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But that was a lie, because I wanted Greyson more than I had wanted anything in my entire life.

Four Before

“WE’RE GOING TObe partnering up for this assignment,” our first period teacher announced a few days later.

Everyone immediately began turning in their seats, subtly and not so subtly pairing up into twos. I felt that pull, the one that constantly drew my eyes to him. He was doodling something in his notebook, lost to the world. I watched him, also subtly or not so subtly, also lost to the world. He bit and released his bottom lip over and over again, deep in concentration. I imagined what it would feel like for him to bite my lip like that, or for me to bite his, or to simply feel his lips on mine.

“Mr. Hayes,” our teacher called.

Greyson looked up at him. “Yes, sir?”

Ah, GreysonHayes.A second perfect name for a perfect face.

“You and Ms. Martinez will be working together, and since you’re the only two students not paying any attention in class this morning, it seems you’ll make the perfect pair.”

Ms. Martinez, that was me, but all I really heard wasperfect pair, perfect pair, perfect pair.Yes. Yes, we absolutely would make a perfect pair.

Greyson looked at me, raising an eyebrow in question. I nodded, letting him know that,yep, that’s me. I’m your partner.The corner of his mouth tugged up in a small smile, and he nodded back, quickly looking back down and losing himself in his notebook again.

“Go ahead and get together and begin talking about what direction you think you’ll be heading in for this assignment,” our teacher said to the class. “And remember, poetry is open to interpretation, so there are no wrong answers, but I also want to hear conviction in your presentations. Not only should you believe what you’re telling me, but you should also be able to convince me of it too. Got it?”

A wave of nods andyeseschorused around the room. I grabbed my backpack and stood up, making my way over to Greyson. I plopped down into the seat next to him, but he was so lost in that notebook of his that he didn’t even notice me. At least I didn’t think he did.

I leaned forward, resting my elbow on the desktop and my head in my hand, watching him sketch away.Was he an artist, too?When I looked closer, I saw that he wasn’t drawing, but writing. Words all over the page, on the lines, in the margins.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“Just a song that keeps playing in my head, wanted to get the words down before I forgot them,” he answered without looking up, still writing. So, he was writing a song? His own song, or someone else’s? Was he in a band? Did he sing? Could I survive it if I ever heard him sing? There were a million questions on the tip of my tongue, but I kept them all to myself.

Pairs were murmuring all round us, but the only sounds that really registered were the inhale and exhale of his steady breaths and the familiar scratch of pencil on paper. I closed my eyes, listening, soothed by it.

After a long while, it stopped. I opened my eyes, and he was staring at me.

“Tired?” he asked.

“No. Well, yeah, a little,” I admitted.

He smiled. “So, I guess we should pick a poem.”

I turned to the board, to the long list of names and titles written across it. “Poe,” I answered right away. I liked Poe, was drawn to the darkness of his words.

“Okay, cool.” He turned towards me. “You want to meet after school one day this week to get started?”

I was melting away in his stare. “Yeah, sure. What day?”

“Friday good?”

“Works for me.” I bit the tip of my thumb, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

“Friday it is.”

His eyes.

His eyes, his eyes, his eyes.

“Friday it is,” I agreed.

And his smile, his fingers tugging at the bottom of it.