Friday, January 18

Jason placed a scale on the corner of the room with a customized ruler taped against the wall. It was for the yearly BMI or body mass index, which was required from the beginning and end of the term for the generalized school statistics to see how they could determine ways to make us physically fit and lower the chances of obesity.

The data collected was also needed for medical records; likewise, this would also determine whether the canteen food would be tweaked, and I really wish they did 'cause I am not eating any more of this refugee food they are serving us.

He'd probably rub it in my face that my usual diet was a bad idea and say 'I told you so' with that irresistible smirk forming in his impeccable lips, but then again, I could have gained some pounds, Mrs. Sean's cooking is really good so there's nothing to worry about.

I could still remember the time as if it was just yesterday. Aunt would bring a buffet of treats whenever she visited especially during the time I was sick. Under her custody there were no buts or what-ifs, I was required to eat at least 4 times a day except for additional side snacks. Her cooking was extremely delicious and if she tried, she may even be a five-star chef.

Anxiety and anticipation flogged my thoughts as I waited for my turn. When I was finally up, Jason instructed me to remove my shoes and as I balanced on the scale, as always, he was a gentleman helping this little girl get up on the modern-day machinery.

I could feel the glass platelet seep through my socks, it's probably been in the freezing classroom for hours.

Trying not to manipulate the numbers I bent down slightly for a good look, and read the horrible numbers.

100 pounds, it read, had it not been me bending I could have been little or less 99.5 if that was even possible, but anyways not bad for a 16-year-old. Jason recorded the number on his handy dandy - his words, not mine - notebook and pointed the butt of his pen directly to the ruler against the wall.

From there, I stood up straight, military-style, back flat against the wall heels tucked in, feet gapped at a forty-five-degree angle. Jason leaned so close, that if I looked up, my teeth would have collided with his chin.

Adjusting my head, I was forced to admire his chest. Broad. Smooth. Most definitely perfect I assume. Leaning in closer, I suck in my breath, swearing, dizzy from the heat radiating off his chest.

Nausea grew as his boyish scent seeped into my system. I didn't know why seconds seemed like forever, but it did. It felt as if he was taking his sweet time to do me and finally labeling a ruler above my head, he pulled away.

Smirking, he backed away scribbling the numbers - 5 straight on his notepad. Feeling my cheeks grow hot, I rushed towards my shoes and just as I glanced back, meeting his gaze, he winked. I hate him for even thinking of doing that. He doesn’t even know what kind of power he has on any woman, or in my case, girl.

My heart rate picked up, and I had to slap my cheeks to stop the giddy feeling swelling up inside me.

As I settled back into my seat, Justin snickered whispering something to my ear. He was teasing me about Jason again, and when I denied his assumptions he just nodded though I knew deep inside he could see right through me and went back to tapping away on his phone probably texting Angela, who by now should be back in the girl's locker room changing.

Falling into one of my cloud nine stages while I waited for the day to fly by, someone tapped me on the shoulder snapping me out of my reverie.

Tilting my head to the side I quickly identified the boy from our earlier conversation as Brett, the supposed student council president.

He was charming, I had to give him that. The way his short jet black hair shone under the ceiling lights making that heavenly feel I recalled surrounding him with seems like a valid answer to why he was so loved in the first place. I didn't have to know his lineage to tell what blood ran through his veins, Irish or maybe Italian, looks after all were deceiving, a good build for a face like his.

He smiled welcomingly, that kind of sincere smile that lets you feel somehow captivated by his amiable presence, so the rumors were right, he was nice.

"Hey Paige..." he chimed the smile on his face not once left it. He could probably smile in any situation, but then again, he was the Prez, after all, student council members were like the school version of politicians. And you know politicians, everyone has to like him - just my personal opinion - to each his own.

"You're awfully quiet..."

I choked on a laugh, "Well I'm not a people's person..." I mumbled, not meeting his stare and by the tone of my voice, I think like most people, meeting me turned him off seeing that's the case most of the time but that didn’t seem quite so as the grin of his grew even wider.

"So I heard... Well wanna be my friend?" he chimed again; maybe he was a singer or a member of the choir that it became a habit for him to have that sing-song kind of voice. He turned his desk so that his full body was freely facing mine, his expression, as he leaned close with his hind elbows propped on his desk, eager to hear my answer.

"Sure?" I replied carelessly, and why not? He'd be the first person I come in contact with besides my cousin, Justin, and Jason.

"Great, let's get to the basics..." he smiled extending his hand forward and for a moment there, I hesitated, I don't know why okay, but I just did - a force of habit I guess - and when I finally thought it was safe I took his hand and firmly shaking it up and down like any person would, except mine was rather calculating, like a robot.

Having our hands joined was something I've never experienced before. Even as the gesture was friendly and brief, an unsettling feeling came as his fingers curled with mine. Goosebumps suddenly crept from my hands and spine. His hand was so cold I've never felt such a cold feeling before... Was there even blood circulating over that dead white skin of his? Maybe he was a vampire.

"Hello, my name is Brett Boyce," A breeze swept past by cheeks accompanying the already chilly feeling his touch gave. I jerked free; shaking it to relieve the cold numbness, I nodded.

"Um yeah my name is Paige Levine..." and to this, he laughed,

"What's funny?"

"Nothing,” he shook his head, having the front mop of his hair falling over his forehead, “your name just reminds me of this old TV series... Ever watched Charmed?"

"You mean Paige Mathews," I smirked, I must say, this dude had a good taste for classic flicks.

"I get that a lot, my middle name was Mathews, and you could call me witch as well..." I giggled, there was just something about him that made it easy to confide in and I was just rambling on, pouring out my thoughts on the poor guy.

"You're really funny," he chuckled, "I don't understand why you barely talk to people."

Pointing to myself, I exaggerated a face of utter shock, "I'm flattered but I guess I save the best for people who are worth talking to, Prez..." I joked, man, I'm so lame.

"So I guess,” he leaned forward, wiggling a brow, “I fit that category."

Aww, conceited much? Cute. I guess you could say we got along pretty fast.

"Yeah, sure.” I grinned. “Let's go with that Mr. President"

"And please just call me Brett or anything you like, I don't like getting too formal to a friend." he smiled again, he was cute but the problem was that he just wasn't my type.

Sure he was nice and all, and I guess I could make some space for just another friend to join my lonely circle, but nothing more. Was I very much of a narrow-minded klutz to stick with one man who might not even know or reciprocate my feelings rather than exploring my options?

Pretty much.

"Okay, Brett." I tested the words. It was awkward at first, being on the first name basis with someone who is just as out of my league, it felt nice to have another friend who is not only nice but also humble and fun to be around. I think I can get used to it.

"There you go!" Brett clapped me on the back. "Friends?"

"Friends."