I scribbled my name on a piece of paper, each stroke of my pen adding to my annoyance. I glanced at the potential fathers and deemed them all unfit. My gaze lingered on Brett a second longer than the others. Well, maybe not all of them, but none of them met my standards. All high school boys seemed to care about was scoring, both on and off the field. Way too immature for me. The last few dates I'd been on over the summer had been with college guys, and even they got on my nerves.
As I sauntered to the front of the class and dropped my name in the hat, I couldn't resist the temptation to exert my power as a Queen B. I grinned and squeezed my thumb and index fingers close together until they were about an inch apart, all while mouthing the word tiny at Sanchez. Much to my delight, he lowered his eyes, and the tips of his ear turned red. I laughed quietly all the way back to my seat.
After all the girls had put their names in, Mr. DePaul walked around the room with the hat to let the guys draw their partners. When he came to Sanchez, the star wide receiver glanced at me and made the sign of the cross before pulling out a piece of paper. His body sagged in relief when he read the name on it.
I sighed in relief, too. The last thing I wanted was to be paired up with that bonehead.
"Now that everyone has been paired off, let's get to work on the genetics." He gave the hat back to Sanchez and started placing a handful of Popsicle sticks in front of each girl.
The guys milled around, each one finding his "mate." As I waited to see who I was stuck with, I drummed my fingers on my table. I reminded myself it was just a school project and would be over in a couple of weeks. It wasn't like I'd be stuck with this person for the rest of the semester.
As luck would have it, I ended up with Brett Pederson standing in front of me.
"You're not going to rip me a new one if I venture into your territory?" he asked, not waiting for me to answer before plopping down in the empty chair to my right.
My normal response would've been to tell him to piss off, but for some strange reason, my throat constricted. He smelled good. I mean really good, like he'd soaked in some sort of pheromone bath. My stomach started fluttering. I felt like one of those brainless twits in a cologne commercial who was drawn to the guy simply because of his scent.
Stupid teenage hormones.
I coughed to clear both my mind and my throat. "Why bother asking if you're going to do what you want?"
He shrugged and took the Popsicle sticks from Mr. DePaul. "I can't work with you from across the room."
"Ah, so you're the fortunate jock who drew my name from the hat?" Great. That meant I was going to end up doing everything, just as I'd suspected.
"You don't have to be so sarcastic." He divided the sticks up between us. "I want an A as much as you do. I'm willing to pull my weight."
How refreshing. Complete bullshit, but refreshing.