It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,15

so he used to tell me, as in, when he was grounded for the two longest weeks in fifth grade because of his report card. Then again in sixth grade. And seventh.

But Julian’s brain doesn’t make him less sexy. And his inability to get his brain moving at lightning speed doesn’t make him less datable, either. He just needs someone to help him.

Someone whose mind works better than her body.

You know, someone like me.

His eyes crawl across the room as he searches for his seat. As he sees me, Tommy’s handing me a notebook, saying, “This is what you missed.”

“Thanks, Tommy.”

I can feel the heat of Julian’s stare, so I make my eyes meet his. It’s two seconds of delicious eye contact. Eye contact that tells me everything I need to know. First, he remembers me. So that horrible fantasy is off the table. Thank God. And second, there is no way that gorgeous piece of hockey player is ever going to be into me. I only got a quick glimpse of him the other day. Now I can see him full on. He’s way out of my league these days.

“Jenna.” His face lights up. At least he’s glad to see me. But it lights up in a way that is not romantic. He waves, and I wave back. It’s all so innocent, but even this tiny dose of the boy is enough to make me momentarily happy. I start to doodle on my notebook, and I swear I have to make a conscious effort not to draw his name.

Julian sits down. I work hard not to breathe out a big sigh. My head is filled with so many possibilities and one big certainty. Julian is in my English class, two rows ahead of me and at perfect staring position. So that means I am guaranteed a front-row seat. Even now, instead of listening to Mr. S., I’m gazing at Julian, wondering if he’s feeling like I am—or even in the zip code of how I’m feeling. Which is why I am caught completely unaware when Mr. Stechshulte asks, “Who wants to get our new student caught up after class today?”

Julian gives me a look like he wants me to save him from this embarrassment, and I so want to raise my hand, but my hand isn’t cooperating. My arm is stubbornly pasted at my side, and, without my arm on board, my hand is not going to make the show. So I shout at my brain to get this done. To make my hand and arm lift. To open my hand. But by the time my arm lifts the tiniest bit, Tori says, “I’ll do it, Mr. S.”

And I want to die. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I want to disappear. More than that, I want to yell at myself. I should be the one helping Julian. I should be his class buddy.

“In the meantime, it’s time for one of our SAT prep quizzes.”

There are groans all around, but it’s not the hardest SAT prep quiz ever given. It’s standard vocab plus analogies. That stuff doesn’t trip me up. I take a quick glance at Julian, and I see his shoulders are slumped and he’s chewing on his eraser.

If I was sitting next to him, I could say something to make him feel better.

“Exchange papers,” Mr. S. says.

Tommy takes mine and gives me his.

As Mr. S. starts to go over the answers, I steal a look at Julian. He’s rubbing his hands against his legs and that kills me a little, because I know he’s feeling bad about how he did. Julian was never a scholar. He always had to be pulled out and get extra help with reading and stuff.

Tommy passes my paper back, a big “100%” written at the top. He makes pretend explosions with his hands. “You are off-the-charts smart!”

I slide his paper back—only five wrong. Not too shabby for him. I try to think of something nice to say but can only come up with a weak “‘Adulation’ and ‘benevolent’ are toughies.” Which earns me a big, goofy Tommy grin.

“I’m no genius, but I’m getting better, right?”

If he means compared to the paper I graded for him last week where he got all of them wrong, then, well, sure. “Yup.”

I give him a thumbs-up, and he laughs. “You’re funny, Jenna.”

Mr. S. does a walk around the room, glancing at people’s papers, answering questions. As he passes by Julian’s desk,