by Amy Sparling
“Just tell them you were helping the new guy,” I tell her as I fill out the sheet. Admittedly, I’m taking a little longer than I should just because it makes her so annoyed.
“Please hurry,” she says, her eyes darting up and down the hallway as if she’s calculating how quickly she can run.
“So what does Officer mean?” I ask.
“It means I’m like the assistant teacher, and my grades reflect on how well I keep the class in control.” She’s talking faster now, obviously not in the mood to small chat with me. “Are you done yet?”
I take the paper and hand it over to her. “Oh thank God,” she says, snapping it up quickly. She turns to leave and I call her name.
“Asha, your pen.”
“Keep it,” she calls out, already powerwalking down the hallway.
I slide the pen in my pocket and grin as I watch her perfect ass sashay away in that pink dress. I’m not ready for this conversation to be over, and I wonder if she’d be any nicer to me if she weren’t in such a hurry. Desperate to keep her attention, I glance down at my schedule and jog after her.
“Do you know where the English hallway is?” I ask, even though I’m not an idiot and could figure it out myself if I wanted to.
“What teacher?” she asks.
“Emerson.
She glances over at me, almost accusatory. “That’s my English class.”
“Lucky me,” I say.
She doesn’t seem to notice my flirty banter because all she says is, “You can follow me.”
“Thanks,” I say, falling into step with her. “At least most of my classes don’t involve tutus.
She rolls her eyes. “We don’t wear tutus in dance class. Well, not most of the time.”
I have to try very hard not to picture her in something as revealing as a few layers of see-through fabric. She’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but I need to be a little less skeezy if I want to win her over. She looks like the kind of girl who wouldn’t appreciate my dirty mind.
“Doesn’t matter what you wear,” I say, twirling the pen she gave me in my fingers. “I won’t be doing any of that crap. I’ll use the time to do my homework or something.”
She stops dead in her tracks. We’re right in front of the door to our first period English class, and the bell rings. “You will not be doing homework,” she snaps, her eyes wide. She slips into class and chooses one of the empty desks that’s far away from any other empty desks. I don’t have time to tell her that she’s wrong. I’ll be doing whatever I want in eighth period. Because I’m sure as hell not dancing.
Chapter 3
Asha
I can barely focus on Mr. Emerson’s welcome to class speech. My mind is reeling with what just happened between me and that new guy. First, he shows up at the very last minute and insults my dance class, and then he wants to join it. I guess he had to, because the school doesn’t allow you to have an empty schedule. It has to be all filled up with electives until your senior year when you can have a partial day at school so long as your core classes are filled. But still, it’s his fault he didn’t get here in time to pick a class he’d like better than dance. And yet he’s going to take it out on me by saying he won’t dance?
He has another thing coming to him if he thinks he can sit out and do homework in the class. Not. Happening. Normally I wouldn’t care one bit if some jerk guy wants to ruin their grade and flunk a class, but this class matters. I am the Officer, and that means my grade is based solely on my responsibilities. I don’t get graded on the dances or stretches or routines. Mrs. Johnson chooses people like me to be the Officers because we grew up taking years of dance classes outside of school already and we know all that stuff. We’re practically teachers ourselves, which means we don’t get graded on pliés or chasses, but on how well we handle our classes.
The whole thing is based on teamwork, organization, and participation. Last year, Lindsay Chan got in a huge fight with another girl in her class over some guy they liked. As revenge, the girl purposely messed up all Lindsay’s dances. Because Lindsay was Officer, she got a C in the class for not being able to keep everyone working as a team. If I have a student who won’t participate, then my grade goes down. I am not failing a class and ruining my scholarship chances because of Liam.
I take a deep breath and try to focus, telling myself it’ll all be okay. He’s probably just trying to act cool and he’ll cave and do the dances once class begins. Mr. Emerson asks Liam for his new student paperwork, and he gets up and walks right past me to the teacher’s desk. I inhale the sweet yet manly scent of his cologne. Oh gosh. I shake myself. I can not get a crush on this new guy.
But it’s really hard not to notice him. All the girls in my class have clearly noticed him, and some are undressing him with their eyes. I don’t need to do that because the parts of him you can see with clothes on are still pretty sexy. He’s a little muscular, with sculpted arms and wide shoulders. He’s wearing slim fit jeans that he totally pulls off, and a plain black T-shirt. I glance up when he walks back to his desk and his eyes are on me. Crap. He caught me staring at him.
He winks as he walks by. I feel my cheeks go totally red. Ugh. I hate my body for betraying me like this.
The rest of the day goes well enough. I don’t see Liam in any other classes, and there’s only a small bit of awkwardness when Jenna corners me in lunch to “congratulate” me on making Officer, but she doesn’t seem very sincere. I know she also wanted the job, but I guess Mrs. Johnson didn’t think she was ready.
In seventh period, I summon all of my courage to be confident in my first day as Officer. But it’s not really that hard. Because of the shortened schedule, we only have enough time for Mrs. Johnson to talk to the class about what we’ll be doing all year, and then she has me hand out packets. While she explains the dress code, which is black tights and a black tank top, Liam looks up. His eyebrows shoot straight to the ceiling.
