Lucy couldn’t decide if the cherry on top of her craptastic morning was watching a twelve-year-old merrily pick his nose or the Wonder Woman Band-Aid adorning her eyebrow. Both were the result of the junior high field day taking place on the football field. The nurse’s office had been littered with skinned knees and was fresh out of flesh-toned bandages. Lucy had opted for Wonder Woman over the Flash but, either way, she was sure the universe was mocking her.
Nurse Díaz had given Lucy the third degree while patching her up. A millimeter deeper and the cut would have required stitches. The prospect made Lucy go stiff. Stitches would definitely send her parents’ Lucy Watch to DEFCON 1. The nurse had barely been convinced by Lucy’s “I lost a fight with my locker” excuse.
For the first time in Lucy’s life she’d wished what happened in the library were an ordinary seizure. She highly doubted Nurse Díaz would believe her if she told the truth: “I made a stapler fly at a would-be boyfriend stealer with the power of my mind.” Lucy had no idea what Megan thought had happened either. She would waste no time embellishing the incident for the known world—but what would she say?
Lucy’s heels clicked on the linoleum as she hurried to the physics lab. The sound reverberated in the empty hallway, further straining her nerves.
There was no rational explanation for the flying stapler. The non-rational explanation was that it had been attracted to her. Not the Tesla Egg—which remained safely stowed in her locker—but Lucy herself. As if her emotions had given the metal a charge. Maybe the same thing had happened when Cole had surprised her? The shot of adrenaline could have attracted the bike lock to her bracelet.
Which was all well and good, except that inanimate objects couldn’t read emotions and emotions weren’t electric or magnetic.
Lucy scowled and scratched at the Band-Aid. The one person she wanted to discuss all of this with was the one person she couldn’t: her dad.
Putting aside logic, if Lucy somehow generated electrical currents and fields, then might it not also stand to reason that they would become more intense when her body’s temperature and heart rate increased? And those things did occur when emotions were heightened. It was the same story for seizures.
Given that everything Lucy had seen and experienced since Friday would earn her a one-way trip to a place devoid of sharp objects, she had nothing to lose by testing her outlandish theory.
Glancing at her watch, she picked up the pace. Physics class was her haven. Lucy needed it more than ever now that her world had been turned inside out.
Slam.
“Crikey!” said a male voice straight out of a Masterpiece Theatre costume drama.
It took Lucy a moment to recover enough to reply. A flush crawled up her neck as a prickling sensation swelled throughout her body. Unlike the spun-in-a-blender reaction she’d had to kissing Cole, these tingles were pleasant.
Daring to lift her gaze, she repeated “Crikey?” as a question.
Amusement glittered in his brown eyes, which were captivating even from behind the square, tortoiseshell hipster glasses.
Hold on, it wasn’t like Lucy to notice another guy’s eyes. Or that his smooth-looking skin was a few hues darker than his eyes; his hair midnight black, closely cut, almost military.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he said without a trace of irony. Did he really think the collision had been his fault?
“Yeah, me neither.”
The stranger chuckled and it had a different cadence from American laughter. Something about it coaxed a wry smile from Lucy. She couldn’t resist giving him a quick once-over: tweed blazer, chinos, and a Doctor Who T-shirt. Definitely not from around here.
“Are you new?” Lucy asked for lack of something more original to say while showing off her evidently acute deductive reasoning skills. There was the faintest hint of stubble on the stranger’s jaw. She didn’t think he could be younger than her, but why would a senior transfer in so close to graduation?
He quirked his lips. “If I don’t answer, will you rope me with your Lasso of Truth?”
Lucy just stared.
“Wonder Woman.” His smile faltered and he touched his index finger to the Band-Aid.
When no sparks flew, Lucy let out a short, relieved breath.
“Oh. Right. Justice League aficionado?”
“I like comics.” A casual shrug. “Although Watchmen is more my speed.”
“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes, huh?”
“Good question. Who will watch the watchers? And they say Americans have less culture than yogurt.” He pronounced it yah-gurt, which made the dairy product sound infinitely more sophisticated than it was.
Lucy laughed. “I suppose I should be offended on behalf of my countrymen.”
“As well as friends and Romans?” he said.
Was the Brit flirting with her? And wait, was Lucy flirting back?
“If I’ve offended you,” he began, clenching a fist to his chest. “I sincerely apologize because I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” She arched a brow.
“I was looking for the physics lab.”
Physics! Argh! “I’m headed that way. Let’s go.”
He grinned. “I’ll follow your lead.”
Lucy was careful not to graze him with a hand or shoulder as she navigated them down the corridor. She couldn’t begin to understand the different kinds of tingles he’d provoked. She only knew she couldn’t control it.
The droning of teachers from behind classroom doors provided an awkward soundtrack. After a few moments of walking in silence, she said, “Don’t worry about being late—Mrs. Brandon is a total softie. I’m her student aide.”
“Oh, really?” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket, considering the tip. Catching her eye, he said, “To answer your question, I am new. Just arrived from Cambridge. Near London, not Boston.”
“You don’t say.” A smile tugged at Lucy’s lips. “One day I’d like to see Newton’s apple tree.” He was probably their most famous alumnus. Next to Stephen Hawking.
“It doesn’t really exist, you know. There’s a tree outside Trinity College—but that’s just for tourists.”
“Then I guess that’d be perfect for me.”
He laughed and gave her a long, curious look.
Lucy was kind of sad to bring their conversation to an end, but they’d arrived at the lab. The Brit had provided her with two whole worry-free minutes.
“Here we are.”
He broke eye contact. “Right-o. Here we go,” he said, opening the door for Lucy like a gentleman—not the instinctive behavior of American high school boys—before his expression transformed into something far more earnest.
“Hey, I forgot to ask,” Lucy started. “What’s your name?”
Mrs. Brandon answered for him.
“Ah, there you are!” said the teacher from the front of the lab, smiling brightly. “Class, this is Ravi Malik. He’s a final-year student at Cambridge University and he’s on an exchange program at our very own Heron College.” That was where Lucy’s mom taught. “Ravi will be my teaching assistant for the rest of the semester. Please make him feel welcome!”
Teaching assistant?
The Brit wasn’t a new senior. He was a college senior.
And Lucy had been flirting with him. The fact that he’d been polite enough to humor her only made her want to curl into a ball and die.
This was definitely the cherry on top.