No Strings Attached

Chapter 4: Nadine + James = Chemistry

However, there aren't any cookies, snack cakes, chips, or doughnuts—just bags of raisin mix, dried kelp, and sliced fruits and vegetables.

Last year, Principal Crawford wanted to make Manhattan Arts Academy into a junk-free zone by enforcing children to dump their trash in recycling bins, eat healthy snacks, and maintain their perfect reputation.

The reason why Principal Crawford started this is beyond my comprehension.

Couldn't he actually see that none of the kids in this campus are not following the rules?

I mean, every once in a while kids dump their trash in recycling bins, but other times, they'd shove half-eaten sugary edibles inside their lockers.

Speaking of snack machines, I passed one while I was on my way to the chemistry lab, where my first-period class usually began. 

Its two dark gray doors are at the end of the hallway—very easy to find when you are running late for your lesson.

Though walking to the end of the halls was easy, it was hard to avoid raucous kids.

But luckily, James Ryder sacrificed five minutes of his spare time to walk me to class without any hassle.

As we head over to the lab, he wandered beside me, smelling like a fresh bouquet of honeysuckle and cinnamon body spray. 

Whenever I am close to him, butterflies appear floating around in my stomach.

God,  James must think I am this cool and collected chick when in reality, I was losing my shit.

Up until now, I hadn't noticed the smell of his cologne or the fact that his eyes are the color of the ocean.

Staring at them, bright crimson flourished on my cheeks.

I loved the way James' eyes sparkled—almost like sapphires in the sunlight.

Twirling my frizzy brown curl, I cleared my throat then complimented: "You have really nice eyes, James."

Adjusting his backpack straps, James squinted in my direction.

"Did you say something, Nadine?" he inquired.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"Nothing," I replied shyly, slowing my footsteps.

But James didn't laugh at my outrageous lie.

Instead, he looked at me in a kind gaze then asked: "Come on, I know you said something two seconds ago."

The smell of honeysuckle grew stronger when his eyes studied my embarrassed face.

"Your face is really red," he observed.

We briefly stopped in the middle of the bustling halls, as James slowly leaned close to my face, places his left hand on my forehead, then checks my temperature.

James' fingers gradually stroked my pores, absorbing the heat from my cooled skin. 

His touch is soft and comforting like a luscious quilt. Not to mention his eyes had looked amazing up close.

At first, I thought they were the color of the ocean, but when I notice tints of green, I came to the conclusion that they were aquamarine. 

And as for his hand smoothing on my forehead, it felt nice.

Like Marco, James is the kindest gentleman than half of the boys in the Performing Arts Academy.

He respected girls' privacy, never touched their legs or butts, gives great advice, and treats them like princesses.