Chapter 2

There are only a few minutes left before class starts. The teacher has already come out of the lab room, but the class is still noisy. I hear Sean and Kate laughing together, Hugh the class clown cracking loud jokes, but biology is my favorite subject, and I’m doing everything I can to focus on the lesson ahead. I open my new textbook and am about to press my hands over my ears when, suddenly, the classroom goes quiet all on its own.

I lift my head along with everyone else, right as a tall, dark-haired guy appears in the doorway, wearing a black T-shirt with a steel-colored hieroglyph print, boots, and black military-style pants.

He gives Mr. Shelman a short nod instead of a greeting, adjusts the backpack hanging off one shoulder, and slowly scans the room. Spotting an empty seat at the last desk by the window, he heads toward it with confidence, not saying hello to anyone, while everyone around him comes back to life and starts whispering in surprise.

Trisha’s eyes go round too. Forgetting all about Renton, she grabs my arm and pulls me toward her.

“Oh my God, Ash! Are you seeing him too? That’s Matthew Palmer! Did he actually come back to school? He only got expelled last spring for fighting!”

If you aren’t blind, it’s very hard not to notice the person everyone is staring at.

And of course I’m watching him too. Watching the guy with the strong, lithe body as he turns into the aisle between the rows of desks to take the seat he’s chosen.

“What’s he even doing here?” my anxious friend breathes, and I whisper back:

“Apparently the same thing we are—knowledge and a diploma! And keep it down, Trisha,” I plead, feeling a prickly chill crawl down my spine as Palmer gets closer. “He’ll hear us!”

My friend would love to stay quiet, but the little devil inside her refuses to settle down. And I doubt a single student in this class is thinking anything different right now.

“Oh my God, Ashley!” she exclaims again, right into my ear. “He’s sitting next to us! What if he asks us something? Jake told me he’s bad news! He hangs out with dangerous guys, and his older brother is in prison!”

I jab my friend in the side and ask her to shut up, partly because Mr. Shelman starts calling roll, and partly because Palmer really might hear us. But she lasts about five minutes, and even then she keeps sneaking glances at our new neighbor.

“Ash?” She tugs lightly at my sleeve again.

“What?”

“Just look at him! That guy is as dangerous as he is beautiful. A lethal dark-and-dangerous combo. Forget what I told you about the Golden Eagles’ golden trio. I’m ready to eat my words right now! Nothing has changed, and the hottest guy in this school is Matthew Palmer! Oh, Amber is going to faint,” Trisha says, remembering our mutual friend, who currently has Nursing in another building, “when I tell her who’s in class with us!”

I don’t need to look at Matthew Palmer to know she’s right. I’ve been a photographer for the school newspaper for two years now, covering events and sports competitions, taking a ton of pictures of Ellison students, then choosing the best ones. I have a good memory for faces, so I know exactly what he looks like.

He has dark, slightly wavy hair that covers the back of his neck and long bangs. Even features, a well-shaped forehead, and sharp cheekbones. Clear skin, unlike the other guys who still haven’t fully escaped puberty, and a proud set to his mouth.

It feels like he hasn’t seen a barber in six months and won’t for another six, because he doesn’t need to. Last year, when he played on the Golden Eagles’ starting lineup, he simply tied his hair back into a short ponytail, put on his helmet and protective gear, and didn’t give a damn how he looked from the outside. Aggressive drive, a powerful shot, and speed. Palmer was definitely one of Coach Hurley’s favorites. The best player on his team, the fastest, and absolutely the most unpredictable—you could see it in the points on the board.

And his last fight happened to be with Sean Renton after an important citywide school lacrosse championship game, which we won.

 People say the guys fought over the Golden Eagles’ captain spot, and that was why Matthew was expelled from school.

As a photographer, I was at that game and remember it clearly. But the fight happened in the locker room, and Sean didn’t like talking about it, so I didn’t find out right away.

Something else surprised me then, and it wasn’t Matthew’s outburst at all—Palmer picked fights with plenty of people and always carried himself with a defiant detachment. But why Sean? Before that day, watching them on the field, I’d never once noticed any rivalry between them, and rivalry wasn’t exactly something that could stay hidden, was it?

I think Coach Hurley was surprised too. And still hasn’t let it go.

Otherwise Palmer wouldn’t be back at school.

There had always been plenty of rumors about him, the main one being that he came from a troubled family where everyone lived on the wrong side of the law and sooner or later ended up dealing with the police. This school remembered his older brothers, one of whom was now in the state penitentiary, and it had no intention of forgetting them. So nobody had any illusions about the youngest brother either.

I didn’t believe the rumors. I knew for sure they were true. Ever since I was eight, from the moment it was just Dad and me, he’d told me over and over: “The world is dangerous. Stay away from assholes. Just listen to your father, Little Simba, and everything will be fine.”

Fine, of course. How could it be anything else when your father was a cop? And I made a point of staying away from Palmer.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t notice him.

I didn’t need to look at him. A camera’s wide-angle lens was enough for me to know that the most surprising and dangerous thing about Matthew wasn’t his bad-boy reputation, but his eyes. Light brown and intent. Deceptively warm beneath dark lashes. Any girl would definitely be better off not looking into them.

But when had thoughts like that ever stopped my curious friend?

Trisha turns her head toward the window again and carefully peeks out from behind the top of my head, watching Palmer open his textbook to the right page and copy the lesson topic into his notebook after Mr. Shelman.

“And how am I supposed to study biology now?” she sighs mournfully, reluctantly turning back to her notebook. “Instead of biological evolution and the genetic makeup of populations, we should be reviewing male anatomy. Especially since the perfect specimen is sitting right here in class. Then I’d definitely be able to focus my thoughts in the right direction.”

I can’t hold back a snicker, and Trisha and I both burst into giggles.

“Think about Jake, and you’ll manage,” I quietly advise my friend, meaning her boyfriend, Jacob Finley. “Better yet, picture him as a visual aid. Maybe that will help you focus.”

“Oh, yes!” Trisha smiles eagerly. She presses each middle finger to her thumb, closes her eyes, and for one second pretends to meditate:

“Jake! Jake! Jake!” she repeats in a sugary voice. “If I say I love you, will you stop checking out other girls? Oh, Jake, please!”