“Um, Mrs. Johnson?” he asks. “Is there an exception for boys?”
Some of the girls giggle. No doubt we’re all thinking the same thing. It’s weird for a guy to be in this class. But he’s cute, so I don’t think anyone will be rude to him. Mrs. Johnson looks at me. “What do you think, Asha?”
This is my first official task as Officer, I realize. She’s asking my opinion and I think she’ll agree with whatever I say. I look at Liam, who gives me a pleading gaze. I know he doesn’t want to wear skin-tight leggings and a tank top, and I wouldn’t want to see him in that, anyway. Although his arms would probably look pretty good…
I take a deep breath. “Black shirt and black athletic pants,” I say.
Mrs. Johnson nods. “Sounds good. And welcome to class, Liam. I’m happy to see someone breaking the gender barriers. There are plenty of male dancers in the professional world, and I’m glad to see one in my class.”
I look at Liam, expecting him to thank me or at least look grateful that I went lenient on him for the dress code. Instead, he shrugs and slips an earbud into his ear, ignoring the last few minutes of Mrs. Johnson’s speech.
Chapter 4
Liam
This school isn’t any different from my last few schools. The student body is basically the same. Popular jock douche bags, cheerleaders who try too hard, geeky kids who love being geeks, geeky kids who hate it. The same old stuff, just in a new town. The only difference lies in the fact that my parents seem to think we’re going to settle down and make some roots here. I’ll believe it when I see it. They’re entrepreneurs who are always jumping onto some business idea and trying to become millionaires. While I don’t think they are actually millionaires, we’re doing okay. They just can’t stick with one business, and it makes us move around a lot. They swear it’ll be different this time because they’re both in love with the business they just acquired, but I’m not holding my breath.
I know better than to get too comfortable here. I don’t need to make good friends or anything. I already met some guys at the gym,
and they’re alright. As for girls… well, the hottest one I’ve seen is glaring at me. I want to pull the fire alarm preemptively because I’m pretty sure fire is about to burst out of her eyes.
I don’t know what she expected. I’m not dressing up to be in this class that I am not participating in. No way on earth. I don’t even own black athletic pants and I wasn’t about to go shopping last night to get them.
It’s the second day of school and all the girls just filed into the dance room from the girl’s locker room, all wearing black leggings and a black tank top. I was the only guy in the boy’s locker room, and I didn’t bother changing clothes. Now I’m sitting against the mirrored wall while the other girls cluster together in groups on the floor. I try not to make eye contact with Asha, but this is a room with mirrors for walls, so she’s everywhere.
Mrs. Johnson walks into the classroom looking like some kind of bored housewife. I’m not trying to be judgey or anything, but she’s got this messy tangle of hair that’s pulled up on top of her head, and she’s wearing a baggy T-shirt from a Garth Brooks concert and bright blue pants that can only be from some kind of matching pajama set. She’s wearing flip-flops instead of shoes. Are teachers supposed to be so casual these days?
“Hello,” she says brightly as she passes me. She waves to the class with the fingers that are gripping her Starbucks cup. It’s eighth period, almost two in the afternoon, and seems kind of late for a coffee break. She turns to the class. “Officer Asha will be leading you in warmups today,” she says. “Have fun!” Then she slips into her office, which is a door in the corner of the dance room. The door clicks closed behind her.
If the teacher is this lazy every day, maybe taking dance as an elective was a great idea. The rest of my classes are advanced and pile on the homework like it’s a competition. I could use a break.
Asha addresses the class, standing tall and authoritative in the middle of the room. I catch glimpses of her and her perfect figure in the mirrors, but I’m not really paying attention to anything she says. It’s all dance lingo that I don’t care to learn. The girls get up at some point, and music blasts through the room at an entirely too loud volume. Taylor Swift. Gag.
I glance up from my science textbook to watch the girls organize themselves into four rows. Asha leads them in a warmup dance that’s mostly stretching. It takes everything I have to look away when she bends over to touch her toes. I mean, I want to stare, but I also want to be a decent human being. Gawking over her ass is exactly the opposite. I stare back at my textbook and force myself to read it.
After a while, the music finally stops, but my ears are still hurting from being assaulted with so much crappy pop music. “That’s all for today,” Asha tells the class. “You did great! Hit the lockers.”
The girls file out of the classroom, leaving Asha behind as she messes with the iPod that’s hooked up to the massive speakers in the room. I grab my textbook and shove it back in my backpack and stand up, shouldering it.
“You’re not leaving,” Asha says, not even looking up.
“Everyone else left,” I say.
“No, they went to the locker room. Class doesn’t end for five more minutes. Since you’re not going to the locker room, you have to stay until the bell rings.”
“Maybe I’ll just go hang out in the locker room.”
She turns to me and puts a hand on her hip. “You can’t just sit here every day. You have to dress out and you have to dance.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
Her nostrils flare. “Why are you doing this to me, Liam?”
