Downcast - Cait Reynolds Page 0,3

really good-looking, but not in your usual all-American good boy way. No, he looked...dark. My heart yo-yo'ed from my throat to the pit of my stomach and back.

He was tall and lanky, very pale, with black eyes and shaggy black hair that fell into his eyes. His features were narrow, almost sharp–with narrow eyes, cut cheekbones, thin lips, and a pointed chin.

He looked smart and way too sophisticated for Darbyfield. His black button down shirt, carefully shredded jeans, and black shoes would have instantly labeled him a pretentious Euro douchebag, except for the fact that he looked absolutely right in them.

And I couldn't get over the feeling that I had seen him before.

CHAPTER TWO

I was pretty sure my jaw had just dropped open in completely inappropriate admiration of this wickedly handsome boy, but then I noticed the weirdest thing.

He was looking at me with an equally stunned expression on his face. His shock melted into a toe-curling smile, and his eyes refused to let mine go.

"You're beautiful," he breathed. "More than I..."

Well, that snapped me out of my haze. I scrunched up my face in a grimace of disapproval and silently swiveled in my seat to face front, determined to ignore him. New guy or not, he clearly had already learned that I was an acceptable target for mockery.

"Wait," he murmured, reaching out and touching my forearm. "Please, I meant no offense."

I frowned harder because the way he spoke was so weirdly formal. Risking a glance at him, I was sucked right back into the heated black of his gaze. Were black holes hot? I'd have to ask Helen.

He drew in a deep breath and leaned toward me, his hand cool and heavy on my arm. A tiny part of my brain wracked itself to remember if this was the first time a boy had ever touched me.

"I'm Haley," he said. "Haley Smith."

"Stephanie Starr," I replied reluctantly.

"Stephanie," he repeated my name slowly, as if he was testing the sound of it on his tongue. He smirked at me and said, "It's a pretty name, but not quite you, I think."

Could seventeen-year-old's have heart attacks? It was a legitimate question because my heart was jackhammering in my chest, and I felt a rush of blood move up to my cheeks...and unfortunately, my ears, too. Stupid, burning ears.

I pinched my lips together—I wasn't a cute lip biter like the girls in the books that Helen smuggled to me—and yanked my arm out from under his hand. I turned back to face front and stared stonily in front of me.

"What is it?" Haley asked, touching my elbow with his fingers. "What did I do?"

I drew in a deep, deliberate breath and set my jaw. He was so clearly mocking me now, and it wasn't fair that my body was reacting to his touch in all kinds of nervous, shivery ways.

At this point, Jordan, Rob, and the others had started paying attention to Haley, and as a result, to our interaction. I heard Jordan snicker and fought to keep my eyes dry and on my notebook. I hadn't cried in front of anyone since third grade, and I wasn't about to start senior year with a relapse, no matter how awful my day was starting.

Luckily, the second bell rang, Ms. Collins came in. I felt Haley's hand slip from my elbow, and I relaxed just a fraction. Like most teenagers, I had the perfect ability to use half my brain to listen to the lecture, while the other half was busy replaying the drama.

Seriously, why couldn't he have left me alone? I wasn't trying to "jump fences" into the popular crowd. I knew my place. He was the new guy, too! Didn't I get a grace period before new kids started making fun of me? Then I realized something that almost made me groan out loud.

The Sarlls-Starr-Sterling order had been interrupted by Smith. Haley Smith and his brother were my new locker neighbors. Great. Just freaking great.

A cool touch brushed my hand, and I looked down to see Haley drawing his hand back. Oh. I was clenching my pen so hard that my knuckles were white and the ink was soaking into the pages of my notebook.

The bell for the end of class rang. Startled, I jumped up, jamming my notebook and pen into my bag, and ran out into the safe anonymity of the hallway.

My next class, Poetry, was just down the hall. I slumped into another middle desk, in the greyed-out white