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dark eyes and a devil smile
"Are you sure you don't know his name?" Liv hisses for about the hundredth time.
I slam my locker. "I can't know for sure unless I look at his face again."
Half of me doesn't want to. It's better to avoid the mess. I was victorious in making TJ look like he lost and I found a new story to tell in the books. That's enough for me.
But the other half of me wants to know.
"Describe me his features again," she insists.
We walk through the school hallway together, students talking and milling about. I huff out a sigh. "Curly brown hair. Dark eyes. Devil smile. That's all I got."
"Anyone can look like that."
"Exactly, amigo."
I breeze through idle faces, trying to distinguish a certain face. Maybe he's here somewhere. It's not the first time I think about it. A lot of students from Dalton High go to the X2 club. It's actually very likely my mystery guy is here.
"Maybe he has a piercing?" Liv tries. "Or something noticeable like a scar on his cheek. Actually, no, you wouldn't have noticed that. How about — "
I stop in my tracks.
She gives an "oof!" as she slams against me.
The guy not a few feet away from me notices our sudden halt, and his eyes widen. Eyes I recognise. His dark hair is styled neatly, thick and wavy. And then he smiles.
There it is.
That's him.
"Addie?" Olivia asks tentatively.
"Wait here."
As I stride to him, his smile stays like he was expecting me to find him. Like he knew it was going to happen. At the same time, his posture is leisure — tan muscles defined as he crosses his arms and leans against the wall. There's no doubt that he's attractive in every way. Charm and confidence basically oozes off of him, and it's damn intimidating to make me hesitate.
When I'm in front of him, I open my mouth to speak. No words come out. Come on, Addie. A thousand questions rush into my head.
Why did you leave? Why did you thank me?
Why can't I stop thinking about you?
But he beats me. "Hi, Addie."
I stare, surprised that he knows my name. "Hi, Trey."
Trey Gonzalez is Dalton High's most prized academic student. He's president of the Student Council, is in the Model UN, and aces all of his classes without a blink of an eye. And what's most interesting about him is that he defies all stereotypes of being a "nerd" — great fashion sense, huge social circle, and is, well, good-looking. It's harsh, but it's the truth.
And since our brains are so ingrained with this conceived idea, I can't call him a nerd. Scholar, maybe. If that term existed in high school.
"I suppose you want to talk about that night."
"You supposed right."
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I think I'm unattractive or anything. I like to believe that I have a flare there somewhere. But Trey isn't a stranger to hook-ups.
And I certainly wouldn't be a top choice on his list.
"I kissed you to get another girl's attention," he says bluntly. "I hope you don't have any hurt feelings. I just thought it would be easy to get it done with if I left early."
Ouch. That hurt. "So you were using me."
"I was helping you." I raise my eyebrows, willing him to go on. "I heard the things TJ said. It was hard not to, considering how obnoxiously loud he was while sharing it." I smile a little at that. "We all know what type of person he is. And I know what type of person you are." He shrugs. "I figured out your little game and thought you needed the extra help."
I shift uneasily, not liking that he knew my intentions and that people are starting to notice us talking. "So you thought you could just kiss me like that?" I hiss.
"Like that?" he repeats, smile widening. "Please do elaborate on that. Because if I remember clearly, you liked whatever that was."
I flush. So I did like the kiss and maybe it was the best kiss of my life. So what?
"The point is," I grumble, "you're telling me that you tried to get a girl by kissing another girl."
"Bingo."
I shake my head. This time I'm the one smiling. How does this guy manage to have people admire him and land suitors from left to right? "That's not how you get the girl, Trey."
His eyes glint. "How so?"
The school bell drowns out my laughter, the shrilling sound bringing our conversation into a close. I start to walk backwards and give him a mock salute.
"Wait," he calls.
The throng of students filing to their classes grow between us. I only catch sight of his hopeful expression, but hopeful for what, I don't know.
***
"Is it true — "
"Yes," I answer quickly, eyes trained on the ball. "Now please shut up."
The last period of school should give me some sort of relief, but it's the exact opposite. I participate in a lot of things, but there's one area that I always fail in. One area that I can never improve myself in, no matter how much work I put into.
Freakin' sports.
Because that deal is done. I suck. The end.
And volleyball? That might be the worst variation.
