“Noticed what?”

“Noticed me not noticing you?”

He laughed. “Touché.”

The teachers handed out sheets we were supposed to fill out in order to ‘get to know each other’. The sheets were filled with basic questions like what’s your favorite food, favorite music artist, favorite sport, are you in a relationship.

I blinked once. I looked up at Levi, and then back at the fact sheet. It didn’t say anything about a relationship, so it had either been in my head, or Levi had asked. “What?”

“I said do you have a boyfriend?”

“That’s not one of the questions on the sheet.”

“Aren’t we allowed to deviate from the list?” he asked.

“No.”

“I think we are.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

Levi raised his hand, and Mr. Harper called on him; I cringed. “Yes, boy with the violin?”

“Are we allowed to add our own questions to the fact sheet, teacher with the impressive mustache?” Levi asked, his Southern voice really showing up within his question.

Mr. Harper curled the ends of his mustache with his fingers. “I welcome creative partner exploration.”

“Minus the sex,” Connor chimed in, annoyance in his voice. “This class blows.”

“Nice word choice, Connor. Your saxophone partner can look forward to in-depth conversations about life, politics, and human intelligence with you, I’m sure.” Mr. Harper smirked before walking over to Levi and me. “Where are you from, boy with the violin? I hear the accent.”

“Alabama, teacher with the impressive mustache.”

Levi was able to effortlessly slide into comfortable banter with anyone. He made it seem so charming, too.

“Ah! I met my Leonardo in Alabama many moons ago. Remind me to tell you the story of my da Vinci one day.” Mr. Harper walked off, humming to himself and twirling his mustache in a daze of false memories.

“So…boyfriend?” Levi turned back to me, giving me his full attention.

He wasn’t going to give up, so I gave in. “No boyfriend.”

“The guy with the red hair is just…?”

“A best friend.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to step on the red-haired guy’s toes. It’s against the rules, ya know? Taking another man’s girl.”

I laughed. “What makes you think I’m available for the taking?”

He ran his hand against his jaw line. “I don’t, really. Just hopin’.”

“Why me? You have girls throwing themselves at you. Plus, people like you don’t like people like me.”

“People like me?” He leaned in closer to me. “You mean Southern? Because I was totally kidding when I said the South shall rise again earlier in the hallway to that girl. I’m as Northern as one person could get. I think tater tot casserole is outstanding. The Packers are probably one of the best teams in the NFL. Also, cheese is delicious. Gouda, provolone, sharp cheddar—you name it, I’ll eat it, and I’ll love every bite.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so weird.”

He didn’t say anything else. He just stared at me, his eyes and lips forming the kindest of smiles. I shifted around in my chair. I was uncomfortable with the way he watched me as if he saw into me. I preferred being the ghost of the school. His lips stretched wider as he placed his forearms on the table and clasped his hands together. His chin rested against his hands.

“For the record,” he spoke softly, “people like me find people like you refreshing.”

I placed my pencil on my table and blinked once. Then I proceeded to stare at my feet the rest of the class period. But the whole time I thought about his chocolate eyes.

* * *

As the final bell of the day rang, Levi insisted on walking me to my locker, even though I told him it was unnecessary. He disagreed, leaving us arguing until we both arrived at the hallway my locker was located in.

“By the way, I didn’t really have a threesome in the locker room,” he joked, but I couldn’t respond.

My breath caught. A group of popular girls and guys, including Simon’s stupid crush, Tori, were surrounding my locker. The closer I stepped, the harder my heart pounded against my chest.

Tori turned to me with a wicked smile on her face and her red lipstick tube in her hand. She stuck it in her purse and puckered up her lips. “It turns out even freaks can be whores.”

When I read the red lipstick words spread across my locker, tears started to form in my eyes, but I pushed them down and swallowed hard. Sadly these jerks were going to be highly disappointed. I wasn’t going to cry in front of them. Screw them.

16 and Preganent

Slut

Whore

Gothic tramp

I’d hated a lot of moments in my life. When I was six, I hated that I didn’t get the Barbie doll I wanted for Christmas, and I cried so much that I made myself physically ill for the whole day. When I was eleven I hated that I wasn’t able to go to art camp because I had the chicken pox. When I was fifteen I hated that I was invisible.

But right now was a new level of hate. Right now I just hated me for putting myself in a position to be noticed.

I also hated that the bullies were entertained by my personal struggles, even though they’d spelled pregnant wrong on my locker. They should’ve really thought about being entertained by an English class or something.