Is poorly imitated after you;

On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,

And you in Grecian tires are painted new:

When I look back at Smith, he’s staring right at me. I will my cheeks not to redden. Far below, I will my legs not to buckle, either.

Speak of the spring and foison of the year;

The one doth shadow of your beauty show,

The other as your bounty doth appear;

And you in every blessed shape we know.

My heart is pounding. I can hear it in my ears and feel it in my chest—so much so that I worry it can be seen from the outside, that people will know what kind of effect this is having on me. That he is having on me.

As he reads the final couplet, I can’t possibly look away.

In all external grace you have some part,

But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

There’s silence in the room—at least until Kristin half whispers, half squeals, “Ohmigod, that was so freaking hot.”

Most of the class cracks up at that and I smile, shaking my head.

“Okay—so now that we’ve looked over some sonnets, we’ll be starting our research project. We’ll be heading over to the library, where Mrs. Reed will show you where you can find the Shakespeare resources. You need to put together a presentation about that topic. You will be performing your presentation in front of the class, so if you’re nervous about that, let me know—I can help walk you through it.”

As the students pack up their bags and start walking to the library, I busy myself by re-collecting the sonnet books, hoping I can get my heart rate to calm down a bit. I keep my eyes on the books and the desks, especially when I see Smith sling an arm around Kristin and whisper something in her ear. She’s giggling as they walk out the classroom door and into the hallway.

Once I’m alone, I lean back against the bookshelf and take deep, uneven breaths.

Why in the world did I think it was a good idea to let him read a sonnet, out loud, in class?

It was like he was speaking directly to me—like he’d written it for me, even.

God, I am such a hot fucking mess.

I take deep, slow breaths as lock my classroom and head for the library, still feeling slightly off kilter and completely furious at myself. As I round the corner, though, that fury is immediately redirected at someone else.

Just outside the media center doors, Smith is standing mere inches, if that, away from Kristin. He’s got one arm braced against the wall, which her back is pressed up against, and he’s smiling down at her. She looks equally as thrilled with his proximity; when he ducks down to whisper something in her ear, she turns a little red with pleasure.

It’s almost the exact same position he and I had been in outside of Dino’s.

My anger is far stronger than I would like to admit as I swoop down on them.

“What do you two think you’re doing?”

Kristin jumps and slides out from under Smith’s arm, but he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he eyes me coolly, then cocks an eyebrow.

“Talking,” he replies.

I narrow my eyes.

“It looked like a little more than that to me. The two of you need to keep your hands to yourself.”

Kristin sucks in a breath, then mutters something that sounds a lot like fucking bitch, but not before I can see that she’s turned bright red. She pushes through the swinging doors, then disappears in the library. When I glance back at Smith, he’s still leaning against the wall, now with his arms crossed.

“Happy now?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

Ignoring him, I move to brush past him, but he grabs my arm. I glare down at his hand, then up at his face.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

He leans even closer. “I could ask you the same damn thing.”

I yank my arm from his grip, then smooth a hand over my shirt and hair.

“I think I’m your teacher,” I say, attempting to sustain a calm pleasant tone. Smith snorts.

“You only think that when it’s convenient. You sure don’t think it when I’ve got my mouth on your tits and my fingers in your pussy.”

I wish I could slap him. God knows he deserves it. But I don’t even get the chance to yell at him or give him what for—instead, a deafening blast of sound erupts around us. Before I can even breathe, I’m flat on the floor with something heavy and solid pressing down on me. It takes me a second to realize it’s Smith’s body. At first, I think he’s hurt. But when he tips his head up to stare down the hallway, I realize something else—he’d been trying to cover me.

He’d been trying to protect me.

Again.

We both look at the custodian, who is picking up the large metal trashcan he’d just dropped on the hard floor. The sound had been more like an explosion than an accident. I’d been so sure this was just another violent incident in the world that is Franklin High School.

For a second, Smith doesn’t move. When he does finally lever himself off me, his face is red and he’s breathing heavily.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks. His voice is gruff and it reminds me of what happened in the teachers’ lounge. It reminds me of what happened at Dino’s.

“No. I’m fine.”

He swallows hard and I can see his throat working. I want to reach out and touch him, but he’s already backing away.

“I thought—it sounded like—”

I just nod at him. “I thought it was something bad, too.” Smith just shakes his head, then turns to head through the library doors. For a long minute, I watch the hinge swinging back and forth, not quite closing. The indecision of that mechanism feels too much like a metaphor. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and head in after Smith.

Chapter Eleven

Sparring Partners

For the remainder of the class, I manage to stay away from him. Instead, I watch Smith as he and his friends tease the girls and joke around with each other. I force myself not to engage. That’s what Smith wants, I tell myself. He wants me to get riled up. He wants me to cause a scene. I don’t know why he wants those things, but I feel it. It’s like a needling ache in my psyche.

So, when the first-period dismissal bell rings, I can’t help but feel relieved. I walk back to my classroom and let myself in. The darkness of the room gives it a sort of calming effect, so I keep the overhead fluorescents off. With a sigh, I kick off my heels, pad over to my desk chair, and drop down into it.

“Tough day¸ dear?”

I jump at least a foot, then look at Smith, who’s now standing in my doorway.

“Don’t you have a second period to go to?”

He shakes his head. “Nope—they’re on a field trip to Annapolis. I couldn’t go with them.”

“Why not?”

Smith doesn’t answer that, just moves further into the room, shoving his hands in his pockets. Behind him, the door shuts loudly. We both jump a little this time.

“What do you want, Smith?”

My voice is tired. I can hear it in my own ears. But Smith doesn’t seem fazed.

“A thank-you would be nice.”

I sigh. “Thank you for launching yourself at me to protect me from the rogue trashcan. I owe you one.”

He grins at that, then crosses his arms.

“I also think you owe Kristin an apology.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Public displays of affection in school aren’t appropriate—especially not during class.”

“There wasn’t any affection. We were just talking.”

I bark a laugh. “Right.”

“Look, if it makes you feel any better, I promise I won’t sully any little girl’s virtue.” He looks me over slowly. “I usually prefer someone a little more . . . experienced.”