Page 2 of Sweet Tooth
“I can keep going on if you like,” he said, to no one in particular. Then to me he said, “I’m Zane by the way.”
I could only stare at him, vaguely aware that there was a ketchup stain on the lower hem of my shirt I for some reason didn’t want him seeing.
“What makes you think you can disturb this class, young man?” Miss Weiner had now ambled over and was giving him a ferocious look under her bangs.
Zane looked at her, nonplussed. “Sorry I’m late. Admin took forever with the transfer forms.”
When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “I’m Zane Matthews. Today’s my first day.”
Miss Weiner’s sizable nose twitched in comprehension. “Yes, yes.” Then her gaze shot to me again. “That doesn’t mean you have the right to interrupt a classmate in the middle of her presentation.”
Zane considered this, his face finally settling on an expression indicating that he didn’t think much of what she’d said.
“Seemed like she was having some trouble,” he said with a half shrug. “Thought I’d help her out.”
I was suddenly aware that every eye in the room was glued on us. Not that I could blame them. This was the most interesting class we’d had since Bobby’s pen exploded while he was chewing it trying to think an answer to one of Weiner’s unpassable exams.
“That is not for you to say,” Miss Weiner said, clearly disappointed that her chance to ding me had been taken away. As much as I despised History with a fiery passion, I still studied until my eyes were bleeding and my brain was weeping, so that I’d ace all of her stupid tests.
“Nevertheless, we have a class to teach. You two may sit down.” She swivelled her head to fix her bespectacled gaze on Diane. “Diane.”
I beelined back to my seat, my heart leaping up and twirling in my chest. I felt dizzy. What the heck had just happened with that guy, and had he been looking at me how I thought he’d been looking at me?
Thank God for Weiner’s timeliness obsession – now it was someone else’s turn. Although she hadn’t let me off the hook yet.
“You can deliver me your presentation at your lunch hour tomorrow,” Miss Weiner told me as I went to sit down.
“Will do, Miss Weiner,” I said.
I’d figured as much. Anyway, right now, my mind was on other things.
Zane was choosing an empty seat at the front and turned to look at me as he sat down.
‘Thanks’ I mouthed at him. He gave a sort of smile back.
I swallowed and ripped my gaze away before my mouth fell open or my eyes bulged out or I did something completely humiliating.
Beside me, Tamara whispered, “Save!”
“I know,” I said.
“And…” she indicated Zane with raised brows.
I shook my head. “He’s just new.”
Once he met the likes of Gillie Howitzer, who had the kind of fine-spun sun kissed beauty you usually only found in California or modelling agencies, or Mara Powers, whose dark hair, extension-worthy lashes and Italian complexion were lusted after by just about every male on the premises, teachers and janitors included, Zane would forget all about me.
—
The rest of the class passed with the usual boredom. Everyone’s presentations were as equally uninspired and yawn-worthy as Miss Weiner’s monthly diatribe on why History is important. Miss Weiner’s history class had the highest amount of repeats out of all in the entire high school. So basically, my good work ethic was spurred on by that and that alone – the single driving need to avoid having to repeat that goddamn course.
Once we were walking outside of class, things got interesting.
Out of the door, Zane was waiting for me. “You never told me your name.”
I was walking with Tamara and paused again.
For a moment, I just gaped at him like an idiot, unable to find my voice.
“It’s Jess,” Tamara said helpfully. “Anyway, gotta run – I have choir.”
And then she left me standing there, thinking only, Oh shit.
“I thought of a way you could pay me back for my help.”
Well wasn’t he a cheeky one? “Oh yeah?” I said, eyeing him.
I might’ve been shy, and this guy might’ve been hot, but if he crossed the line and made some creepy request, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him off.
“Yeah,” he said. “Give me a tour.”
The relief on my face must’ve been visible, because he chuckled and said, “What? Hoping for something else?”
“No,” I said, forcing my voice into casualness. “You?”
He shrugged. “I got what I wanted. A chance to word-vomit about the War of 1812 and a tour from a pretty girl.”
I chose to ignore the last part. “How’d you know so much about it anyway? You a history buff?”
He made a face, and I realized he had the slightest sprinkling of freckles on his nose that weirdo me was drawn to touch. I kept my hands dug into my sweatshirt pocket, clasping each other to avoid the temptation.
