“Yeah, I bet that really helped you.” My voice dripped with sarcasm. “I mean, someone with a photographic memory really needs to rely on his underclassman partner to pull him through a set of questions he had memorized.”

“So maybe you’re the big fat tape worm.” He puffed his cheeks out at me, and I smiled in spite of my resolution not to.

“Call me a parasite and we’re even.”

He flicked my sleeve. “I like your shirt.” He took a minute to look at it. I rolled my eyes, fairly sure he was looking at what was contained in the shirt, but did I really have a leg to stand on there? I had been checking him out all morning.

“Thanks. I made it.” It took me a week to get the picture just right before I silk-screened it. It was a picture of my mom dancing at Thorsten’s birthday. I think she had tipped a bit too much vodka into the birthday punch, and it made for a crazy picture. I used the digital program on Thorsten’s computer to fade the image, filled it in with swirls of black and red, made a pink halo around it, then printed it, ironed it on a black shirt and flecked white paint on with a toothbrush. Mom cracked up when she saw it.

“Brenna, you made me look like some punk rocker! I was dancing to the Beatles for heaven’s sake!” she had laughed.

“You’re kidding.” He looked more closely. “Like, you added the paint?”

“No,” I said slowly. “If all I did was flick some paint on it, would I say that I’d made it?” I shook my head. “I took a picture, morphed it, made it an iron on and ironed it. Oh yeah, then I flicked some paint on it.”

“Wow.” Saxon was clearly impressed. “Really, wow. I love it.”

“Thanks. It was originally a picture of my mom dancing to ‘Yellow Submarine,’” I admitted, even though I didn’t really want to share the story with Saxon. I felt like he might think it was ridiculous.

“Your mom? Really?” His grin was completely confident. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“She’d hate you.” I was surprised by how totally sure I was about it.

“No mom hates me.” His face radiated arrogance.

“My mom likes no boy,” I returned. “She’s very protective.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure she’s no dummy. If I had a daughter like you, I’d lock her in a closet and never let her out.” His voice pitched a few octaves deeper.

“I’m a trustworthy kid.” I ignored his innuendo. “My parents know that about me.”

“It isn’t you I’d worry about.” Saxon burned me with a long, obvious look. “It’s any guy with eyes in his head that would worry me.”

“Yeah.” I kept my voice light even though my heart pounded so hard I was sure it would rip through my super cool shirt. “I guess I am pretty ridiculously gorgeous.”

He tugged on the end of my hair. “You’re joking. I’m being serious. You’re damn gorgeous. It’s actually distracting.”

And I wanted to spar back so badly, but there was no way on this earth that I could force words to come out of my mouth, and, thankfully, I didn’t have to because the bell rang and everyone gathered their things together.

“Hand them in! I don’t care if you aren’t done! That was plenty of time!” Sanotoni yelled. “In-class writing tomorrow. This is AP kids, get used to it!”

Saxon walked with me to crafts class, and I felt a wave of relief when I spotted Kelsie. She was the wedge between us, and I needed a living, breathing, physical reminder of why I would be smart to stay far away from Saxon Maclean.

“Brenna!” Kelsie bounced over and gave me a quick hug. “I looked for you before first!”

“I was a little late this morning.” I traced a finger over her intricately beaded necklace. “I love this.” It was layers of minute glass beads threaded and twirled together.

“Thank you!” She touched it proudly. “I made it! Do you want one?”

“Really? But, Kelsie, you shouldn’t give them away. Seriously, sell these and you’ll have enough money to retire before the year is out.”

She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “You’re the best, Brenna. I’m so glad you’re not in Dutchland this year.”

I didn’t bother to correct her this time.

“I love your shirt, by the way. Is it Urban Outfitters?”

“Brenna made it,” Saxon interjected.

I almost forgot that he was there. Almost.

“You have to make me one,” she ordered.

“We’ll barter,” I agreed.

Saxon and Kelsie eyed each other. Kelsie raised her eyebrows at him and looked coolly away.

“I am going to class.” I back-stepped away, my voice awkward and stilted in my own ears.

“I’ll see you in a minute.” Kelsie never took her eyes off of Saxon.

I’m sure they didn’t know that their voices would carry from the hall. Actually, it might have been just because I was eavesdropping that I even heard their conversation, because no one else in the class seemed to notice.

Kelsie’s voice was tight and mean. “That was a pretty lame date, Saxon. Half an hour at a crappy Chinese place? What’s up?”

“I told you, I was just feeling a little weird.” There was a defensive edge to his words. “Give me a break.”

“Look, this was supposed to be fun, Saxon. If it’s going to be all this drama, let’s just stop. I don’t have the time for this.” Kelsie’s voice was definitely that of a woman delivering an ultimatum.

“If that’s how you feel, fine.” Saxon’s words clinked like ice in a glass.

A second later Kelsie marched into the room.

We sat at the table next to one another, a ball of clay in front of each of us. Kelsie kneaded it violently.

“He’s such an asshole.” She punched rhythmically at the clay.

I made a sympathetic face. I knew better than to ever agree with any girl while she ranted about a guy she might really still like.

“Last night, we go on a date, and this has been, like, a month in the works. Half an hour, Brenna! It was like he couldn’t even hear what I was saying, like he couldn’t pay any attention to me at all. I am so not going to be that desperate younger girl chasing the older brooding guy.” She scrunched her nose up. “He’s not worth it. There’s nothing behind all of that mystery bullshit anyway.”

Kelsie’s hands shaped the clay into symmetrical, even pieces and she built them up absentmindedly into something beautiful. I couldn’t do what she was doing if I gave it my full attention and effort.

She pissed and moaned about Saxon, and I sat and made noises of agreement with her sentiments without ever actually saying anything about him. I was ashamed to feel a sense of relief, like Saxon was free for me to pursue now. Because it was dangerously tempting to think of him that way.