“It was between third and fourth period on my first day. I was turned around and had no idea where I was going.” That I’d held it together that long had been a milestone for me. The spontaneous tears had only happened once, and I’d managed to run to the bathroom, so no one saw. Back then, the waves of grief had been high and crashed into the shore so fast it was hard to catch my breath. But, surrounded by other kids, the waves were more swells that broke rather than slamming into me like a tidal wave. The choice to come to school had felt like a good one—until it hadn’t.

“You barreled in through those doors.” I pointed over his shoulder. The pretense of my sexy voice dropped. “You must not have zipped your backpack all the way. It caught on the door handle and ripped. Books, pencils, paper flew everywhere. The colorful bouquet of your language turned a few heads, but no one moved to help.” They’d known what I hadn’t. Everyone else kept their distance and, like an idiot, I hadn’t thought I’d need to worry about self-preservation.

“I rushed in to help and crouched down beside you. I picked up a book up against the lockers that slid across the hall and held it out to you.”

My bouncy ‘let’s be friends’ naivety curdled my stomach.

“You glared at me like I’d been the one to push you through the door. Heads turned when you barked at me to ‘get my fucking hands off your stuff.’” I did my best growly Dare impersonation. The words and tone had been seared into my brain.

His devil may care smile faltered and slid off his face.

“Your lip was bleeding and I remember thinking you must have had a shitty morning. You snatched the book out of my hand and glared. I smiled thinking you might have realized you were being an asshole. The bell rang. Classroom doors flew open and people flooded the hallway.” My throat tightened.

“And you said, ‘Who the fuck are you, The New Girl? Rule number 1 of Greenwood Senior High is don’t touch my fucking shit. It’s the tip of the day for The New Girl.’”

His head jerked back. Misery swamped his eyes, but not a flicker of connecting the dots. Dropping his arm from the wall, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and he stepped back, lowering his gaze.

“You don’t remember?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “No, I don’t.” A crimson streak raced down his neck and he moved like he was no longer comfortable in his own skin.

“I’m reminded of that day every time someone calls me TNG. Whatever your deal is,” I waved my hand in front of me, gesturing to him, “I don’t want any part of it.” I jerked the zipper of my backpack shut and swung it up onto my back.

“There’s no deal.” He let out a deep breath like he’d been holding it for days. “I heard you playing your guitar on your back steps. I liked the song, that’s all. Your playing…” His fingers gripped his backpack strap even tighter. “It was beautiful.”