I couldn’t believe it.
I’d been at this wretched school for over four weeks and not one of those unbelievably gorgeous guys had asked me out.
It was beyond irritating.
How could they ignore me? I mean, I know I’m beautiful. And interesting. And popular. All of the guys at my old school had been all over me. And, slowly but surely, I was making sure the boys here noticed me. But I didn’t understand how the boys could just not look at me…

As I reread the beginning of my paper, I tried to stifle a giggle. I couldn’t help it; it was funny. My English teacher’s assignment to write a short essay in first person point-of-view about a character the exact opposite of us had been extremely easy and relatively fun to complete. Because the girl in my paper was my total opposite.
I wasn’t beautiful. I wasn’t interesting. And I sure as hell wasn’t popular. But that didn’t bother me.
The only thing that bothered me was him.
I looked around in surprise when I heard the bell ring. A moment later, I sighed in exasperation. Time for the monotony of another school day. English, Algebra, Chemistry, Spanish, World History, and, finally, Keyboarding. Oh well, at least I’d get to see him soon.
As I trudged into my English class, I tried, once again, not to look at him.
I failed miserably.
I couldn’t help it. With features that were more beautiful than handsome, he was impossible not to stare at. His silky, curly, dark-brown locks partially obscured his high, pale forehead. His full lips were pursed in mock confusion and his perfect nose was slightly wrinkled. But his eyes, those gorgeous, sapphire blue eyes, showed only amusement as he kept up his perfect charade of humanity.
As soon as I stepped into the room, he looked up and smiled his picture-perfect smile. In less than a heartbeat, my stare turned from amazement to aggravation. How could he smile at me like that after ignoring me for over four weeks?!
I glared at him for a minute before I turned and stalked off to my seat. I tried to ignore my racing heart and spinning head as I sat down. Forcing myself to keep my head down was harder than I thought. In fact, it took so much of my concentration I didn’t see him until he was right in front of me. Of course, he moved so quietly and quickly, I doubt I would have seen him even if I’d been paying attention.
“Hello, Bridget,” he said in that perfect dulcet voice that never failed to bring a blush to my cheeks and make my heart pound a discordant beat.
“Ashton,” I replied curtly. His lips twitched at my tone, but he kept a straight face. He stared at me and I stared back, getting lost in the blue eyes that stretched into infinity. I started to get dizzy, and I realized that I’d forgotten to breathe. Again. I sighed in exasperation as I closed my eyes.
“What do you want, Ashton?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to frame coherent questions that way.
“I just wanted to hear your voice. You haven’t talked to me in days.” My eyes snapped open in disbelief.
“You can initiate conversations, too, you know,” I retorted, irked. It wasn’t just my fault we hadn’t talked. He hadn’t talked to me in over four weeks.
“In fact,” I continued, getting more upset, “I did try to talk to you just the other day, and you ignored me. Now that sure as hell wasn’t my fault, Ashton,” I concluded, glaring at his impossibly lovely features.
He looked back at me, and, suddenly his eyes were full of ancient grief. He stared at me for a moment more and then replied at last, his voice rough with sadness.
“I’m sorry. Bridget, I can’t explain to you why it’s so hard for me to tell you the truth. It’s just that the truth is so-” He broke off suddenly, and his expression was chagrined, like he’d said something he shouldn’t have.
“So what, Ashton?” I demanded, infuriated at yet another one of his cryptic hints.
He looked at me with agonized eyes and replied, “I wish I could tell you, Bridget. But I just can’t. It hurts too much,” he finished in a resigned voice.
“Hurts?! Ashton, if you want to be my friend, you have to be able to trust me enough to tell me the truth. No matter how much it hurts,” I said scathingly.
Ashton glowered at me for a minute before he replied.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll be on your doorstep at 7 a.m. Saturday. If you want, I’ll explain… Everything. I promise.”
Before I could say anything in response, he turned abruptly and flung himself into his seat. I gazed after him, dazed. I couldn’t believe that in about two days I was finally going to get some real answers.