Liv swivels back to me as soon as she passes the ball to her partner. "You made out with Trey Gonza — "
"Liv!" I hiss. "Not so loud!"
She cringes. "Sorry. It's just — out of everyone, it had to be him! And who would've thought the Great Gonzalez went to nightclubs?"
"I'm going to ignore the fact that you just called him that." I hit the ball. "And for the record, it wasn't because he liked me or anything."
"What do you mean?"
"He just kissed me to get back at some — "
The ball smacks hard on my temple, propelling my whole body backwards.
Liv catches me as I try to keep my footing. My head instantly throbs and hurts, and I suddenly see two Olivias, threes, fours...
"Tina!" I yell, wherever the hell she is.
"I'm sorry!" she cries.
Great. Now I have a big fat bruise to remind me of my constant failure.
Half an hour later, I'm waiting alone by the school gates, still smelling like sweat since none of us bothered to clean up. I take a subtle smell at my armpits. My nose crinkles. Shouldn't have done that.
"Found you."
I whip around.
Trey's smug expression suddenly bristles me. "Good job, Diego."
"Is that a dig to my heritage?"
"It was a dig to Diego."
"No need to be so hostile," he reasons, gesturing his arms wide. "Hostility only ends in violence, and violence ends with wounds. Like your bruise over there. Does it still hurt?"
The way his eyes are practically glinting with amusement tells me he knows exactly what happened. Or maybe he guesses, and is only confirmed when I narrow my eyes.
"What do you want?"
He smiles. "What do I want? That's a rather philosophical question. I want the Ebola epidemic to end, I want to save endangered animals from brink extinction, I want people to stop singing to Frozen in hallways..." he frowns momentarily, as if actually disturbed by it. "I also want to date this girl."
I tap my foot. "You mean screw over?"
"Did I say that? No, I said date. I suggest you get your ears checked."
How can anyone stand to be near this guy? I smile at him."And?"
"And," he continues, "she's rejected me before."
"Shocker."
Trey tilts his head and gives me a patronising smile. "It really is, isn't it? That's where you come in."
My mouth drops. "What?"
"You're going to help me get the girl."
He grins so widely as if this proposition is to my liking and not his.
"Whoa, whoa," I ramble, raising my hands up. "Hold your horses, Trey. I did not agree to this. I don't even know the girl. I don't even know you that much."
"But I know you," he points out, dark eyes with purpose. "Adelaide Hale. The overachiever, the competitor, the everything-doer. But you're not all that, right? You're competitive, that's true — but with yourself. You like a little change, that's all. A bit risky for a high school student, who are all trying to fit in these little boxes constructed by social norms. But you're not in any one of them. You don't want to be."
I don't say anything. I can't. How do you reply to that sort of thing?
"Do you psychoanalyse everyone that you meet?"
"Only the ones that interest me."
I purse my lips. "And what makes you think I want to help you?"
What I'm really asking: what will I get in return?
"I don't," he shrugs, but clearly, he freakin' does. "But imagine what people would think if you did get me together with this girl, and suddenly your... competitiveness... is not a negative trait, so to speak. After all, if I'm here desperately asking for help, with the common knowledge being that I don't usually require such a thing — "
I snort.
" — it means this, me asking for your help, that's full coverage. Think of it as a competition of sorts, if it pleases you. To win is to get me with the girl. And the prize is the most valued of all: to be accepted." His brown eyes gleam. "Don't you want that?"
This boy is insane. He has to be.
Because if he thinks that I listen to what people say about me, that I'm so desperate to change the opinions of people I see everyday for three years, that I want to be able to do my own thing without being judged and "trying so hard to show off," and that I care that much about my reputation —
Then he's damn right.
"Okay."
Trey almost looks dumbfounded. "What?"
"I'll help you." More staring. "Hey, you're the one with the convincing argument. Don't tell me you're backing out now."
"No. No," he says again, lips turning up. "This is good. Great, actually. So we have a deal?"
What have I got to lose, really? "Deal." I shake his outstretched hand and give him a genuine smile this time, curious. "So, who's the lucky girl?"
"Justine Reynolds."
My smile fades.
A/N: Intelligence is sexy. Guys who join the MUN or any academic-related association are always welcome on my list.