the way it did last year for biology. When the bell rings, I enjoy the solitude of my partnerless back table, figuring I’ll be lumped in with another table in a trio situation, if necessary. I pull out my notebook and get ready for whatever Mr. Schubert’s got for us.
But before we learn about chemistry, Mr. Schubert calls roll. When it’s time for the M’s, I’m quick to answer for Toby Michaels, despite the itch I always feel in responding to that name. I never felt like a Michaels. I never had a choice. When my mom married Carl and brought them into our lives, I lost my true last name and had to accept the ill-fitting coat of “Michaels” whether I wanted to or not. If only eight-year-olds could have a say in such matters …
With no N’s in class, Mr. Schubert goes straight to the P’s. That’s when the fun begins. “Pane?” He looks up from his tablet, squinting at the rows of silent students. “Pane? … Donovan Pane?”
Faces turn to one another, confused. No one’s familiar with the name, first or last. Donovan Pane? Who are the Panes? Which side of town do they live on? Who knows them? Surely someone?
Just when it starts to dawn on me who it might be, the door flies open with a percussive bang, causing the whole temporary building to shudder in distress. All heads snap to the explosion, and in walks the missing student through a veil of bright daylight.
He is immediately striking, but not for all the reasons that the gossipy front-desk Becky or the girls in English went on about. His tall and slender panther-like build exudes power and confidence, which is then unexpectedly contrasted by the soft, sensitive look of his guarded eyes and smooth flushed cheeks. His short dark hair cuts partway down his forehead and frames the sides of his face in messy spikes, right where sideburns might be, giving him a total lead-singer-of-some-punk-band vibe. His aforementioned sleeveless leather jacket is layered over a gray shirt, fitted perfectly to caress a hint of his chest muscles, the sleeves wrapped around a modest set of biceps—not too big, not too small—with black leather cuffs on his wrists. The guy’s ripped gray jeans have holes at the knees and scrunch up at the shins, atop a pair of military-style boots.
There’s no mistaking it; this is the gorgeous new guy who has the whole school in a whispering, scandalized frenzy.
“You must be Donovan Pane,” Mr. Schubert notes, completely unaffected by his appearance. “Tardiness is forgiven on the first day, of course, as you’re finding your way around. Take a seat at the—” He squints across the room, searching, then nods. “—at the back, right there in the available spot by Toby.”
I freeze, eyes wide.
Donovan looks my way. He regards me for half a second, and that fleeting half second seems to pass like an hour of exquisite torture, before he faces Mr. Schubert and says, “Vann.”
Mr. Schubert lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I go by Vann.”
“Oh. Well, alright. Noted. Please take your seat, Vann.”
With that, Donovan—or Vann, I guess—heads down the aisle of tables. It isn’t lost on me the reactions of all the girls he passes, how they seem to push up their boobs, run hands through their hair, or give him alluring, thirsty looks. One girl by the aisle even shamelessly drops her gaze to his ass after he passes by, biting her lip. When he finally reaches my table, he merely flings his black backpack (adorned with a line of safety pins down one side like a path of metal) onto the floor with a heavy thump, then slides right onto the stool by my side and stares ahead, ignoring me.
I catch a hint of something fragrant. Is that his deodorant? Or is it soap? Or the leather of his jacket? Whatever it is, it captures my senses in a gentle gust of air that washes over me from his claiming that stool. Clean … He smells clean. After that initial glance from the front of the classroom, however, he seems to have no further interest in looking at me. Mr. Schubert finishes the roll call, then begins to tell us about the subjects we should expect to cover this semester and what he expects from us in return.
And I catch absolutely none of the teacher’s words, distracted as I am by my sudden neighbor. Even just sitting there, Vann has a strong, stoic, masculine demeanor.