My eyes scanned the large classroom. There she is. Her long, wavy brown hair was shining in the sunlight coming through the window. Beautiful. I smiled as I made my way through the cramped space in between the tables. Getting closer, I noticed the book on the chair beside her, saving my seat. She turned around in her chair and, seeing me coming, smiled a huge smile, moved the book onto the table, and cast her gorgeous sky blue eyes toward the chair. It was from this that I had given her her nickname--Sky. I know. Original, right? But it suited her, and she loved it. As always, she was wearing the necklace I had made her for her birthday last year, which brought out her eyes wonderfully.
“Morning, Gabe. How was your date?” She waggled her eyebrows up and down a few times. Ugh. Did she have to remind me? The night before, I had suffered through endless pain and agony on the worst blind date of my life. Because of what she called her “maternal duty” my mother had set me up with the “delightful and charming” Amber--daughter of my parent’s affluent neighbors, Stephen and Linda Snelling. Amber was, basically, what every guy (but me apparently) would have wanted in a blind date. She was the ditsy, blond, leggy, voluptuous, bad-private-school girl type, and to top it all off--captain of the cheerleading team. Can you say cliché?
“Don’t ask.”
“That bad?”
“She thought Leonardo de Caprio painted the Mona Lisa.”
Sky’s sweet, lilting laugh filled the space between us. “Ouch.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. Ouch indeed.
“You’ll find someone.” She said as Professor Newmann began the lecture. I wanted to tell her I already had found someone, she just happened to have a boyfriend and was, apparently, completely oblivious to the fact that I had a Y chromosome.
I had been in love with Sky since I first met her in our psychology class at the beginning of the year. It was her sophomore and my junior year at Rayford Barnes University, and the seat next to mine was the only one not being occupied. She stumbled in at the last minute, her hair sticking up, shoes untied, and loaded down with a monstrous backpack and a stack of books in her hand. Trying to put the books on the table, she swung her backpack around and brained me in the face. When I woke up, the first thing I saw were those dazzling eyes staring down at me. I was hooked. Since then I had been upgraded to best friend status, helping with problems and giving advice, all the while secretly pining like the hopeless loser I am. And, as a best friend should, I learned every possible thing about her. Things not even her boyfriend knew. Like she had been diagnosed with acute lymphoid leukemia when she was ten years old and had a complete remission. And she still slept with her teddy bear, Ernest, that she got for her third birthday. Everything from her favorite color--viridian (the color you would get if you mixed her sky blue eyes with my dark green ones) -- to her first kiss (junior year, YMCA parking lot, Redmond Wiler--his real name, believe it or not), to the way she liked her jeans to fit (loose in the thigh, low on the hips), I could tell you anything. And I was overjoyed to be her friend, I really was. I just longed for something more.
I felt something warm on my hand. Glancing down, I saw Sky’s hand resting on mine, and I felt a jolt of electricity charge through my veins.
“Gabriel?” Professor Newmann was right next to my desk, a knowing expression on her face. It was beyond obvious that this wasn’t the first time she had tried to get my attention, which probably explained Sky’s hand on mine. Glancing over at her, I could see that she was slightly worried, unlike Professor Newmann, who was smirking at me. She was incredibly young for a professor—probably in her mid-thirties, and wore different rims around her glasses every day. This was my second semester of psychology with her and I had never seen her wear the same ones twice. They were all different colors and shapes. Some had leopard print or rhinestones. It was as if she used them to see inside our heads. She was one person you couldn’t keep secrets from—which, I guess, made sense, her being the psychology teacher and all. Even now, as she looked at me, I could tell she knew how I felt about Sky.
“Sorry, what was that?” I managed, trying to concentrate on talking, rather than the fact that Sky was touching me.
“Your homework, Gabriel.” Professor Newmann said gently as she rolled her eyes. It was all I could do not to moan out loud when Sky removed her hand so that I could grab my bag. I fumbled for the right papers and handed them to her, trying out what I hoped was an apologetic smile. As she took them she shook her head in a will-he-ever-learn kind of way. Moving to the front of the room, she sighed and ran a hand through her thick, black hair before turning back to face the class.
“Please turn to page 253 in your books and we’ll get started.” She said calmly. I read the title of the page we were about to study--Social Influences on Love and Mate Selection. No freaking way.