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And then Neil walked into class, taking his seat next to me.
My heart was doing things. Strange things. Like beating faster and then halting altogether. Like the evil in me recognized the holy in him, and it got excited, but it was also backing away in smoothly masked horror.
Or terror. Whatever.
I shut down like I had for the past three days. And then I mentally bitch-slapped myself for it and turned toward him.
“Hey,” I said. Calm, casual, nothing weird about it.
“Hey.” He smiled, hesitant, curious. Nothing weird about it. Or about my physical reaction to it.
Sweaty palms. An uncomfortable awareness settling in my chest, spurring my heart on up and out of its hiding place. It was something I couldn’t help, apparently, so I was going to have to get used to it—this slightly accelerated heartbeat thing. I didn’t think Icouldget used to it, though. It was too alarming.
So, it was something I was going to ignore then.
Awesome. Sounded great to me.
Words. Use them, Olivia!I cursed at myself as Neil slid his backpack over his chair and settled his elbows down onto the desk in front of him, fingers folded beneath his chin.
“So, the poster thing… you want to partner up for it?” I asked him.
He looked me over, eyes trailing over my face before meeting mine. He was waiting for the punchline, I could tell. But I stood my ground. Because that, I could do.
Besides, I was dead serious, and he would know it in about five… four… three… two… one…
“Sure.” He cleared his throat, nodding as if he was reassuring himself. “Sounds good.”
“Perfect,” I said, smiling as I looked up at the board and to our teacher as she began detailing plans for homecoming.
Point one for Olivia, House Slytherin.
We worked on our posters for the last half of class. He’d rolled up the long sleeves of his—gasp, shocker!—checkered, button-up shirt to his elbows, and I absolutely was not watching his forearm muscles tense and shift around beneath his skin as he dipped his brush into red paint, and then stroked the words “Homecoming Election” onto the white poster paper sprawled out in front of us.
Nope. Not I.
I switched out his brush for a new one, ignored the lingering tingle on my hand from where our fingers had touched, and walked over to the sink to rinse out the brush I’d traded him for.
Red paint mixed with water and swirled around and around the basin. Red, to pink, to clear.
Maybe something was different withme.My gut inclination was to scoff at myself, and I did, but it hit me about halfway through that somethingfeltdifferent. We hadn’t talked much, beyond the simple back and forth of what our posters would look like and what they would say, but my eyes had been drawn to him. In more than mere curiosity. My focus, my attention, no matter how many times I’d mentally slapped myself for it, didn’t stray from him for very long.
I looked over my shoulder at him now. If someone tossed me into a confessional and forced me to divulge my sins, I’d probably admit that Neil wasn’t at all what I assumed he’d be. He didn’t shove religion down my throat the second we were paired together like I expected him to, and he didn’t seem to judge me, either—not nearly as much as I was clearly judging him. There was no judgment on his end at all, really. Not when I cursed at my paintbrush, not when I gave up on one of the posters I’d been working on, crumpled it up and threw it in the trash can, and not when I caught him eyeing the small tattoo on the inside of my arm.
I didn’t see a single shred of judgment in his eyes when he looked at me; he just smiled—a lot. Like it was a familiar thing to do.
Why I expected him to randomly quote Bible verses and fling holy water at me, I didn’t know. But there it was. The thought had been lingering at the forefront of my mind when we first sat down to make our posters, and it had forced me to smother a smile because I was so sure I was right. But of course, I’d been wrong. I added that mystery to the growing list of All New Things Neil Summers.
But… what if I hadn’t been wrong? Not all the way?
I set the paintbrush down onto the counter and walked back over to Neil. “Do you carry holy water in your pocket?” I asked, and he outright laughed. Epic opening words if you asked me.
“Seriously?” he responded.
I stayed silent, shrugging.
His eyebrows rose up into his hairline. “Oh. Okay. You are serious.” He seemed a little disappointed by that, but hey, I was who I was. And I really wanted to know. To know that I hadn’t entirely lost my mind, or to know that the world as I thought I knew it wasn’t starting to slip off its axis, I wasn’t sure. That last one, I wasn’t going to admit to myself, though.
And besides, I couldn’t take the question back now, even if it made me feel like a little bit of an asshole.