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dream last night.  What had changed?  What did it mean if it had?  I try to retrieve the details of the dream but the memory of it faded quickly after I woke up.  
    Preoccupied by my analysis, I find myself running late to first period.  To really make my morning, it is still cold outside this morning but just warm enough for rain.  I pull up the hood of my jacket and run the entire way to school.  I slide through the door five minutes into class, my hair clinging to my face and water dripping off my hair and clothes.  Mrs. Douglas doesn't pause or even glance up from her notes.  
    I am irritated to see Mackenzie, of all people, in my usual seat.  I settle for a seat in the other corner of the room.  As I pull off my wet jacket and take out my books, I notice the reason for Mackenzie being in my seat.  There's a new boy sitting in front of my usual seat.  He is looking at me with a curious expression on his face.  When our eyes meet, his lips lift into a slight smile before turning back toward Mrs. Douglas.  His eyes are the clearest shade of blue, his gaze penetrating straight through me.  For a moment, I feel a fluttering in my chest before I snuff out the reaction.  
    I chastise myself silently.  That’s right.  He is looking right through you.  You probably look like a drowned rat and your boots squeak.  Who are you?  He’s sitting with Mackenzie Brooks!  Get yourself together before you really embarrass yourself.
    Under the cover of my long hair, I discreetly peer over to the other side of the room.  He is pushing back a stray strand of artfully disheveled chestnut hair that has fallen into his eyes as he scribbles down notes.  His face is all angles, hollow cheekbones with a long straight nose and strong yet elegant jawline.  I notice even his lips are sculpted as he chews on his bottom lip, concentrating as his pen moves across the page of his notebook.  The muscles in his arm are taught under his black t-shirt, a black leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair.  His dark jeans are fitted and speckled with paint and his boot-clad foot is jiggling impatiently as Mrs. Douglas reads on.  
    The longer I look at this boy, the unfamiliar fluttering returns in my chest and my stomach twists into knots.  Such strange sensations, this is what girls are always going on and on about.  I’m horrified to admit to myself that I am attracted to him.  When the bell rings, I realize I have spent most of class staring at this boy.  
    I can't stand him already.  
     
    I am feeling distracted from my restless night and, for once, am grateful when my lunch period rolls around.  Lunchtime is the peak of the high school social feeding frenzy.  I prefer not to participate.  Normally, I take my lunch outside and eat at one of the picnic tables next to the forest preserve.  It’s usually empty out there this time as year as the slightest bit of cold drives everyone indoors.  
    I groan when I step outside my windowless classroom and see it is now raining even harder.  The steady fall of freezing rain outside deters me from my lunch plans and I head back toward the cafeteria.  Weather in Everest Heights never seemed to cooperate with me.  
    There is a buzz of excitement in the lunchroom.  I grab a red plastic tray and stand in the lunch line behind a group of freshman.  I spot Mackenzie and her minions standing in front of them, chatting animatedly.  
    Mackenzie is grilling them for information, “What did you find out about him?”  She plops the school's unappetizing excuse for a salad onto her tray, along with an apple and a Diet Coke.
    Standing behind Mackenzie, Sophia puts the exact same lunch on her tray.  “Well, he's in my third period French class.”  Sophia continues with a giggle, “His French accent is très sexy.  Monsieur Martin was completely freaking out that he finally had someone who could speak French in his class.  He told Monsieur Martin that he lived in Paris for