I considered taking out the rear of his shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses.

He unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.

I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.

What? Are you speaking to me again?

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I didn’t like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too.

I wasn’t interesting. And he was. Interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and perfect… and beautiful… and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.

I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I would swear I saw him laughing.

I’m absolutely ordinary — well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I’m almost disabled.

His fingers were ice-cold, like he’d been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn’t why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us.