FOUR YEARS BEFORE

—   Great, so we think alike! —   he said, looking away from the pen in my hands. —  Now stop being a pain in the ass.

—   As you wish, Prom Queen.

After a while in silence, my mind wandering aimlessly, I did not hold back from questioning:

—  How did you know I was at Harley's house? You weren't there, were you?

He stared at me deeply.

—   Nope. —   That's all you said.

—   And how...

Before I could finish, the teacher showed up putting the exam on our desk. When he left, I resumed:

—   And how do you know I was at the party? And dancing?

Ian filled out the form with his black pen without bothering to offer more attention to me.

—   I live next door.

I couldn't stop ungluing my iris from the boy.

Ian Caccini was  considered the biggest troublemaker in the school, which was odd since he was always alone and silent.

From what I've heard, people just took it for granted after Harley Tombson's brother  said he saw him fighting with a man near his house over a cigarette. After that, no one in Boston threw more than two words at Ian, as they feared his intimidating gaze.

They only talked like him to ask for favors.

I've never seen any of that in his features, this dreaded brutality. Ian was always listening to music or reading books alone through the halls of the school, with no sign of violence. Not even at lunches when our families met did I see anything different in him. It was business as usual; quiet, quiet, and alone.

The only truth was that he was an arrogant asshole.

Chelsea thought he was a cat, but she said she didn't mess with his type. It was hard to comprehend, but if Chelsea, the kisser, wouldn't want to have a conversation with a pretty boy like Ian, certainly wouldn't I.

Why did I come to this? It's not like I want to mess with him!

—   Will you answer your part? — my heart missed a beat when he finally turned away from the paper and looked me in the eye as he handed it to me.

—  I don't,—   I sighed embarrassedly. —   I don't...

I read and reread the exam questions and not a single word fit. It was all in Spanish. I was good at Spanish, but today nothing seemed to be on track.

—   Damn! —   I whimpered. —   It was her fault! My God, Chelsea shouldn't even consider herself my friend! What a bag! —   I pulled my hair when hatred wanted to overwhelm me.

I could see out of the corner of my eye Ian getting confused by my behavior.

—   What was her fault? —   he finally questioned, after long minutes of watching me.

That was the first time we'd ever spoken , and it was weird to take comfort in it.

—   That I went to that damn party! —   I murmured.

Ian smiled wryly, stretching out the corner of his lip and getting more spread out on the bench.

—  Did Chelsea tie you up and put the force in the car to go to a party?  — he raised an eyebrow in defiance, feigning real doubt in tone.

—   What? Of course not! —   My forehead had turned into a tangle of wrinkles. —   But...

—  Was she the one who made you drink some Bourbon whiskey to the point that he rummaged over all your brains today?

I crossed my arms over my chest somewhat angrily at the boy's intrusion.

—   What does this have to do with it?

The whiskey was good.

Ian took a deep breath, took the test sheet from my side of the table and began to answer everything with his pen.

—  That the next time you decide to go to a party, don't blame others for the consequences of your actions,—   he half murmured, half repudiated. He didn't seem to be interested in the subject despite being embedded in it. —   It's ugly, Prom Queen.

I spent long minutes searching for words of affront to throw in his face, but none came to mind. It was as if the anger I was feeling from that boy wasn't enough for me to hit him.

—   I thought you were smarter than that.

My stomach bubbled again and with that I took the proof back.

—   Give me that here! — I exclaimed, forcing my brain to work.

Ian smiled. It was the first time I'd seen him smiling at school with sincerity.

Today was the first time of much.

—  Alright,—   he raised his arms in a scenic redemption. —   Just don't make us take a zero, I don't want to tarnish my newsletter.

I threw a grimace at him.

How dare that kid be so nosy? I had never exchanged a word with him before, nothing that we became friends with or even acquaintances. He was just Ian Caccini, the Boston weirdo and nothing else.

Why was my skin so hot? My cheeks so red? And why the hell did goosebumps go up my neck when, ironically, the room heater was on?

