She held on tighter but didn’t say anything, didn’t relieve me of my fears.

The flush of the toilet brought my thoughts back to Steph as I heard the bathroom door open and her stumbling steps down the hall. My bedroom door swung open and shut, and Steph’s dark figure rounded the bed and got in at the other side of me.

Not even a minute later her drunken snores filled the room.

“Vicki...what happened?” I dared to ask.

I wasn’t sure she’d answer.

But then...

“Jordan,” she whispered tearfully. “He wanted to have sex. I said I didn’t want to, and then he said I was too young for him and...he went off with some girl from his class.”

Dipshit.

Arsehole.

Wanker!

I tightened my grip on my friend. “I’m sorry he did that.”

She cried a little harder, and I tried to soothe and hush her. After a while I felt her body relax. I was sad for her. I hated that a boy had treated her so poorly when he was lucky Vicki Brown had even noticed he existed.

Yet, there was a part of me that wasn’t surprised.

In fact, it just drove home to me why my book boyfriends were a million times better than the real thing. Tonight I’d gone to a party for someone else because I’d made a promise to try harder. However, years ago I’d made a promise to myself, and that promise was painted above my headboard.

To thine own self be true.

Be true to yourself.

Standing in the corner of a party, talking to a boy who bored me and pretending that he didn’t, allowing him close enough to violate my lips... I hadn’t wanted to do any of those things. I hadn’t wanted to go to the party in the first place! And look where it got me.

Worst night in a long time.

From now on, I did what I wanted to do.

I would remain true to myself.

Stay at home reading a lot of books and writing my poetry.

Even if everyone, including my best friends, thought it made me the biggest antisocial weirdo in Porty.

THE FRAGILE ORDINARYSAMANTHA YOUNG

7

They all want to solve you and your mystery,

But I don’t.

They want to unravel your secrets, your history,

But I won’t.

I keep lying to myself, safe from your jagged edge,

All the while my curiosity tries to lure me off the ledge.

—CC

September first was the day I decided to push the boundaries of the school uniform. Our dress code was pretty strict but over the last few weeks I’d gotten away with adding cute, kitschy brooches and pins to the lapels of my blazer. So a week ago I’d asked Vicki if she had time to make me a few pairs of knee-high socks. In black. With gold stripes. They matched the uniform! They just jazzed it up a bit. Vicki whipped them up in a week and today was the first day I was wearing them.

I thought they looked cute, but I had to admit I was a little afraid of a teacher pulling me up for them.

Being worried about wearing outlandish knee socks was the least of my concerns. But I didn’t know that when I walked into the school building that day.

I didn’t know that until English class.

After a few weeks we’d made fast progress with Hamlet. We were on Act Two Scene Two, and Penny Shaw in the year above me was reading the part of the First Player when I became aware of someone hissing something at someone behind me.

The hissing grew more frantic, followed by the sound of stuff thumping to the floor.

We all whipped around to look as Tobias King got out of his chair to pick up his books and jotter from the carpet wearing a beleaguered look on his face. I glanced at Heather to find her opting for an angry, smug expression.

“What is going on over there?” Mr. Stone snapped.

Heather and Tobias seemed to cause some kind of kerfuffle in every lesson, so I could understand why Mr. Stone’s patience was growing thin.

“Nothing, Mr. Stone,” Heather answered sweetly.

“Nothing?” Tobias huffed, still standing as he stared down at her incredulously. He turned to Mr. Stone. “You do realize I’m sitting next to someone in need of a mental health professional?”

“GFY, Tobias!” Heather yelled.

“I have a teenage sister, Heather.” Mr. Stone looked so harassed that I felt sorry for him. “I pretty much understand every text abbreviation under the sun. You can wait outside the room until the end of class and stay there until I come see you.”

“But—”

“No buts, Heather. And when you return to my class, Tobias will no longer be sitting next to you. I’m tired of the two of you causing disruptions. Tobias, grab your things and take the seat next to Comet.”

The blood suddenly whooshed in my ears as my heart rate shot up. I stared in horror at Mr. Stone, and he gave me a reassuring look.

How had this happened?

How was it possible that one little sentence had completely ruined my day? No...wait. My entire year in English class.

The seat next to mine made a rough scraping sound against the hardwearing carpet, and I stared determinedly ahead as Tobias King’s large body settled beside me. I could feel the sprawl of him, the warmth, and smell his faint spicy citrus scent.

My cheeks burned and my muscles tensed as I held myself away from him. As good-looking as this boy was, his indifference, his delinquent behavior, had taken a toll on my crush. I’d thrown him over in favor of a fictional immortal boy warrior called Noah.

However, it was hard to remind myself of that when he was so close—so terrifyingly close—that my body hummed with awareness. I couldn’t concentrate on what was being taught. All I could focus on was the shift of his legs under our desk, the way his arm almost brushed mine as he lifted a hand to drag his fingers through his hair and the irritated sigh that escaped him.

I wasn’t the only one who heard that sigh.

“You disagree, Mr. King?” Our teacher stared at him.

Disagree about what? What had I missed?

Dammit!

“I didn’t say anything.”

I almost jumped at hearing Tobias’s voice so close to me. It had a deep, husky quality that I found pleasant despite myself. It was the accent, I tried to reassure myself. It was different, and I liked different, that was all.

Really.

“You didn’t have to say anything. The sigh was enough. If you disagree with Penny’s understanding of the scene, there are politer ways to respond, Mr. King. Why do you disagree?”

What had Penny’s understanding of the scene been? Oh my goodness, I never daydreamed in English! Damn Tobias King.

He answered with bite, “I think it’s pretty clear Hamlet isn’t referring to his mental state as the devil.”

What? I searched the text in front of me and read it, trying to understand.

“Read the passage again, Tobias. And then tell me what you think it means.”

“I don’t want to read it.”

“Do you want to fail?”

Tobias shifted in his seat, and I risked a glance at him. As soon as my gaze landed on his face, he looked at me.

Crap.

I whipped my gaze back to my text, my cheeks furnace-hot with embarrassment. Then, to my surprise—to all our surprise—Tobias began to read.

And read well.

“Play something like the murder of my father

before mine uncle; I’ll observe his looks,

I’ll tent him to the quick; if ’a do blench,

I know my course. The spirit I have seen

May be a devil, and the devil hath power

T’ assume a pleasing shape; yeah, and perhaps,

Out of my weakness and my melancholy,

As he is very potent with such spirits,

Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds

More relative than this—the play’s the thing

Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.”

My breath stuck in my throat as silence reigned over the classroom. It would appear that the magical something Tobias King had—that magnetism—could be used against me.

Because the boy made Shakespeare hot.

It didn’t seem possible that a teenage boy with the wrong accent could make Shakespeare hot.

I gulped.

“Very good, Tobias,” Mr. Stone said, sounding as astonished as I felt. “Now tell me what you think Hamlet is saying.”