First and Goal (Moving the Chains #1) (45 page)

B
y the time we’re both back in lit class after inductions this morning, she’s sitting across the room. I try to pay attention, really I do. I figure I put everything out there with no chance for misunderstanding this time. What she does with my heart from here is completely up to her. There’s no point dwelling on it.

Instead of listening to the lecture, I find myself staring at her. I don’t even know if I’m being subtle at this point. Every little movement, every expression that crosses her face, I’m frantically trying to translate into what she intends to do with the information I’ve given her.

All day Sunday, she wouldn’t even respond to my texts or take my calls. I kept replaying her kisses over and over in my mind. Kept searching for any clue that I’d missed. Any small hint that she hadn’t either initiated or reciprocated anything. I didn’t want to take for granted that I just saw what I wanted the entire day. But, no. Maybe that would have been much easier.

The options I’m left with terrify the hell out of me. I clearly remember her saying Saturday night that she wished she were Dream Girl. But maybe she feels too taken advantage of and played to ever forgive me for my lies. Or after one short day and a few stolen kisses, she’s decided she isn’t over what Eddie did to her. The last option is that she’s decided I haven’t really made her forget her crush. Saturday might just have rekindled whatever she was trying to forget. She might crave the attention I gave her from only him. How could she think Eddie might be a good substitute but not me?

Jeremy ends up sitting with us at lunch. Alyssa is still pissed off at him for his and Chase’s little stunt this morning during inductions. She kicked him out of their table. She doesn’t care that they were just trying to “light a fire under my ass to do something” as he so eloquently puts it. He doesn’t have any new information about what Evie’s thinking. I check out for the rest of the conversation.

As I make my way towards biology, I pray that class will go quickly. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to sit next to her for ninety minutes and pretend like nothing is going on between us. God, I can’t wait for football today. I need to get out of my own miserable headspace and just get out on the field.

When I enter the classroom, Evie’s already at our desk as usual. She gazes out the window just like the first two weeks of school. Trying her damndest to pretend that I don’t exist. This is going to be the longest ninety minutes of my life.

The bell rings. Mrs. Anderson announces that we’re going to complete the final phase of the “get to know you” exercises today. Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what our awkward little situation calls for. She explains that we’ll be staring into our partner’s eyes for four full minutes. The timer is already set on her desk. Good God.

Everyone in the classroom turns towards their partners. I slowly face Evie. She’s already waiting on me which is unexpected. I figured she’d fight this exercise tooth and nail. I bring my gaze up to meet hers. Her ocean blue eyes are already studying me, roving over every inch of me as though she can find the answers she needs just by quiet observation. It feels nothing like the other eyes that have been roaming over my whole body since sophomore year. She looks at me like she’s remembering.

When the timer begins, her eyes snap to mine. I guess today she’s willing to play the part of social experiment guinea pig. I try to find my own answers in her depths, but there’s so much moving through her eyes. I can’t possibly choose just one emotion. These four minutes feel like a goddamn eternity. As the seconds tick away, my mind quiets. I simply look at what’s in front of me. As much as I’ve studied and watched her over the years, it has never been an experience quite like this. Soon I’m lost in the sea of her eyes. Everything else fades into the background like the fog that pulls you under just before sleep claims consciousness.

The one and only crystal clear thought that pierces through my trance: I am completely in love with the woman sitting in front of me.

The timer goes off. I expect her to jump, but she doesn’t. Simply moves her lips together ever so slightly and slowly tears her gaze from me as she turns to face the front of the room. My God, what I wouldn’t give to feel those lips on mine one more time.

That whole process only killed about ten minutes, so I have to make it through another eighty of my own personal hell. Not a single word has been exchanged between us since I walked through the door to class. Settling in for the torture, I flip open my text to the current chapter and open my notebook. I know damn well I won’t take a single note or pay attention to anything that Mrs. Anderson says.

My head propped in my hand, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Evie slides my notebook back in front of me. On the blank page, she has written only one word.

Why?

Why, what? I don’t want there to be any more misunderstanding between us. I’m grateful for the chance that she wants to communicate at all. Even if it isn’t face to face with actual talking. I jot down my own note and pass the book back to her.

Which part?

She frowns then rolls her pen against her lips. I swear she loves to torture me on purpose sometimes. She hasn’t written anything down yet, so she must genuinely be thinking about it. She slides the notebook back to me, having reached a decision.

All of it.

I could write a novel at this point. Seventy minutes doesn’t feel long enough to tackle what she’s asking me to explain. Besides, for the sheer volume of it, I’d at least need to type instead of hand write. I turn slightly to her, hoping no one around us will notice, and mouth, “Too much.”

I hope she’ll understand what I mean.

She nods her head slightly, getting my drift. Thank God. There’s zero room for error here. She rolls the pen against her lips again. I slide the notebook back to her, sensing she’s contemplating her next move.

When she slides the notebook back to me, I have to stifle a laugh. I’m not sure she meant to be funny, but after the past few weeks, it really is.

Just to clarify:
I’m
Dream Girl?

