The New Guy (First Love Shorts Book 4) Read online

  Chapter 4

  Liam

  This school isn’t any different from my last few schools. The student body is basically the same. Popular jock douche bags, cheerleaders who try too hard, geeky kids who love being geeks, geeky kids who hate it. The same old stuff, just in a new town. The only difference lies in the fact that my parents seem to think we’re going to settle down and make some roots here. I’ll believe it when I see it. They’re entrepreneurs who are always jumping onto some business idea and trying to become millionaires. While I don’t think they are actually millionaires, we’re doing okay. They just can’t stick with one business, and it makes us move around a lot. They swear it’ll be different this time because they’re both in love with the business they just acquired, but I’m not holding my breath.

  I know better than to get too comfortable here. I don’t need to make good friends or anything. I already met some guys at the gym, and they’re alright. As for girls… well, the hottest one I’ve seen is glaring at me. I want to pull the fire alarm preemptively because I’m pretty sure fire is about to burst out of her eyes.

  I don’t know what she expected. I’m not dressing up to be in this class that I am not participating in. No way in hell. I don’t even own black athletic pants and I wasn’t about to go shopping last night to get them.

  It’s the second day of school and all the girls just filed into the dance room from the girl’s locker room, all wearing black leggings and a black tank top. I was the only guy in the boy’s locker room, and I didn’t bother changing clothes. Now I’m sitting against the mirrored wall while the other girls cluster together in groups on the floor. I try not to make eye contact with Asha, but this is a room with mirrors for walls, so she’s everywhere.

  Mrs. Johnson walks into the classroom looking like some kind of bored housewife. I’m not trying to be judgey or anything, but she’s got this messy tangle of hair that’s pulled up on top of her head, and she’s wearing a baggy T-shirt from a Garth Brooks concert and bright blue pants that can only be from some kind of matching pajama set. She’s wearing flip flops instead of shoes. Are teachers supposed to be so casual these days?

  “Hello,” she says brightly as she passes me. She waves to the class with the fingers that are gripping her Starbucks cup. It’s eighth period, almost two in the afternoon, and seems kind of late for a coffee break. She turns to the class. “Officer Asha will be leading you in warmups today,” she says. “Have fun!” Then she slips into her office, which is a door in the corner of the dance room. The door clicks closed behind her.

  If the teacher is this lazy every day, maybe taking dance as an elective was a great idea. The rest of my classes are advanced and pile on the homework like it’s a competition. I could use a break.

  Asha addresses the class, standing tall and authoritative in the middle of the room. I catch glimpses of her and her perfect figure in the mirrors, but I’m not really paying attention to anything she says. It’s all dance lingo that I don’t care to learn. The girls get up at some point, and music blasts through the room at an entirely too loud volume. Taylor Swift. Gag.

  I glance up from my science textbook to watch the girls organize themselves into four rows. Asha leads them in a warmup dance that’s mostly stretching. It takes everything I have to look away when she bends over to touch her toes. I mean, I want to stare, but I also want to be a decent human being. Gawking over her ass is exactly the opposite. I stare back at my textbook and force myself to read it.

  After a while, the music finally stops, but my ears are still hurting from being assaulted with so much crappy pop music. “That’s all for today,” Asha tells the class. “You did great! Hit the lockers.”

  The girls file out of the classroom, leaving Asha behind as she messes with the iPod that’s hooked up to the massive speakers in the room. I grab my textbook and shove it back in my backpack and stand up, shouldering it.

  “You’re not leaving,” Asha says, not even looking up.

  “Everyone else left,” I say.

  “No, they went to the locker room. Class doesn’t end for five more minutes. Since you’re not going to the locker room, you have to stay until the bell rings.”

  “Maybe I’ll just go hang out in the locker room.”

  She turns to me and puts a hand on her hip. “You can’t just sit here every day. You have to dress out and you have to dance.”

  I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

  Her nostrils flare. “Why are you doing this to me, Liam?”

  “Whoa,” I say, holding up my hands. “Don’t take it personally. I’m a guy. I’m just not going to do this shit.”

  “It’s not shit,” she says, her eyes glittering with anger. “It’s a school credit. It’s a class. It’s something you have to do because you’re here. No one forced you to sign up.”

  “Actually… I was forced to sign up. There was nothing else available.”

  She rolls her eyes and drops the iPod to the table with more force than necessary. “Whatever,” she mutters as she makes her way to the door.

  I catch up with her and push open the door, holding it open for her. She looks annoyed that she has to walk through something that I’m holding open, and I know I must have really hit a nerve with her. I don’t see what the big deal is because it’s just a silly elective.

  “Why does this bother you so much?” I ask softly as we walk into the hallway just as the bell rings, signaling the end of the day. She’s already wearing her backpack and I get the feeling she’s not going to change back into her normal clothes to go home for the day.

  “That’s not the question you should be asking,” she says, glancing up at me. I suddenly have a desire to wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. I swallow and try to remember what she just said.

  “So what’s the question I should be asking?”

  “Um, for starters, why do I want to fail this class?”

