Chapter Three-

Nerds and Jocks Don’t Date

“So do we start dating now?” Liam asks as we exit the classroom. Miss King watches us leave from her seat on her desk.

“No, then they’ll think we’re late cause we were making out.” I explain. We both pause outside the closed English door, our voices lowering.

“They might think that anyway.” Liam points out.

I shake my head. “I’m the school nerd. You’re the football jock. No one would ever think we would be together.”

“I dunno...” Liam glances at me from the corner of his eye.

“What cave did you crawl out of?” I question rhetorically. “In my world, nerds and jocks don’t date. Ever. We’re gonna be the first and it has to be special.”

“How?”

“I’ll explain later. Oh, and you have lipstick on your face.”

Liam begins scrubbing furiously at his mouth with his shirt sleeve. Done with the conversation and worried about how late we are, I push open the English door. All eyes turn to Liam and I as we enter.

“Ah, Miss Grant, Mr. Burke, so nice of you to join us.” Mr. Morrison pauses in his explaining to sarcastically greet us.

I give him a quick smile and practically run to one of the only empty tables. Liam saunters after me, sitting down in the seat beside mine at the back of the classroom.

“We were just going over the structure of a stanza,” Mr. Morrison informs, staring straight at Liam and I. “And how the length the author chooses can give a poem a certain color.”

I honestly don’t see how stanza length pertains to poem color, but I remain silent. Mr. Morrison is, in polite terms, slightly eccentric. He has bright blue eyes that always have a somewhat wild glint in them and his white hair points in all directions. He looks like some modern-day Albert Einstein. The only thing missing is a thick mustache, which he practically has on some occasions when he sleeps in and doesn’t have time to shave.

“Does anyone know what a two-line stanza is called?”

A girl in the front row raises her hand. Mr. Morrison nods at her and she answers, “A couplet, sir.”

“Very good!” he booms. “A couplet is a set of two lines that usually rhyme. A tercet is a set of three, and a quatrain is a set of four. But, you should all be extremely familiar with these types of poetry. Do you know why?”

The class responds with blank expressions.

Mr. Morrison sighs. “What is one of the number one sources of entertainment? What can bring people of different cultures together or transport you back to a different time? What is the soundtrack to our lives?”

I hesitantly raise my hand. Mr. Morrison nods and I say, “Music, sir?”

“Music!” Mr. Morrison shouts. “Music can tie two people together when nothing else will. It brings back memories; it captures emotion. It is a universal tool for communication and a vessel for creativity. Nothing can compare to music.”

There’s a pregnant pause in his exclamation, most likely for dramatic effect since he does this often. Now, he’s going to announce some great big project he cooked up and the class is going to groan. Sure enough:

“You’re all going to write a song!”

Cue groans of anguish here.

“Now, now. Don’t be like that.” Mr. Morrison grins, happy at the torment he’s inflicting upon his students. “You don’t have to write a song, necessarily. You are welcome to write a poem to express your feelings. However, for those students who are in my music class, if you write and can perform a song for me then you are exempt from the final exam.”

Liam raises his eyebrows at me. We’re both in his music class (although who knows if Liam realizes this; he might just have a brow twitch), and I heard Mr. Morrison’s final exam is hard.

“This assignment is due in two months—”Mr. Morrison’s voice gets louder as he speaks above his chattering students “—but do not think that is an excuse to slack off until the night before! I expect a detailed explanation about what your poem or song means to you! I’ll need a partial rough draft in one month’s time. That is all.”

The classroom fills with the buzzing of students discussing this new assignment. Mr. Morrison takes a seat behind his desk at the front of the classroom, watching the panic.

“Are you going to do the song?” Liam asks me.

I turn in my desk so my legs are in the aisle and lean by back against the armrest. “Yeah, I mean, I’m in his music class so might as well.”

Liam nods in agreement. “I was really worried to take the exam. I heard it’s hard. This will be way easier.”

I examine Liam as he talks. He’s a good-looking guy –called ‘hot’ by the female population –with blonde hair that falls in his eyes ‘just so’ and broad shoulders that tell you he works out. His eyes are grey –almost liquefied silver –and he has the chiseled jaw thing going on. He is, in a word, a babe. And I’m going to date him. Against his will, sure, but date him nonetheless.

Score one for Finley.

“Have you written a song, before?” I say to Liam, tapping the tops of my shoes together.

