Page 68 of I Don't Need Your Romance

She joins in my laughter. “It wasn’t lame. It’s true. You’re not a bad boy.”

“Yes, I am. Quit ruining my street cred.”

She snickers. “Fine. Start the first experiment.”

I read from the paper Sullivan gave us, outlining everything we need to do. “I have no idea what the heck this is saying.”

She tugs the paper to her. “First, gather all your materials.”

I do as she says. “This is lame.”

“Stop calling everything lame.”

“But it is.”

She bumps her shoulder into mine. I bump mine back into hers.

This is weird. We’re never this playful with each other. I can’t help but just watch her, how much of a good mood she’s in. It’s like she’s floating to the sky.

Her hand shoots to her hair, where she tucks it behind her ear. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I shake my head, not taking my eyes off her. “You’re different, that’s all.”

“Different good or different bad?”

“The most terrible different.”

Laughing, she bumps my shoulder with hers again.

Heels clack on the floor before Sullivan appears at our table. “What is going on here?” She gives Sophie such a look, and for a second I think Sophie might shrink away because she’s goofing off instead of focusing on school. But she smiles.

“Damian was just about to start the first experiment, Mrs. Sullivan.”

She glances from her to me with a stern expression. “Very well. See that he does.” She walks away.

“Looks like she’s convinced I’m a bad boy.” I give my partner a pointed look.

“That’s because no one knows you like I do.”

“Yeah? And how’s that?”

She bends close. “You’re very smart. You’re nice. You care. You try to do well.”

I bang my head on the table. “Seriously killing my rep.”

“Mrs. Sullivan’s watching us. We’d better start the first experiment or we might get detention. I can’t get detention, Damian.”

My head lifts. “Okay.”

She lets me take charge, helping me a little here and there, but for the most part I do it on my own. When she smiles, her eyes shining, I feel proud of myself. I don’t like school. I don’t like being tutored, but it makes me feel good to do well. It’s kind of a rush. Is that why she loves school? Does she feel that way every time she aces a test?

“What?” she asks. “Why did you stop writing down your conclusion?”

My hands hover over my laptop keys. “Was just thinking about something, but I won’t tell you because it’s lame.”

“Now you have to tell me because I’m curious.”

“No way.”