Violet eyes scrutinize me as the boy sits down on the other side of Max.
“Dashiel, this is Viola,” Max says, nodding his head in my direction. “Vi, this is Dash. We play basketball together. Today’s his first day here.”
I lean forward to see him over Max. “Hello, Dashiel.”
“This is your girl?” he asks Max. “I never thought you’d choose someone so…”
“Opinionated?” Max offers, laughing to himself. I slap his arm and throw him an unimpressed look, which only makes him laugh harder.
Dashiel smiles, and holy hell—he has dimples.
Deep, delicious, twin dimples.
I stare at them without blinking or breathing for longer than I’d like to admit.
“Exactly,” he continues, ignoring me and pulling out a pen from his bag.
I force myself to turn away from him and look straight ahead, staring at the blackboard. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend before, but if I did, I’d imagine he’d look like Dashiel. Sure, I’ve gone on a few dates in my time—okay, two dates, but I’ve never had an actual boyfriend, and I’ve never really wanted one. I hear him talking to Max, but I don’t look in his direction. Instead, I pull out my pink folder and matching stationary and wait for the teacher to commence with the first lesson of the year.
“We have a few new students this year,” Mrs. Jade says, opening her file and scanning a piece of paper. Is she going to make them stand up and introduce themselves? Because that’s awkward.
“Lara Ram and Dashiel Edwards, welcome to our school. I’m sure everyone will be friendly.” She says the last line in a threatening way, as in we better be friendly, or there will be hell to pay. “How about both of you stand up and tell the class something about yourselves?” She looks around the room. “Lara?”
A cute, chubby blonde raises her hand. “I’m Lara. I just moved here from the city.”
We wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t, so we all look in Dashiel’s direction. He stands and glances around the room, making eye contact with everyone. Except me.
“I got expelled from my last school, so I was sent here. I have four sisters, and I’ll kill anyone who even looks at them wrong.” He pauses—to make the threat more dramatic, I think. “That’s how I got expelled last time. Oh, and no one calls me Dashiel. The name is Dash.”
He sits down and the class waits in awkward silence for a few tense moments before Max calls out, “I’ll show him around. Don’t you all offer at the same time.”
Dash chuckles.
Mrs. Jade pushes her glasses up on her nose and says, “Dash, I’d like to see you after class please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies politely, not seeming bothered in the least.
“Okay, class, open your books to page four,” she continues.
We open our books. And I have this feeling that things are going to change this year.
For better or worse, I have no idea.
But I’m going to find out.
Chapter Two
“Why are you acting weird?” Max asks me right in front of Dash.
I look him dead in the eye. “How am I acting weird?”
He narrows his hazel eyes and studies me. “Did you make me lunch?”
I roll my eyes at him and pull out his sandwich in a zip-locked bag, a packet of chips, and a green apple.
“Perfect,” he beams, taking them from my hands. “Thanks, Vi.”
“No problem,” I tell him, knowing tomorrow he will do the same for me. We started this in primary school, when we used to swap lunches anyway most of the time, and it’s something that’s stuck with us.
“She makes you lunch?” Dash asks, looking between the two of us. “That doesn’t sound very feminist of you.”
Max lifts his head and pins Dash with a look. “It’s just something we do.”
Dash nods, a contemplative look on his face. “Do you want to play some ball?”
Max nods and finishes his sandwich in a few bites. “Fuck yeah.” He turns to me. “Do you want to play with us, or sit here?”
“I’ll sit here,” I tell him. He knows how shitty I am at sports, but he still tries to invite me.
“You play ball?” Dash asks me¸ violet eyes observing me.
“Nope,” I reply, opening my packet of chips.
He looks confused then stands up. “I’ll meet you on the court, Max.”
“All right,” Max replies.
I watch as Dash walks up to a young girl, one who looks a lot like Sierra.
“That’s his sister Jasmine,” Max says to me. “There’s four of them. Two are in high school, and two are in primary school. They’re all young.”
“How long have you known him?” I ask curiously, still watching him speak to his sister.
“We’ve played ball together for about a year now,” he says, drinking water from his bottle. “He’s really good. An asset to our team. You’d know if you ever came to any of my games.”
“The last time I came to one of your games, your girlfriend had a fit,” I decide to point out.
“And that’s why she’s my ex,” Max says, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Are you just going to sit here alone?”
I look to my left and then my right. “Well, I’m sure all my friends will keep me company.”
He throws his head back and laughs.
I have a couple of friends, of course, but I’m not close to them like I am Max. They’re more like acquaintances, or ‘convenience friends’, as Max calls them. The type of friends you chat with, hang out with, and have fun with, but you will probably lose contact with the second school is over. I don’t mind my own company though, and I’ll happily sit here and read by myself. Max walks off to the courts, and I finish my book then pull a second one out of my bag. When the bell goes off, I check what class I have next, which turns out to be Home Economics, and head in that direction.
*****
I clear my throat. “So, about before…”
“You mean when you eavesdropped on a private conversation between me and my sister then thought it was a good idea to butt in and give us, random strangers, your personal input?” he says in a dry tone I don’t appreciate.
“To be fair, I thought you were her boyfriend—”
“You know what they say about people who assume,” he continues, rudely cutting me off.
I hold my hand up. “There’s no need to be a dick, dude.”
Dash tips the flour into the bowl and starts stirring. When he walked in late to Home Ec, the seat next to me was the only one left, and now we’re both stuck together, baking bread and making awkward conversation. I pour some oil and flick it into the bowl. Dash stops his aggressive stirring and looks up at me. “That was way too much oil.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I tell him, grabbing the salt. “We need to put the salt in.”
“I’ll do it,” he says, taking the salt from me and tipping some in.
“This is a group activity,” I say drolly, pulling the bowl toward me. “I don’t care how much of a control freak you are; this is my loaf of bread too.”
He expels a sigh, like it’s taking all of his energy to deal with me, and pushes the bowl in my direction. “Have at it then, Viola.”
Liking my name on his lips, I avoid his eyes and pick up the ball of dough, squishing it in my hands. Who am I kidding? I don’t know how to make bread. Or anything. Yeah, I’m no Martha Stewart.
“What do I have to do next?” I ask, refusing to feel sheepish. I glance over at the instructions then look around at the other students nearby, just to see what theirs looks like. When I look back to Dash, I find him already watching me.
“What?” I ask.