There, standing like a Roman column, is the new girl. She has full pouty lips and smooth eyes under sleek, arced brows. Mink brown hair, off-the-neck short and voluminous on top, curves over her head pompadour style. The sides are back smooth, vintage biker chic. The sleeves of her Boston Marathon T-shirt bunch at her shoulders. Athletic shorts give way to her oh-so-long gorgeous legs.

Flanked on each side of her are LaShell Hayes and Tawanda Shaw, two of our all-state regional girls basketball champions. She’s not really going to sit on their side of the cafeteria, is she? While laughing at something LaShell says, the new girl sits down with them, unfazed by the criticizing stares for sitting outside her group. I wish I didn’t care what people thought.

Before taking a bite, she scopes the cafeteria. Her confident air radiates. I’m completely thrown off kilter. Everything about her vibe, her look, her everything screams fresh, different, and alluring. Just like an obsessed fan, I find myself wanting to know more about her.

Her eyes scan me from head to toe and then lock with mine. Did she just check me out? An easy smile curls her lips, and she tips her chin up. I’m caught in the awe that is the new girl.

And then I realize…I’m staring.

Blood rushes to my face, and I whip back around. A clammy sweat breaks over my skin, and I stare directly at my salad and hope to God no one sees me blushing. This is not good. I clamp down on the part of me that wants to escape, and command it to stay hidden. Before I can go over the edge into a full freak-out, I see Andrew jerk his head to acknowledge the new girl in return. Instantly, I feel like an idiot. Of course she wasn’t checking me out. I breathe.

But I’m a little disappointed too.

The last thing I need is for the new girl to think I’m star-struck. I vow right here on the spot to avoid her at all costs. Even if it kills me.