“Not cosmetology. Believe it or not, that isn’t the only trade a poor female can wrap her mind around.”

“What then?” He closed the space between us, boxing me near the wall. I felt the whole world melt into just the two of us.

“Graphic design.” I dropped my voice like we were in a church.

“Why? You missed a year. They won’t let you finish.” He moved a piece of my hair back off of my shoulder and to my back, and my eyes followed his hand.

“There are two summer workshops I’ll take.” The words were a surprise to my ears. I was relieved I had said anything at all, since I suddenly couldn’t trust my voice to do my talking.

“You’re smart.” His hand fell and grabbed mine lazily. “I can tell.”

“One government class and you have me figured out?” I wondered if he could see my heart pounding through my shirt.

“Nope. It wasn’t the government. It was you. You figuring me out.” His black eyes searched my face, the gold flecks like tiny fires. “I see something, I never forget it. You see something, and you cut right through it, don’t you Blix? Right through the crap to what’s really in there?”

I tried to swallow, but my throat was very, very dry. “I didn’t figure you out, Saxon. There’s a lot more to you. And to me.” His hand felt so good holding mine. It was warm, smooth, long-fingered. I liked the way his skin and mine contrasted. I was pale as a ghost, but that looked shocking and right against his darker complexion. We complemented one another. I knew deep in me that we were somehow linked.

My mind instantly conjured an image of Kelsie. I pulled my hand out of his grasp.

“What else is there about you?” He looked down at our hands, now pulled apart.

“I’m a good friend,” I said firmly. “Like to Kelsie. I really like her. She’s very pretty and sweet, isn’t she?”

I said the magic words that smashed our bubble. Saxon backed away from me and his eyes were guarded again, mocking me. “Kelsie’s the best,” he agreed, his voice edged with sexy innuendo.

The bell rang. “Well, I have to go to lunch,” I said.

“I’m headed there.” He looked left, then right. “Should I walk with someone else?”

He was challenging me, trying to see if I would react to him. “Why would you walk with someone else when you have my awesomeness right here?” I asked, my voice sunny and light. “Here’s something else about me: I’m always hungry. I’m going to eat you under the table.”

“You’re on.” He flashed me a joking smile, not the soul-searching smile he’d given me earlier. I told myself I preferred this one, and I hoped I was right.

He led me to the cafeteria, into the annex reserved for upperclassmen to a table in the corner. We sat with a large group of Saxon’s friends who accepted me immediately. I liked listening to them argue and tease each other. Saxon was pretty quiet, but at the end of lunch he did look at my empty tray and torn wrappers and say, “I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed by how much you ate.”

“I’ve always been a big eater,” I shrugged, twisting a sandwich wrapper in my hands.

“That’s why you can run like Gump.” He tossed his soda can on my tray. “Maybe I’ll switch to oatmeal like you, grandma.”

I got up and threw the tray out and he followed me into the hall. “I know the other kids in PreK don’t eat it, but it might work for you.” We were about to pass the doors to the outside. I put my jacket on and zippered it, then pointed to the door. “That’s me.”

Saxon pushed the door open and walked out with me. He watched me undo my bike lock and put on my helmet. I would never not wear it, but I didn’t necessarily want Saxon to watch me put it on.

“It’s cold.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and brought his arms close to his body. The wind bit and made his eyes tear. “Tech is about three miles down the road.”

“It’s chilly,” I countered. “And Tech is two and a half miles.”

“You’re going to freeze to death in the winter.” He stooped down to pick up a mitten I dropped and handed it to me.

I pulled the mitten on. “We’re just spoiled here. Danish people bike everywhere in all kinds of weather. I can do it.”

“They don’t have this kind of terrain, and they don’t get loads of snow, Blix.” I thought this weird abbreviation nickname was kind of endearing. “When it gets bad, I’ll come by your place to pick you up.”

My heart thrilled in my chest. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ it screamed. “No way,” I said. “I’ll take the bus. Plus that you don’t know where I live.”

“No.” The wolf’s smile was back. “You won’t. And I’ll find you.” He reached out and took the end of my hair in his fingers. “Be safe.” He let go reluctantly, my hair fell back over my shoulder, and he turned without another word and went back into the school.

I rode slowly down the stairs, bumping along each step until I came to the road, then I pedaled hard. I was at the school in a few minutes, and I decided to let myself believe that my thumping heart really had something to do with my ride instead of Saxon. I found an old, rusty bike rack and chained my bike. The tech building was low and squat with no plants around the back entrance, though I was sure there were some by the main entrance. The hallways were low and dark, and all of the lights seemed to flicker.

I found a map on the wall and followed it to the front office. A nice older lady smiled at me. “Hello dear. What can I do for you?”

It was really weird to be doing this twice in one day, but it was what I decided I wanted. “Hello.” I made my smile wide and appreciative. “My name is Brenna Blixen. I’m new at this school.”

“Well, I’m Mrs. Olsen.” She winked. “My, you’re a pretty one. Cosmetology?”

“No.” I forced the smile to stay exactly where it was. “I’m in graphic design.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Olsen gave me another wink. “Artsy. Gotcha.” She handed me a thick packet. “Here’s your information and class list. Mr. Giles is down the hall and to your right. He’s your teacher for your first section.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Olsen.” I backed out of the room. I was a little more nervous than I had been at Frankford. Maybe because Meg had been there to greet me, and here there was no one at all.

I made my way down the hall and to the right, and I checked every sign until I saw Mr. Giles’s room. The other students were sitting at tables, already quietly drawing.

Mr. Giles waved me in with a kind smile and explained what was going on.“We’re talking about perspective. I had this group last year, so they know the drill, but I’ll have you start where they are and we’ll catch you up as needed.” He had a big beard and round cheeks, like a garden gnome. “And your name is…?”