“Miss Jasmine, Miss Jasmine!”

I stare down at the little boy pulling on the hem of my shirt, and even though I know what's coming next, I smile and play along. “Yes, Matthew?”

“Hi!” he giggles, then covers his mouth and runs away.

I grin, finding some amusement in this game, even though this is the third time he's done this in the hour since I've started working at the rec center.

Choosing this as a job wasn't that difficult seeing as  just about every other job on the list Mrs. Yang gave me yesterday sucked. It really came down to manual labor outside, or air conditioning inside.

Easy decision.

“Oh, Miss Jasmine,” comes a deeper, more taunting, more butterflies-in-the-stomach-inducing voice.

I groan, but knowing I can’t react the way I want to because I'm at “work,” I plant a fake cool expression on my face.

“Yes, Puppy Boy?”  I acknowledge him begrudgingly.

I thought I had done my due diligence, asking around and making sure Lucas didn't work here at the rec center.

He doesn't. In fact, I have no idea where he even works or if he’s here out of some infraction like I am.

Nevertheless, that hasn't stopped him from hanging around and being a pain in my ass as well as a pain in the ass of the other morning counselor.

The other counselor who also happens to be the roommate whose name I still don't know.

“Can I have some ice cream?” he asks.

Rolling my eyes, I walk away — one, I have to make myself look busy. But mostly I need to get away from him. He's made one of the most important things on my list difficult, and I have no idea why. Anyone else with an ounce of dignity would have left my ass alone by now.

“He likes you.”

I turn, coming face to face with my roommate. This is the first thing she's said to me since yesterday when she asked that I don't snitch on her. I can't get a read of what I'm supposed to do with the marvelous revelation she's just shared with me. As if what she's saying isn't obvious.

“Okay?” I ask.

“It's sweet, but if you ask me—”

“I didn't ask you,” I cut her off. Wherever she was trying to go with her comment, good or bad, is somewhere I didn't invite her to.

“It's just not a good idea.”

“Again, I didn't ask you. Like at all.”

A peel of laughter distracts the moment and both, my roomie and I, snap our attention to my left just in time to see Lucas lifting Matthew in the air and spinning the both of them around. It's cute. For two seconds. Until my gaze falls on the nurse next to them with a frantic look on her face as she waves her hand in the air for Lucas to stop.

“He’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Mathews meek voice croaks. “I'm fine, promise.” But the pale, pitiful look on his little face tells a different story.

Lucas slinks off, shoulders slumped, and for a brief moment he looks dejected. But he’s snapped out of that, and I’m snapped out of staring, when a rogue dodgeball goes sailing by his head. He looks up, and I follow the path it came from. Two boys, about his height and I assume about his age point and laugh. I can see Lucas’ grin from over here — bright and playful — as he jogs up to them, erasing any questions I might have had on whether or not they were friends.

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