I turned my orbs away from the race in front of me and saw Ian watching me intently.

—   What is it? —   I exclaimed embarrassedly, but maintained a rude tone.

He shrugged and said:

—   I'm just a little surprised to learn that Angel Backer, the teachers' favorite, is less intelligent than I am.

If before my face was hot, now it bubbled with lava.

—  I'm not surprise at all,—   I chin dropped. —   Ian Caccini is really a jerk.

Instead of being furious, he laughed once more and changed the subject.

—   Can you give me exam? I promise not to tell anyone that you didn't help at all. I just don't want to get a low grade. — he asked with hints of provocation.

—  I do,—   I lied, forcing myself to read. —   Did you know that my mother is Brazilian? I know how to speak very well!

His laugh would embarrass me if it wasn't so nice to hear.

—   European Spanish is a bit far from its Latin roots, little angel.

—   You don't know anything!

—   Neither do you. — pointed to the blank proof.

I was silent, thinking of a way to dig a hole in the ground silently and disappear from the face of the earth.

—   I'll get it! Give me, I'll answer this crap!

I tried to pull the paper out, but it held on.

—  Alright,—   he smiled, greedily. —   But on one condition.

Ian got my attention focused on him again.

—   Why would I care about your conditions?

He ran his hand through his soft, black hair.

—   I just want to make it more interesting. Topa?

I loved a challenge, even though it came from him.

This kid had already broken my pride too much for me to deny it.

—   Talk. —   I eventually gave in,  in fact, it was hard to resist that shiny iris.

—   Well, if you can answer your part and get a good grade, you can ask me whatever you want I'll do. As you know, your options are gigantic—Ian stretched his legs under the table, making his jeans touch the bare skin of my thigh.

What could I even ask of Caccini?

Um, maybe a revenge on Chelsea. Or give Sullivan a scare for forcing me to kiss him last year. Maybe even paint the Harley Tompson car.

yes, my options were huge. Apparently, he had no qualms.

—   What if I get a bad grade? —   I raised my left eyebrow as he grinned in the corner.

—  You'll have to go on a date with me.

My defiant stance completely fell apart after his statement.

Why would Caccini want to have a date with a girl like me?

Confusion and shyness became more visible on my features than I had wished.

—  Don't you trust your potential, Backer?   — he teased, petulant.

That was enough for me to shake his hand and accept the proposal.

I would be able to, I could answer three questions of Spanish, it was not the end of the world. The Bourbon at Harley's party hadn't ground all my neurons.

Bourbon.

Suddenly, I stopped focusing on the exam when a doubt stopped in me.

—   Bourbon? —   I asked Ian. —   How do you know I had Bourbon at the Harley party? Was the view that good from the other side of your house?

He smiled.

—   You were at the party! —   I see.

—  Right next to you,—   Ian flashed another smile, this time a bigger, more sincere one. A smile that brought shocks and thunderstorms into me. —   Watching you dig your grave closely.

[...]

—  I am disappointed in you, Miss Backer,—   Professor Kavisck spoke.

Those were the jovial man's exact words as soon as he handed me the first low grade in two years in high school. Well, the low half—  note, since Ian had nailed it all.

The feeling of helplessness swallowed me whole and the euphoria mixed with shame stood out as I remembered the unreasonable bet I made with him.

He had won. I'd have to go on a date with him. It was the end of the world.

Well... It would have been the end of the world, if I had seen Ian to take on my shame. But he didn't show up the next day to collect the bet, neither on the other nor the other day.

Weeks passed and I didn't see the weird kid listening to music alone in the hallways.

Sunday lunches didn't happen anymore and I didn't see him under the tree with headphones on as we ate at the table.

After a while, when no one could give me a reason for the disappearance of the Caccini family, I accepted that Ian had gone and taken with him all the new sensations I felt in a single day sitting next to him.

The wretch makes me live the rest of my days waiting for a date that I later realized I wanted to happen.