“Whoa,” I say, holding up my hands. “Don’t take it personally. I’m a guy. I’m just not going to do this crap.”
“It’s not crap,” she says, her eyes glittering with anger. “It’s a school credit. It’s a class. It’s something you have to do because you’re here. No one forced you to sign up.”
“Actually… I was forced to sign up. There was nothing else available.”
She rolls her eyes and drops the iPod to the table with more force than necessary. “Whatever,” she mutters as she makes her way to the door.
I catch up with her and push open the door, holding it open for her. She looks annoyed that she has to walk through something that I’m holding open, and I know I must have really hit a nerve with her. I don’t see what the big deal is because it’s just a silly elective.
“Why does this bother you so much?” I ask softly as we walk into the hallway just as the bell rings, signaling the end of the day. She’s already wearing her backpack and I get the feeling she’s not going to change back into her normal clothes to go home for the day.
“That’s not the question you should be asking,” she says, glancing up at me. I suddenly have a desire to wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. I swallow and try to remember what she just said.
“So what’s the question I should be asking?”
“Um, for starters, why do I want to fail this class?”
“I don’t want to fail, exactly, I just don’t want to dance.”
She rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t care if you fail, Liam. You can do whatever you want to screw up your life and that’s your problem, not mine. But when you come into my dance class and refuse to participate, then it’s my problem.”
“Why’s that?” I say. Two girls walk past us, their gazes on me. I guess it’s because I’m the new guy, but I’ve had a ton of girls stare at me lately. Too bad the only girl I’m interested in is currently staring at me like I’m the worst person on the planet. But at least she’s still walking with me. That’s something.
She sighs. “My grade depends on how well my class does. If you refuse to dance, I could fail the class for not being a good enough leader.”
“That can’t possibly be true.” I’m only saying what I’m thinking—that a school can’t actually fail a student for what another student does, but it must strike a chord with her because now she looks really pissed.
“I can’t believe all my friends think you’re hot,” she snaps, her lip curling in disgust. “You are totally the worst.”
Oh my, she’s really cute when she’s pissed. I don’t exactly want to make her mad, but I kind of like it, too. I grin. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
“You can change into dance clothes,” she says, her voice softening. “That would help a lot.”
“Fine,” I say, slowing as we approach the hallway that leads into the main hall that’s twice as big and filled with people rushing to get home. “For you…” I say, delighting in the way her eyes light up, “I’ll think about changing clothes.”
Chapter 5
Asha
I sit on my bed and organize my homework from greatest amount of effort to least. Math is always the hardest. I like to get the hard stuff out of the way first so that the rest of my homework only gets easier as the night goes on. It’s a little hard concentrating because I’m still thinking about that new guy and how much he gets on my nerves.
School has been in session for two weeks and Liam finally started changing into the dance uniform for eighth period. But that’s all he does. He’ll walk into the dance room wearing Nikes, black pants, and a black shirt that fits snugly against his chest. It’s that shirt that gets everyone’s attention. It’s so annoying how the girls in my class will stare at him or flirt with him as he walks to the corner of the room, sits down, puts in his earbuds and does his school work. I hate it so much.
Mrs. Johnson has told me twice already that I need to make him dance. I’m just not sure how. I tried to talk him into doing the basic warm up with us, thinking it would be easy enough for him. It’s just ten minutes and it’s basically stretching, so it’s not even a dance. He could do it and still feel like a man if that’s important to him. But he just says, “Nah, I’m good,” every day I ask him.
My pencil lead breaks across my math homework. Ugh. I need to stop thinking about Liam and start focusing on
these algebra problems. If only boys were as easy to work out as math. Set up the problem, solve for y. Wouldn’t that be nice?
On Friday, I slink into the locker room before dance and drop my bag to the floor. I’ve had a rough day of exams—the first exam of the year for all of my classes—and I’m just ready for the weekend to begin. But I have to get through yet another day of dealing with the guy who won’t just freaking participate.
Last night I had a great idea to go to the counselor and see if they had any other classes he could change into that way he’d be out of my hair. I visited her this morning, and it did not go very well. She very rudely told me that I’m not allowed to do anything with another student’s schedule and that I shouldn’t be butting into other people’s business. It was just a simple question. She didn’t have to be so rude about it.
I tug my tank top over my head and toss my school clothes back into my backpack. Since I ride my bike home, I never bother changing back into my nice clothes. It’s hot outside and I’ll be covered in sweat anyhow.
“He is so freaking hot.”
“I know!”
I look up curiously when I hear two girls talking from across the locker room. It’s two freshman, Abby and Claire, talking while hovering over a cell phone. Boy talk is pretty much all that goes on in here, but something in the way they say it lets me know exactly who they’re talking about.
“I can’t find his social anywhere,” Abby says. “It’s like he’s a ghost.”
“A fine ass ghost,” Claire says. “You should totally ask him out.”
I know from Claire’s Insta posts that she’s been dating the same guy for two years, so I guess she’s not interested in Liam for anything more than eye candy.
