Trellis High social ladder quite clear: avoid at all costs. In fact, the day the student body had crowned her queen of intimidation nation, Lyla had thought she'd well and truly won.

But it seemed the boy in the white dress shirt had not gotten the memo.

He was full-on, no-fucks-given staring at her.

Lyla narrowed her eyes at him. He was seated all the way across the cafeteria, so she could only just make him out. His blinding white button-down was easy enough to spot (had his mother blessed that shit with heaven's bleach?), but his face was a little harder to pinpoint. Lyla only knew that she didn't know him—but then again, did she really know anyone at Trellis—and that his mother must have dressed him.

He was wearing khaki slacks.

Of course, Lyla could appreciate a spiffy ensemble when she saw one, but for Trellis High...the outfit was more than a little weird. It was unheard of. She wondered how the guy even had friends. Yet, he did—and more than enough, it seemed. Students from other tables had pulled up their chairs to sit at his, and still, he remained an iceberg in a sea of commotion, his gaze trained solely upon her.

Lyla flipped him off.

And he laughed. He actually laughed. It was like they were in a movie, how he threw his head back and just laughed.

When he sobered up and stared at her once again, Lyla began to imagine sporking him in the eyes. It was possible, she was sure. If she just angled the plastic utensil the right way and aimed for his pupils...

He was grinning at her.

Wtf.

He waved, his hand fluttering faintly in the air.

Creep. Your smile is crooked; did you know that?

"Are you and Haiden Lucas having a staring competition or something?"

Lyla blinked, severing the cord that bound her to him, and turned to face the short brunette at her side. "Haiden?" she sneered. "Haiden's having a little problem with his eyes."

"What?" Sirah laughed. "You're not honestly mad, are you? Haiden's one of the nicest guys in our—oh, sweet baby Jesus, I think he's coming over here."

"Coming over...?" It was happening alright. Haiden Lucas sprung to his feet, ridiculous crooked smile and all. He straightened his shirt and tucked his hands in his pockets before proceeding to cross the lunchroom, his path a dead-straight shot to her lunch table. "Sirah," Lyla began warily.

"Oh, God, Lyla, don't fucking look at him." Sirah sat down, thunking her physics workbook in front of her and mindlessly flipping through the pages. "Do something, Lyla. Anything. Just don't fucking look at him. Act cool, for goodness sake!"