Chapter 1

        I take a deep breath, clutching my books against my chest as I stare up at my new high school. My dad had gotten a job transfer, which means he and I moved halfway across the country and I have to start a new high school for my senior year. Butterflies are swarming in my stomach. Other students are milling about the campus, running up to greet friends they haven't seen all summer. Occasionally guys whistle at me as they pass, and I notice a few guys blatantly checking me out. I straighten the strap of my bag and pull my skirt down a little.

        A loud, shrill bell announces the beginning of the first day of school, and I feel several kids rushing inside to get to their lockers and arrive on time to class. I take my time, taking in my surroundings and searching the hallways for my locker. Soon enough, I find the locker and spin my dial around to the correct numbers, tugging the end to release the lock. I shove my jacket and supplies into the locker before turning around and heading to my first class, which is AP trig.

        It isn't long before I am seated in my first class of the day, fidgeting nervously with the pen I was holding. Our teacher does roll call, and I see several curious heads turning when "Amber Jenkins" is called. I swallow my nerves and raise my hand. Then Mrs. Flannegan, the thirty-something year old math teacher, tells us she'll be giving us a test to assess our basic knowledge and decide where to begin. An attractive boy with a dazzlingly white smile and shiny blue eyes turns and grins at me, winking.

        "Welcome to Texas, new girl," he whispers to me, handing me a test. I try not to blush as I take the papers from him.

        "Thanks," I respond, smiling and looking down.

        "Don't hide that pretty little smile, darlin'," he says to me. I blush even more.

        The test seems incredibly easy to me, although there are many students who have to stay after class to finish the test. I am the first person finished, so Mrs. Flannegan takes my paper, quickly checking over the first page. I watch her eyebrows rise in surprise and my stomach lurches. She walked away from my desk, reading my answers as she goes.

        I leave that class in a hurry, feeling apprehensive about the months to come. Stopping by my locker, I check my schedule to find that I have health next. That class passes with few interesting occurrences, although I'm glad I found out that the cute boy from trig was named Tyler. Oh, and did I mention? I may be the only person in a 20 mile radius who doesn't have a southern accent. I also hear a few rumors about a cute new English teacher. Girls all around me are basically salivating as they hunt for new details from an eyewitness. Although the news of a mysterious, sexy English teacher intrigue me, I don't put much though into it. Besides, there is a chance that I won't have him, since I am in AP English and a creative literature elective.

        The rest of my classes go by at an alarming speed until I reach my second to last hour, creative literature. I am among the first to reach the classroom, arriving even before the teacher himself does. Checking my schedule, I realize I'll have the same teacher for both creative literature and English. Mr. Jackson is his name, and I pray he is cool and that we'll get along well.

I am gazing up at the front of the classroom about a minute before the bell rang when I see a man who looked to be in his early or mid-twenties walk into the classroom. Stifling my gasp, I realize this must have been the man all the girls were freaking out over. I can certainly see the appeal; the man has piercing green eyes and sexy, disheveled black hair. He looks at me and gives me a breathtaking crooked smile that I am sure has broken a few hearts before.

        The bell saves my life as it startles me out of my fantasizing. My head snaps to the front of the classroom, where Mr. Jackson is standing with a smile on his face, looking around at every individual student in the room as they settled down. Am I crazy, or did his eyes linger on mine for a minute? 

        "Okay, class, welcome to school," he says; his voice is warm and somewhat rough, but not overly so. He laughs a beautiful laugh. "I know, I know, we all miss summer already, but if you love something, let it go. Everyone knows that saying, right? Well anyways, I know we have a new student, if not a few, and for their benefit as well as mine, I vote we spend this class hour getting to know each other, yes?"

There are several murmurs of approval from the room, and it looks like the majority of the class is alright with the idea, especially since it means we don't have work to do.

        "Since I chose the idea, I think it's only fair for me to start us off," Mr. Jackson begins. He smiles and looks around the classroom, his arms open in a gesture that seems to say he's up for anything. "So ask me anything, within reason, and I'll answer it honestly. Come on now, don't be shy…"

        A girl in the back raises her hand giddily, and I roll my eyes at her overenthusiasm. "Ah, yes, my first contestant. Ask away."

        "What's your first name?" the girl asks, flipping her hair and making a popping sound with her gum. She giggles.

        "It's William, but most people call me Will," he says, grinning. "But if any of you call me Will or William, you will get detention. Keep that in mind."

        "Are you married?" inquires another girl, a brunette wearing an excessive amount of bronzer.

        Mr. Jackson laughs again, more of a deep, hearty chuckle. "That was faster than expected, although it was expected, as I said. No, I am not married, nor am I seeing anyone. I'm killing two birds with one stone on that one."

        I see a girl put her hand down when he says he isn't seeing anyone, and I choke back a laugh. Mr. Jackson's eyes quickly land on me.         "What is it, miss…? I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know your name…"

        Blood rushes to my cheeks. "Um, Amber Jenkins. It was nothing, I promise."

        I swear I see a flash of recognition in Mr. Jackson's eyes when I say my name, but I'm probably just imagining it. He doesn't know me. He can't know me. He and I are both new to the school.