  “I don’t want to fail, exactly, I just don’t want to dance.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t care if you fail, Liam. You can do whatever you want to screw up your life and that’s your problem, not mine. But when you come into my dance class and refuse to participate, then it’s my problem.”

  “Why’s that?” I say. Two girls walk past us, their gazes on me. I guess it’s because I’m the new guy, but I’ve had a ton of girls stare at me lately. Too bad the only girl I’m interested in is currently staring at me like I’m the worst person on the planet. But at least she’s still walking with me. That’s something.

  She sighs. “My grade depends on how well my class does. If you refuse to dance, I could fail the class for not being a good enough leader.”

  “That can’t possibly be true.” I’m only saying what I’m thinking—that a school can’t actually fail a student for what another student does, but it must strike a chord with her because now she looks really pissed.

  “I can’t believe all my friends think you’re hot,” she snaps, her lip curling in disgust. “You are totally the worst.”

  Oh my, she’s sexy as hell when she’s pissed. I don’t exactly want to make her mad, but I kind of like it, too. I grin. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

  “You can change into dance clothes,” she says, her voice softening. “That would help a lot.”

  “Fine,” I say, slowing as we approach the hallway that leads into the main hall that’s twice as big and filled with people rushing to get home. “For you…” I say, delighting in the way her eyes light up, “I’ll think about changing clothes.”

  Chapter 5

  Asha

  I sit on my bed and organize my homework from greatest amount of effort to least. Math is always the hardest. I like to get the hard stuff out of the way first so that the rest of my homework only gets easier as the night goes on. It’s a little hard concentrating because I’m still thinking about that new guy and how much he gets on my nerves.

  School has been in session for
two weeks and Liam finally started changing into the dance uniform for eighth period. But that’s all he does. He’ll walk into the dance room wearing Nikes, black pants, and a black shirt that fits snugly against his chest. It’s that shirt that gets everyone’s attention. It’s so annoying how the girls in my class will stare at him or flirt with him as he walks to the corner of the room, sits down, puts in his earbuds and does his school work. I hate it so much.

  Mrs. Johnson has told me twice already that I need to make him dance. I’m just not sure how. I tried to talk him into doing the basic warm up with us, thinking it would be easy enough for him. It’s just ten minutes and it’s basically stretching, so it’s not even a dance. He could do it and still feel like a man if that’s important to him. But he just says, “Nah, I’m good,” every day I ask him.

  My pencil lead breaks across my math homework. Ugh. I need to stop thinking about Liam and start focusing on these algebra problems. If only boys were as easy to work out as math. Set up the problem, solve for y. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  On Friday, I slink into the locker room before dance and drop my bag to the floor. I’ve had a rough day of exams—the first exam of the year for all of my classes—and I’m just ready for the weekend to begin. But I have to get through yet another day of dealing with the guy who won’t just freaking participate.

  Last night I had a great idea to go to the counselor and see if they had any other classes he could change into that way he’d be out of my hair. I visited her this morning, and it did not go very well. She very rudely told me that I’m not allowed to do anything with another student’s schedule and that I shouldn’t be butting into other people’s business. It was just a simple question. She didn’t have to be so rude about it.

  I tug my tank top over my head and toss my school clothes back into my backpack. Since I ride my bike home, I never bother changing back into my nice clothes. It’s hot outside and I’ll be covered in sweat anyhow.

  “He is so freaking hot.”

  “I know!”

  I look up curiously when I hear two girls talking from across the locker room. It’s two freshman, Abby and Claire, talking while hovering over a cell phone. Boy talk is pretty much all that goes on in here, but something in the way they say it lets me know exactly who they’re talking about.

  “I can’t find his social anywhere,” Abby says. “It’s like he’s a ghost.”

  “A fine ass ghost,” Claire says. “You should totally ask him out.”

  I know from Claire’s Insta posts that she’s been dating the same guy for two years, so I guess she’s not interested in Liam for anything more than eye candy.

  “I wanted to talk on social first!” Abby says, her eyes going wide. “He’s like, way too hot to talk to in person.”

  “Instead of stalking him on social media, why not talk him into dancing in my class?” I tell her.

  She startles when she realizes I’ve been listening to their conversation. Her cheeks turn bright red. “I don’t think anyone can talk him into dancing,” she says. “I mean, you’re the Officer and he ignores you.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I say with a groan.

  I head into the dance room, trying not to let this annoy me so much. I mean, I get it. Liam is totally hot. Probably the hottest guy in school. But he’s an ass. He’s flirty and cocky and refuses to do one little thing. It’s not like anyone would care if he danced in class with the other twenty girls in here. They’d all think it was awesome and would be begging me to teach salsa or something so they could take turns dancing with him.

  When he first walked into class that third day of school and he was wearing black dance clothes, I was so excited. I thought for sure that I had changed his mind, that my talk with him in the hallway had convinced him to help me pass the class. But the wardrobe change is all he did. He’s a selfish ass, and yet all the other girls can’t stop swooning over him. They act like he’s the greatest thing to ever walk into this school and I hate it. It’s easy to swoon over a guy when your grade doesn’t depend on it.

