To my surprise, the boy offers his hand.
“Archie,” he says, his voice rolling over me like a slow tide. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and trust me, I would remember.”
He winks at me, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. He can’t be serious. This has got to be a mind game.
“Arnie,” I say, accepting his handshake, “it’s nice to meet you.”
“Archie,” he repeats.
“Artie,” I say, shaking his hand as I nod my head.
“Archie,” he says. “A. R. C. H. I. E.”
His eyes don’t narrow in annoyance. Instead, they spark with delight when I say, “Ohhh, Ardie.”
He smiles, and I suddenly regret ever stepping foot on the game board because his smile is devastating.
It’s like looking at the sun and being unable to blink.
It’s like watching a vase topple and holding your breath as it plummets to the floor.
It’s beauty and exhilaration and danger rolled into one.
I release his hand abruptly as Mr. Collins argues with a kid in the back of the room and threatens a demerit.
Archie leans in as if he’s whispering a secret, and I think it actually might be, given the way his eyes dart to Blythe, who is studying her phone under the table.
“I like you, Harlow Weathersby,” he says, running a hand through his dirty blonde curls.
“I’m touched,” I say, “truly touched. Hey, will you do me a favor?”
“Anything, beautiful.”
That simple word, that endearment, does all sorts of funny things to my insides.
“You’re friends with Ian Beckett, right?”
Archie grins and thumps his fist over his heart. “He’s my brother from another mother.”
“Cool,” I say. “Well, would you mind telling him to leave me alone? I’m just concerned about the guy.” I lean across the table and add, “I am seriously worried he is going to have a mental break with the amount of shit I’ve been giving him.”
Archie snorts, but his face falls suddenly.
“I want to help you, Harlow,” he says, “but you made the wrong choice, and there’s bad blood, a freakin’ tidal wave of it, I’m afraid. Don’t worry though. You can always change sides.”
“Oh?” I pretend to think, tapping my index finger over my mouth. “Tell me. Do your friends have like a club name? If I join, do I get a t-shirt that says ‘Bullies ‘R Us’? Maybe a little placard for my desk? ‘Customer service is my last priority.’ Would my hours be 8 to 5 or do you follow, like, Satan’s Time Zone?”
I am pretty sure Archie started laughing sometime after the t-shirt remark, but now he is full-on chortling, and it sort of sounds like he is snorting and choking at the same time.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, wiping away tears of laughter. “Ian...” He pauses to breathe. “Ian said you were something. You’re like a gorgeous war though, and I’m on the front lines and fucking loving it.”
I frown.
He is not supposed to love it.
He is supposed to apologize for what a dick Ian is. He is supposed to convince his friends to leave Molly and me alone.
Archie tilts on his stool toward me and says, “You know,” he draws circles inside my wrist with his thumb, “there are benefits to being with us. We could have a lot of fun, beautiful.”
“Does that fun include leaving Molly alone?” I wheeze. It’s the first time I have actually breathed since he started touching me.
He shakes his head. “Not much I can do in that department, remember the bad blood I told you about? Well, it’s like the Mississippi River, and it is constantly flooding.”
“Then I am going to have to decline your offer,” I say, jerking my hand away. My heart races. This boy, this descendant of angels, is so close I can smell the suntan lotion that lingers on his tan skin.
He regards me, his gaze sparking with amusement.
“You are like sprinkles on a hot fudge sundae, Harlow Weathersby,” he says, leaning over so his breath warms my ear. “I can never get enough.”
My breath gets stuck somewhere on the way down, choking me, and I make a gagging sound and probably a face too.
“Come over to my side,” he says, his words soft like the touch of his fingers atop my hand. “We have ice cream, or, better yet, we can just have each other for dessert.”
Is it possible to suffocate on air? Because I’m doing it.
I can’t take anymore, and though I should hate this guy for refusing to stop his friends from messing with Molly, I laugh, my breath exploding past my lips in a pseudo-wheeze.
Mr. Collins walks to the front of the room, telling us to open our textbooks to page 52. Luckily, Archie does it for me, because I’m too busy staring at him and wondering how I’m going to survive an entire semester by his side.
The rest of the class goes that way, though Archie somehow manages to take excellent notes and correctly answers a surprise question by Mr. Collins. Damn him for being a crazy good student. By the time the bell rings, I have to get away from him. He’s wearing me down piece-by-piece with his jokes and lopsided grin.
I rush out of class, clenching my book bag as if it’s a life-raft and rush to my dorm. When I’m inside, the door locked, safe from Ian and Archie, I reach for my phone and call Mom.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hey, honey,” my mom says. “How was your first week?”
“Despicable,” I answer, and part of me naively hopes she will ask why and save me from my purgatory.
“Harlow,” she lets out a quiet laugh, “that’s a bit dramatic, dear. Are you taking your medication?”
“Yes,” I bite out, though I am pissed she asked. All because William…
“Harlow?” my mom asks.
“Yeah, Mom?” I say. “I’m sorry. I zoned out for a moment.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” This time I hear the real concern in her voice, and I know what I