        "No, no, please. I insist that you share with us what you found so very amusing," Mr. Jackson argues. He has a teasing grin. My temper flares. You want to make this a game? You asked for it.

        "Well, in that case, William, I was laughing at the… Desperation, for lack of a better term, of your students to know the private details of your social life, particularly females in the class. The way you answered made it seem like you already knew you would be asked those questions. I find it amusing."

        There are several offended gasps from the girls in the room. I grin. "And keep in mind, girls. If you were offended and I didn't say your name in particular, it's simply because you're guilty of it too."

        "Oh, so you're that student, eh?" Mr. Jackson asks, his smirk still there, his eyes boring into my own. I keep my satisfied grin plastered on my face, despite being unnerved by the way he was looking at me. "Well, you've got fight in you. I can see it in your eyes. That can be good, in some cases. I'm sure we'll have a fun time this year, Miss Jenkins. Do you agree?"

        "I agree, Mr. Jackson," I say with a faux arrogant tone in my voice. "I wholeheartedly agree, but please, continue on with your little game of 20 questions, I don't want to interrupt."

        "No, Miss Jenkins, I'm sure you don't," Mr. Jackson says, giving me yet another signature crooked smile and winking discretely at me. My heart flutters slightly, and I curse to myself.

            The next part of the class consists of students asking question after question until they begin to get too personal. Then the class has a discussion about their personal preferences. Mysteriously, however, I'm not involved in this class discussion. I wonder why. One day, and I've already made some enemies.

        The bell rings to dismiss us, and everyone but me rushes out quickly to go to their next class, eager to leave the school. I stand up for a moment to stretch my legs, although I know I was staying in the same class for my final hour. I'm unsure if I am dreading it or looking forward to it.

        "Miss Jenkins, could you stop by and see me after school?" Mr. Jackson asks me, looking at me as he sits down on a desk in front of the classroom.

        "Oh, that won't be a problem, I'm not leaving. I'm in your AP class next hour," I respond, looking at him and smiling innocently. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

        "Ouch. That was cold So I'm guessing your personality is as icy as your eyes?" Mr. Jackson teases.

        I walk over to him and lean closer to him, flipping a lock of hair to the side. "It depends. Does that bother you, Will?"

        "I've always loved a formidable challenge. You've got fight, kid. That's what being a good writer is all about. I assume that's why you've started AP English as well as creative lit. You want to be a writer, correct?" Mr. Jackson says.

        "Well, then I guess I'm more predictable than I'd expected," I reply.

        "No, you're not predictable, I'm just extremely receptive. That's another trait every good writer possesses. You'd be wise to follow suit."

        "Oh, I'm more receptive than you'd think. For example, I notice the way you fidget when you're uncomfortable… When you feel like you're not in control of the conversation. I notice the way you lock eyes with people and lean towards them to make yourself seem more interested in what they're saying. You try to make yourself look engaged to win people over, but trust me, it'll take more than that to win me over."

        Mr. Jackson chuckles appreciatively, giving me a cheeky grin. "I'll keep that in mind, Miss Jenkins. I still ask that you come see me after school, however."

        "I look forward to it," I sneer, sitting down in my seat.

        The bell's shrill tone fills the school yet again, and students scramble to sit in their seats. Mr. Jackson strides to the front of the class again, immediately catching the attention of his students.

        "Hello, class. Welcome to AP English," he says, seeming a lot more official than he did last hour. "Yeah, looking around the room, all your optimism is now gone. You all had these facial expressions of hope like you thought I was going to be cool, and then I opened my mouth and ruined it all."

        There are a few giggles from the class. A boy dressed in moccasins, skinny jeans and a flannel in the back of the classroom shouts, "You're hot!" There are several wolf whistles and I laugh loudly, doubling over.

        "Thank you for that kind assessment, Mr…" Mr. Jackson says, and I was amused to see him blushing slightly, fidgeting with the collar of his dress shirt.

        "Smith, but call me Michael," the boy says, beaming cheekily.

        "Michael, yes. I'll make sure to look out for that name next time," Mr. Jackson states. "Anyways, students, since this is an Advanced Placement class, you should know there will be things you aren't very happy about doing. For example, today, I'd like every single one of you to write me an essay. There isn't a topic I'm going to force you to write about, but I want you to show me where you're at as far as your writing is concerned. So I'm going to let you lose with that information. I want your essays to be at least two pages, written out on lined paper. Have fun."

        A grin spreads across my face. This is my time to really show him what I am capable of, and I have just the topic to write about. I open up my notebook and pulls out a pen before eagerly starting on my paper. By the time the bell rings, I've already written a page and a half, and I know I'll probably stay up all night to finish it as immaculately as I possibly can. I'm about to rush out of the classroom, but then I remember my little meeting with my teacher.

        My stomach is in knots as I approached Mr. Jackson's desk. He looks up from the papers he's examining. "Miss Jenkins, please sit down."

        Nervously, I pull up a chair next to his desk. "Was there anything in particular that you wanted to talk to me about?" I ask.