A blaze of heat seared my cheeks as I realized who I was talking to—correction—staring at. Anthony Beck. Junior. Used to be skinny-and-pale-wears-sweaters guy. But now … not so much.

Now he was tan-and-hunky-goes-commando guy.

And I couldn’t stop staring at the dark tips of his bangs tangling with his gorgeous, spiky boy-lashes.

I tried to stay composed and aloof and sexy all at the same time. It was hard. I could feel my lips getting freakishly moist à la Poor Josh, and prayed he wouldn’t stick around long enough for the drool to start. But he was leaning against the wall with his weight on his hip, like he better get all comfortable because we’d be chatting for a while or something. “So, do you hit guys often?”

“Actually,” I mumbled, thinking about Poor Josh, “there have been others.”

Anthony chuckled, his eyes unsnapping a little too easily from mine.

I looked quickly away too, and spotted Kori as she battled her way through the hall, rushing to make it to her last class, which was at the other end of the T-shaped hallway.

“Kind of aggressive, doncha think?” he asked. “You know, most girls just tap a guy’s shoulder to get their attention.”

“I … I wasn’t trying to … I was sort of a victim myself.”

“Yeah, saw that. Hit-and-run freshman style.”

I cocked my shoulder and started to say something like: “Yeah, I know. Freshmen.” But then Kori came around the corner and yelled, “Stop drooling over Becks and get to class, Ser!”

I lifted my hand to flip her off, but dropped it quickly as I spotted Principal Teasley’s bald head bobbing along a good foot or so above the crowd as he patrolled for people using cell phones or guys showing off their tan lines. Thankfully (and perhaps wisely), Teasley turned in the same direction as Kori.

“Sorry I hit you,” I said, looking back at Anthony.

He pushed off from the lockers and his mouth cocked up on one side. “Don’t worry about it. I like aggressive girls.”

I would have happily concluded the day with my run-in with Becks, but in my world, there’s no such thing as ending on a positive note. I have Mr. Click—that’s Dick Click if you’re not in his history class, but if you are, then I’m sorry, it’s Mr. Click to you— last period, which sort of puts the kibosh on my happy endings. In the movie of my life, I have him cast as a Bob Newhart type that has been attacked by a pack of rabid chipmunks.