Caught in Us (Lost 3)

Chapter One: Dani

Any senior worth her salt has three goals before graduation.

One: stack college acceptance letters.

Two: snatch a prom date.

Three: lose her v-card.

Midway through my senior year, the first one’s in the bag; the other two have disaster written all over them. My best friend, Hazel, is in the same boat. I arrive at our English class with one minute to spare and saunter to my place next to her.

Blue-eyed and with dark brown hair she keeps up in a bun, Hazel is almost a head taller than me, though she's as skinny as I am. We’re both wearing baggy t-shirts with our favorite bands to disguise our utter lack of curves. We kept waiting for them to appear all through high school, but it looks like that ship has sailed.

At eight o'clock sharp, Ms. Evans, our English teacher, enters the classroom. She looks around with wide, fearful eyes, as if bracing herself for an hour of Hell. I smile at her encouragingly. It’s her first year teaching, and her youth hasn't done her much good. She doesn't have any experience exerting her authority, which often results in mayhem, or her being the butt of underhanded jokes. Insecurity is something overconfident teenagers prey on.

She’s barely seated at her desk when the door swings open and someone comes in. I've never seen him before. He pauses in the doorway, holding a yellow slip of paper in his hand. He must be a new student. Changing schools in the middle of the senior year isn't common. I study his appearance carefully—my brother, James, always tells me I'm too perceptive for my own sake. New Guy is a contradiction. He looks more man than boy, and he's possibly the most handsome man I've come across. His black hair is messy and unkempt, as is his two-day beard. I gulp, not wanting to admit to myself how good that looks on him.

It makes his full lips stand out, and it's immediately apparent to me that he has the habit of biting his lip—like me. The recognition that we have this in common shoots a tide of warmth through me. I continue with my inspection to his broad shoulders and toned chest and arms. He’s wearing a black shirt with long sleeves. I flinch when I notice how calloused his hands are. His jeans are as black as his shirt, though ripped, appearing not only old but also giving him a disheveled air.

I can tell he's going for a devil-may-care attitude. He wants to pass himself off as someone who couldn't care less what happens around him. Yet his shirt is perfectly buttoned up, and his shoes laces are symmetrically tied. Boys are careless with these details. He's a perfectionist. My eyes peruse his luscious lips again, and an unexpected shiver grips me.

There is a shift in the third row, and murmurs from the popular group—Anna, Ella, Sherry, and Deb—break the silence. Murmurs turn to giggles as they vie for New Guy's attention. Anna even goes as far as walking to the girls in the first row, pretending to borrow a pen. She winks at him. New Guy doesn't even glance in her direction, nor does he acknowledge any of the giggling girls.

That's a plus point for him because the girls are popular for a reason: they're stunning. Even boys who've known them forever aren't immune to their charms. The effect they have on new guys ranges from hungry stares to downright ridiculous behavior, like flexing muscles to show off —yep, I've seen it firsthand. New Guy continues to look uninterested, even bored. He walks to Ms. Evans, who seems thoroughly confused. When she reads his paper slip, her face lights up.

"Excellent. Principal Charleston told me you'd start today, Damon. Would you like to introduce yourself to the classroom, maybe say a few words about yourself?" She looks at him with hopeful eyes. I silently beg for him to be polite—he’d be the first guy in our year to show her some respect. That would earn him another plus point in my book.

All my hopes come crashing down when he opens his mouth.

"You also want me to pirouette or roll a ball on my nose?" Then he walks off to the only free seat in the last row, leaving Ms. Evans stricken.

"Jerk," I murmur under my breath.

"A hot jerk," Hazel says. My jaw drops as her pearl-white complexion acquires a reddish hue. In our twelve years of friendship, she has never expressed herself so openly about a guy, much less about a jerk, no matter how good-looking. Hazel and I met in first grade, when both of us weren't nerds yet, just socially awkward. Luckily, my parents own a chocolate factory, so I showed up with a mountain of chocolate that first day, giving out bars to everyone who wanted some. Those bars said what I wanted them to: I suck at making conversation, but have some chocolate. Turns out chocolate is thicker than blood, because Hazel and I became best friends from that first moment.

We're usually on the same page, but not today apparently. I shake my head then concentrate on poor Ms. Evans, who starts the lesson with a trembling voice, almost tearful.

For the next hour, I can't help stealing glances at Damon every few minutes. Long lashes caress the skin under his eyes as he blinks lazily, as if the class is boring enough to put him to sleep. I study the curve of his strong jaw. The vein in his neck betrays his apparent boredom. It pulses like it's about to explode. Explode with what? Annoyance? His oversized ego? Both?

His dark green eyes look up at me as if he can suddenly hear my thoughts. My heart stops when we lock gazes, his intense green eyes making the nerve endings in my entire body shimmer. I involuntarily cross my legs and look away from him, biting my lip. Maybe I shouldn't judge Hazel so sharply. He makes an impression.

"He's not even taking notes." I work as much disgust in my voice as I can. "He must think that's so beneath him."