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“This class is more about making history than studying it,” I point out, feeling the need to keep up this conversation. The teacher is still at his desk, shuffling through papers, so I’m making the most of this moment.
“I’m hoping it’ll help me cultivate my eye.” I must give her a look because she further explains herself. “My artistic eye. Like how I see things. Photography definitely hones your view and makes you look at the world in a different way.”
I’m nodding along with her, but I’ve never thought of photography that way. I’ve heard the teacher prefers we use our phones to take photos and film stuff, and he gives mostly A’s as long as you turn in your assignments on time. Talk about easy. Everyone raves about this class and how you can coast right through it.
I need that. Every easy class I could find at this school, I’ve taken. Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m here, but my parents convinced me and my brother that this would be a good move. At my previous high school, I never got a chance to play football much because it was such a big team and ultra-competitive, from the students to the parents to the coaches. Everyone wanted to go there because the team won championship after championship—eight out of the last ten seasons. That’s fucking huge.
Being on that team was stressful as hell. There were three quarterbacks that were older and better than me. And I was secondstring QB on the JV team because the number one guy was the little brother of the first-string quarterback on the varsity team.
It was bullshit. I knew it. My dad definitely knew it. When Mom suggested I go to another high school, I was reluctant at first. Then Dad took a job coaching an NFL team on the East Coast and it sort of fell into place. This has turned out to be the best move for my future as a football player.
Because I will have a future playing football. I’m working my ass off to ensure it, and last season we almost took it all the way.
This year, we’re on track for more. I can feel it in my soul. We’re going to be state champions if I have anything to do with it. And considering I’m the team captain and the QB, we’re gonna make it happen. Coach Turner demands nothing less than excellence, and the way we’ve looked during practice, we’re going to deliver.
“Your artistic eye, huh?” I finally ask, realizing that I haven’t responded to her yet.
She nods, the ponytail swinging. A constant temptation. “Yes. Definitely. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear me ramble on about art.”
I could listen to her sweet voice all damn day if she wanted to keep talking to me. “I don’t mind.”
“You’re humoring me. It’s okay.” She waves a hand and twists her body so she’s facing toward the front of the class. “I know I can be boring sometimes.”
My mouth drops open and I’m ready to tell her she’s the furthest thing from boring to me, but the teacher starts talking, effectively ending our conversation. Willow isn’t even paying attention to me any longer. Her focus is one hundred percent on the teacher, which means my focus is one hundred percent on her.
Boring. Does she really believe that? I wonder if someone said that to her just to try and tear her down. Maybe some jealous bitch who views her as competition because … yeah.
There is nothing boring about this girl. All that long dark hair I’d like to see down. The deep blue eyes and red, red mouth. Her lips are currently parted as she hurriedly scribbles something down in her open notebook and I realize I’ve got nothing out. Not a piece of paper, not even a pencil.
First day of school we don’t really take notes—at least I don’t. All the teachers pass out a syllabus and go over expectations. Isn’t that good enough? Especially in a class like this. It’s not about note taking and written tests. We’ll have to turn in photos and extremely short videos. How hard can it be?
Leaning forward, I tilt my body to the left, drawing closer to her so I can peek over her shoulder to see what she’s written so far. Her handwriting is perfect of course. I can read it clearly.
Willow catches me spying on her notes and sends me a faint dirty look. “What are you doing?”
Her whisper settles right in my balls. I’m not even deterred by the vague irritation I hear in her question. “Making sure I’m not missing anything.”
The person sitting in front of Willow hands her a syllabus at the same time I receive one too. And on that syllabus is the same thing Willow already wrote down.
“I guess I don’t need to take notes. It’s all here,” Willow seems to murmur to herself as she scans the class expectations and upcoming assignments.
“You sound almost disappointed.”
She says nothing. Just keeps reading the syllabus.
“You coming to my practice today?”
Willow shoots me the quickest look. “Probably not.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“You can watch me.” I thrust out my chest. She’ll want to watch me. I’ll put on a show just for her.
Well, and all the other girls that’ll probably be out there. But everything I do today will be only for my new friend Will.
“I don’t think so.” Her tone is haughty. It kind of turns me on. “I’ve got other things to do.”
