"Let's see...Mr. Hanson. Do you care to go before the class and read?"
Zac bit his tongue to keep from making a smart ass remark. Lord knows, one more N in that class and his parents would have a fit. Instead, he slowly stood up and marched to the front of the room, poem in hand.
Why the heck am I so nervous? he asked himself. You're used to singing of 100 times - maybe even more - the amount of people as are in here.
Yeah, another part of him bickered back. But those weren't people you knew. Those were people who wouldn't have the chance to actually speak to you once it was all over with.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Zac began to speak. Carefully, he read line after line, trying to keep rhythm and not to stumble over words. Upon finishing, he looked up. Most everyone looked formidably impressed. Even (shockingly enough) Mr. Smith.
"Well, well, well," the balding man said, peering at him over the rim of his glasses. "Looks like they do teach you rockstars something in those tour buses."
Zac blushed. He mumbled, "My mom's a pretty smart lady. She's been teaching us."
"Yes, yes, fine," Mr. Smith, somewhat perturbed that his effort to make out Zachary to be a complete peion wasn't working, said. "You may be seated."
He hurried back to his seat, and buried his face in his shirt. He hated it when teachers singled him out like that.
"Excuse me," a soft voice said. Zac whirled around.
"What?" he asked, snippishly. He was still a bit itchy from Mr. Smith's class. That man just rubbed him the wrong way.
"You're Taylor's little brother, huh?" she asked/said. She looked at him over the silver rims of her glasses.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "If you're talking about Taylor Hanson."
"Yeah," she said, nodding her head. A strand of dark hair came loose from her ponytail and fell into her face. She brushed it away. "He's friends with my brother. You know, Josh."
"Josh...Josh...Josh?" he asked, trying to place a face with the name. "Josh? Josh Andrews! Of course! You're his little sister..." He struggled to remember her name. God, he felt like he'd just seen her. Hadn't he?
"It's okay if you don't remember," she said softly. She shifted the books she held in her arms, and held out her hand. "It's Jocelyn. I'm...in your English class."
"Oh," he said, shaking her hand. "Hey, Jocelyn. Sorry. Don't you sit, like, on the back of my row?"
"Yeah," she said, smiling and, for the first time, looking up at him. "I just...that was a really good poem you wrote."
He wrinkled his nose. "It's actually not a poem," he explained. "But thanks, anyway. I liked yours too. You did the one on the box of crayons, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"You're funny," he said, smiling in memory. That's where he'd seen her face. She'd come before the class looking a bit pale, but despite her poor color, her presentation had been hysterical. "And I mean in the 'Ha-Ha' way."
She chuckled softly. She began walking on down the sidewalk, whereas Zac had stopped and sat on the curb. He noticed her rearranging her books. "Thanks," she said over her shoulder in that same timid voice.
"Wait!" he called out. She slowly turned around. "Are you walking home?"
"Um, yeah," she said, carefully. "Josh has basketball try-outs."
"Need a ride? Ike can give you a lift," Zac said. She seemed a bit confused.
"I guess so," she said. She slowly walked back and sat down beside him. She dropped her books onto the pavement between them.
"Thanks," she said. He looked at her, grinning.
"Per nada," he shrugged.
Thirty minutes later, Zac got up and stood in the middle of the road. He glanced down at his watch. "Where is he?"
Jocelyn sighed. "Zac, my mom expects me home by 4 o'clock. It's already 3:30, and I mean, gosh, I'd be home in about 15 minutes from now if I just went ahead and walked."
"Do you wanna go ahead and walk?" Zac asked.
She stood up without a word, and gathered up her books. "Let's hit the road."
Immediately, Zac dropped flat on his stomach and began pounding the road with his fists. She laughed. "I didn't mean that literally, you goober. Now get your sorry butt up."
"Hey!" he said, jumping up and pulling the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. "You don't know me well enough to call me a goober...or to call my butt sorry."
In a rare moment of intrepidity, she said, "Guess you'll just have to remedy that."
She blushed the moment the words came out of her mouth, and he felt his heart jump nearly out of his ribcage. A shyness overcame both of them, and they got quiet.
"Want some help carrying those books?" Zac asked bashfully.
She smiled at him. "If you don't mind," was her demure reply. He took two of the four books she carried, and they set out on their trek.