  Nothing changes in class today. Liam comes in wearing his dance clothes and then sits on the floor and listens to music on his phone. I turn up our warmup music extra loud in the hopes that it’ll make his music impossible for him to hear. When we do the warmup, I try to lose myself in the movements, releasing my stress with each stretch. There was a time in my life when I adored dance, and that all fell apart the moment Liam stepped into my classroom. Now it’s a chore that I have to deal with every day. I want to pass this class. I want to prove my leadership abilities and have the best dance at the homecoming pep rally next month.

  All seven of Mrs. Johnson’s dance classes put on a dance at the pep rally. The music and choreography is entirely up to that class’s Officer, and the entire school votes on the best dance. The winner gets a $1000 college scholarship from Emma’s Dance Academy. Since everything about college is expensive, I need all the little scholarships I can get, in addition to needing large ones. This is important, and I’d spent all summer thinking I’d have the perfect dance for the pep rally. Now I’m not so sure. Without Liam’s participation, it won’t matter.

  After the warm up, I move the class into practicing their chasses in diagonal lines across the floor. I keep thinking of ways to go over to Liam and ask him to try out a chasse. Even one. I could beg him to just do one and then quit if he doesn’t like it. Mrs. Johnson would have to give me credit for getting him to try. But every time I look over there, I see him looking right back at me. I always look away, too afraid to make the eye contact last for more than a second.

  By the time the bell rings, I’ve wasted the entire class trying to get the courage to talk to him. I don’t know why he’s so intimidating. Maybe it’s because so much is at stake for me. Or maybe it’s that cocky grin he gets every time we see each other. His hotness level is definitely something that makes me weak in the knees, and I totally hate him for it. I’m an Officer now, and I’m supposed to be confident, a leader, and professional. He turns me into goo.

  He’s taking his time packing up his stuff today. Normally, he’s out the door the second the bell rings, but today he’s hanging back. He glances at the two girls who are talking to Mrs. Johnson in her office, and it’s almost like he wants them to leave. Does he want to be alone with me?

  My toes tingle when he meets my gaze across the room. “Asha,” he says, with a slight nod of his head.

  I try not to care. It’s the first time he’s talked to me since that second day of school. My throat goes dry. “Yeah?” I say.

  He moves his hands in a downward gesture toward his body. “Like my dance clothes?”

  I hold my chin up. “Dance clothes? I just see regular clothes.”

  “These are dance clothes. It’s exactly what you said I should wear. I thought you’d be happy about it but you’ve been ignoring me for two weeks.”

  “Those aren’t dance clothes,” I say. He steps a little closer to me as we inch out the doorway and I catch the scent of his cologne. Immediately I wish I hadn’t. He smells as sexy as he looks. I swallow. “For clothes to be dance clothes, you have to actually dance in them.”

  He laughs. “Fair enough. But I’m doing this for you. So you’ll get a passing grade.”

  I shake my head. “The clothes are only part of it. You have to actually put forth effort in the class, Liam. Even just doing the warm up with us would help.”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets. As we walk, I can see girls staring at us. Some are curious, some are annoyed that I’m walking with Briggs High School’s hottest sophomore. “How about this,” he says, turning that sexy grin on me. “You go on a date with me and I’ll do the warm up.”

  My heart lodges in my throat. Is he actually asking me out?

  No way.

  There’s no way.

  He’s just being his typical jerk self. If I say yes, he’ll probably laugh in my face. I pretend I’m not the least bit fazed by what he just said. “That’s
extortion.”

  “No…” he says, his voice like honey. While he walk, he bumps into my arm with his arm, his hands still in his pockets. There’s something weirdly intimate about the touch. “It’s not extortion. It’s just me trying my luck with a pretty girl.” He clears his throat. “Trying, and failing.”

  Oh my God. Is this real? It can’t possibly be real. He watches me so intently I forget to breathe.

  “So…” he says. “Are you considering it?”

  “If I go on a date with you, you’ll participate in class?” I say.

  He shrugs. “I said I’ll do the warm up. Not the dancing.”

  It’s better than nothing, I guess. “Is that a promise?”

  He grins. “You’ll have to go out with me and see for yourself.”

  As much as I want to say yes, I can’t. It feels like a trap. There’s no way Liam likes me. If he did, he’d already be participating in class just to make me happy, right? That’s what guys do when they like a girl. No, Liam is either pranking me in a very rude way, or maybe he thinks he can get lucky or something because I’m desperate to pass this class.

  Well, I’m not going to be the butt of his stupid joke.

  “Forget it,” I say, trying to act strong even though I totally don’t mean the words I’m about to say. “I’d rather fail the class than go on a date with you.”

  Chapter 6

  Liam

  It’s so stupid, I know. It’s completely pathetic of me. But the more Asha ignores me, the harder I’m crushing on her. There’s something really sexy about a girl who doesn’t throw herself on me. I guess it’s because I’m new, and that makes me interesting in this small town, but several girls in this high school have already made it very clear that they’re interested in me. Some more than others.