It seems so stupid when she writes it down like that. I just nod, still trying to choke back my laughter. She smirks and bites her lip. I write something down and pass the notebook back to her.

I’m sorry. please, please don’t hate me.

I can take anything but that again.

Her face softens as she reads. Then she writes down a response, sliding the book back in my direction.

Who all knows? And for how long?

My mom, Alex, Mike, Jeremy, and Rachel since 9th grade

I told you we were just friends

and I guess Alyssa and Jess since the last game

Rachel? Why Rachel?

She’s my next-door neighbor

She makes a little “oh” with her mouth as she reads my last response, finally understanding what I was trying to tell her the night of the bonfire. Her cheeks flush a little. She taps her pen against the paper before furrowing her brow and writing again.

Why me?

Still too much to write

I expect this last note to please her, but instead she frowns. That was apparently not the desired response. I grab the notebook back from her and try again.

Rob’s 12-step program for falling for Evie

You are kind.

You are sweet.

You are a good friend.

You are smart.

You are a smartass.

You are beautiful.

You are strong.

You are brave.

Your smile lights up a room.

Your laughter is my favorite song.

You always look me in the eye when you talk to me.

You’re one of my best friends.

She takes her time reading over what only took me seconds to write. She inhales deeply, then jots her reply before sliding the notebook back.

You have become my best friend.

What now?

I don’t for a second underestimate the significance of her admission. Or her question. I take my time thinking of an appropriate response. I don’t want to mess this up again, but screwing things up with her seems to be my special talent.

I’ve done everything you asked of me.

even before you asked it.

well, most of it before you asked for it.

I know when you made that list you weren’t thinking of me,

but I’ve only ever been thinking of you.

I don’t want to lose our friendship for anything, so

whatever you decide, I’ll respect.

I re-read what I’ve written at least five times before taking a deep breath and sliding the notebook back to her. Make or break time. I’m suddenly glad that she decided to do this the old-fashioned fifth grade way because my hands are shaking. I’m not sure my voice would work if we were speaking to each other.

I don’t know what I expect her reaction to be, but it’s not this. She drops her head to the desk over her folded arms and her shoulders shake.

I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Christ, she’s crying. I made her cry.

I jump when Mrs. Anderson notices as well. “Miss Papageorgiou, are you quite all right?”

Evie pops her head up. Her face is beet red, and a smile is plastered across her face. My heart restarts when I realize she’s been laughing. What the hell was so funny about what I wrote?

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m good. Thank you.” She drops her eyes to the desk contritely, making it look as though she’s been the model student for the past half hour or so.

Mrs. Anderson eyes us suspiciously, but goes back to her lesson. A few rows ahead of us, Jess turns around and makes a walking motion with her fingers, mouthing, “Shoes.”

I glance at Evie. She just shakes her head, still quietly laughing. I grab the notebook from her.

What was that all about?

I’ll tell you later.

Talking later would be good. For the first time in forty-eight hours, I cling to something seemingly foreign: hope.

am I tutoring you after practice today?

I don’t know. I wasn’t in calc, remember?

I didn’t get my quiz back.

Do you want to meet me after practice?

Not in the study room.

I chance a glance over at her. She’s looking forward, pretending to pay attention to the lesson. The smirk on her face makes my heart reach for her again.

Are you messing with me?

Do you want me to mess with you?

Is this a trick question?

She covers her mouth with her hand to stifle another laugh that isn’t so quiet. I’m grinning like an absolute idiot. If anyone notices our strange behavior, they haven’t called us out on it. But I’m starting to feel like we’re toeing the line of getting seriously busted by Mrs. Anderson. I face forward, trying to calm down.

You’re going to get us in trouble.

We might have to study biology later.

I don’t know if she meant it as the double entendre that I’m taking it as or not. I’m two seconds away from losing it completely. Chewing on my lip to hold my laughter and dumb smile in check, I roll my neck and shoulders and purposely avoid looking over at my feisty partner.

Stop it. You’re killing me.

Ok. I’m still mad at you.

I’m sorry. what can I do?

I want an advance on my chocolate.

Done.

Do I get to watch you eat it, now?

No, that’s your punishment.

Harsh.

Deserved.

I know.

So, I’m the reason you started acting like an asshole last year?

No. I am.

I’m not that thing you couldn’t have?

No, you are.

Are?

were?

Just start with hello.

Hello, Evie.

Hello, Rob.

Are you doing anything later?

I don’t know.

I have to check with my calc tutor who gives me orgasmic chocolate and lets me cry on his shoulder.

You also should be worried about my bio partner.

He wanted to kill a guy a few weeks ago for checking me out.

yeah, see, this is why I told you you’d never figure it out for yourself.

I wasn’t obvious or anything.

Thanks for bringing that up.

I already feel so stupid.

No, that would be me.

Be stupid together?

Together.

I don’t think I’ve ever read or written anything so powerful. I want to cover her hand with mine, pull her to me, and kiss her senseless. But we’re still in bio, so I drum my fingers against the desk instead to busy my hands. My piss poor attempt at concentration on anything other than Evie breaks when she slides the notebook back in front of me.