Page 14 of Offside Attraction

She must be the AP English teacher. Early thirties. Pencil skirt. Baby-blue blouse doing absolutely nothing to hide her chest.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, not bothering to smile.

She scans the room and clears her throat.

“I was trying to introduce you to your new classmates, but you seem like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

I lock my phone and slip it into the inner pocket of my blazer.

“Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?”

And people wonder why I hate new schools.

“I’d rather not,” I say flatly. “Thanks.”

A ripple of surprise runs through the room. A few girls purr quietly in my direction, and I resist the urge to crawl out of my skin.

“Oh. That’s fine,” the teacher says after a beat. “I’ll do it for you. Class, this is Dakota Miller. He’s from New York. Now let’s get back to today’s lesson.”

She turns to the board.

“That really Miller?” someone mutters behind me. It sounds like Ezra. “What the fuck happened to him? When did he get so… hip?”

“Why don’t you go ask him?” Hayes says.

There’s irritation in his tone.

I turn just in time to catch Hayes looking straight at me.

Our eyes lock.

Fury burns in his dark gaze as we hold each other there for a long, stretched-out second. Then his mouth curves into a slow smirk before he looks away.

Yeah.

The line has been drawn.

CHAPTER 3

AsmuchasI’dhate to admit it—to anyone or myself—I like school.

It’s one of the few things about me that didn’t change.

But today is almost unbearable with Hayes sitting only a few seats away. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but he refuses to take his eyes off me. If he’s not scrolling through his phone, he’s staring—dark, brooding, relentless.

I pretend not to notice.

Throughout AP English, the teacher drones on about pragmatics and contextual meaning, tossing questions at the class. No one raises a hand—except Hayes. And the annoying part? He’s not even paying attention half the time.

Still, every answer he gives is right.

I know the answers too. I just don’t raise my hand. I never saw the point of performing intelligence for people who don’t care.

By recess, I’ve had enough.

With nothing but a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in my blazer pocket, I wander the school grounds, mapping the place in my head and hunting for somewhere quiet enough to smoke.

Girls wave when I pass. Guys nod like we’re already friends.