Liam gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Not really. But it can’t be that hard.”

“Right.” I smirk. “Easy-peasy.”

Liam’s brow furrows but before he can reply his friend Isaac pulls him into a conversation.

I quickly turn away from them and pull out a notebook. I need to plan this out, covering all the bases (so to speak).

By the time the bell rings, signaling the end of fifth period, I have a rough draft of Liam and my contract. It needs to be tweaked, but I believe I’ve thought of the gist of it. The main detail is how people react, anyway. I just need to make sure it looks like Liam is the one falling for me and not the other way around. The last thing I need is a rumor going around that I have a desperate crush on the football star.

“You’re alive!” Peter greets me at my locker, his floppy brown hair hanging over his matching eyes. He pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, almost causing me to drop my books.

“Peter,” I complain lightheartedly, gently pushing him away. He releases me with a grin.

“So Melissa can’t be tried for murder yet?” Peter says conversationally, watching me zip my bag shut. We begin the trek to the west parking lot.

“Not yet.” I say, casting glances around us as we walk. I honestly don’t feel like being dumped in a dumpster today.

Although, a smile breaks across my face. With my new plan those days might just be over.

“What’re you smiling about?” Peter peers at my face curiously as his parked truck comes into view.

“I’ll tell you in the car,” I say, hoping that’s incentive to leave quickly; my Melissa radar is on edge.

Peter lopes over to his vehicle, his long legs making easy work of the distance, and is starting the car when I slide into the passenger seat.

“Alright,” I say, resting my feet on my bag and sitting up straighter. “I’ve discovered my calling in life.”

Peter looks to me as he pulls out of the lot. “Do tell.”

“Blackmail.”

He waits a beat, most likely expecting more. When I don’t elaborate, he prods, “Blackmail…?”

“Yes,” I say, pleased with myself for my devious plan. “Through a series of accidental events, I walked in on Liam Burke making out with Miss King.”

Peter’s eyebrows skyrocket, disappearing into his hair. “Really.”

“Yes,” I say. “And your devious best friend had the common sense to get out her cell phone and start taking pictures.”

“Wow, third-person. This must be good.”

“It is,” I say, barely able to contain my excitement. “Because I’ve got the dirt on the football star and everyone’s favorite teacher!”

“Hottest teacher,” Peter amends. “Not best.”

“Right. So I sent the pictures to my e-mail in case Miss King grabbed the phone and laid down the law on what they’d have to do to stop them from going public.”

“Terms and conditions,” Peter bobs his head.

“Yup. I told Miss King she has to start dressing boarder-line nun--”

“What?” Peter shoots an incredulous glance to me.

My grin gets wider. I am so devious. “I told her she can only show her face and arms. Not even her ankles!”

“Finley,” Peter’s tone is reprimanding, but the sparkle in his warm brown eyes says otherwise.

I sigh and play with the ends of my straight brown hair. “I know. But it’s her own fault for making out with a student while the door’s unlocked.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Such logic.”

I turn to my best friend, hands fidgeting in my lap from excitement. “Don’t you want to hear the best part?”

“Oh, do tell.”

“I’m making Liam date me!” I wait a beat, expecting some sort of reaction. “Peter?” I venture when no reply comes.

Peter’s brow is furrowed, lines journeying across his forehead in confusion. “Why?” he finally asks.

I don’t expect this. Shouldn’t the answer be obvious? “To get back at Melissa.”

Slowly, Peter’s forehead un-creases. “You’re dating the jock to get back at Melissa?”

“Yeah,” I say happily.

The corners of Peter’s mouth twitch. “That’s kinda brilliant.”

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Thanks.”

“What’re you gonna make him do?”

I shrug. “I dunno. The usual I guess. Hold hands, walk me to my locker, carry my books…”

Peter smirks. “This isn’t a Disney movie.”

“Whatever! Okay? I’ll think of something.” I stuff my fist under my chin, my brain working to create some winning idea.

Peter occasionally glances my way, amused, as he drives me home.

“Come up with anything?” He asks when he pulls into my driveway. “The cure for cancer maybe?”

I open my passenger door. “If I had I wouldn’t tell you,” I say primly, the effect ruined somewhat as I practically fall out of Peter’s high truck.

“Watch that step!” he calls unhelpfully.

I wave to him and watch his car until it turns out of sight.