The Revenge Playbook by Rachael Allen Page B

reflex and move to the living room. Music blasts over the speakers, a few girls dancing while Purdeep Patel and Judd Baker play deejay.
    Purdeep Patel. Gorgeous smile. Eyelashes I would kill for. In all the smart-people classes but still cool. Expiration date: ten to twelve months. Huh. I never realized Purdeep and I were so compatible. Bonus: he’s completely unlike Weston, which would totally piss Weston off. Not-so-bonus: my parents, well, my mother at least, would hate the idea of me dating him because I don’t know a lot about the Hindu religion, but I’m pretty sure it does not include Jesus.
    Judd Baker, on the other hand . . . reasonably attractive, but smokes way too much pot and has no discernible life goals. Expiration date: two months. Tops.
    I’m thinking about going over to flirt with Purdeep when this other guy, Michael, joins them. There he goes in his Boston College shirt, slapping Purdeep and Jake a high five and looking deceptively safe. I’ve been actively avoiding Michael ever since I met him in physical science last year and thought I might be in love with him.
    We were working on this lab together, and I felt the prickly feeling I get when I catch someone noticing my finger. I made sure to keep it tucked in even farther as I wrote.
    â€œWhy do you do that?” he asked.
    â€œDo what?” I shook my hair over my shoulder as if to say, I am certain I don’t know what you’re talking about.
    â€œHide it.” He stopped my hand and unbent my knuckle so my pinkie was showing, all the way out to its nail-less tip. “You’re beautiful. People aren’t going to stop seeing that if you let them see all of you.”
    And then he touched my finger . And when he did it, when he ran his thumb over those thousands of nerve endings, I could have sworn he was touching my soul. Unlike some people, I find the sensation of having someone plunge their hand into my chest and grab my still-beating heart to be extremely unpleasant. Feelings that strong are scary. Feelings that strong for someone you just met are even scarier. There’s a word for them in Japanese— koi no yokan —the sense you get when you’ve just met someone but feel certain you’re going to fall in love with them. Koi no yokan is part of why I started dating Weston in the first place. I needed an emergency exit.
    I realize I need to stop with the staring before he notices, but it’s too late. When he tilts his head up and our eyes meet from across the room, I get the same feeling I got last year.
    He’s dangerous.
    He gives me a smile and my insides feel all toasty, like I’ve just gulped down a mug of hot chocolate. I retreat to the kitchen. I eat some chips and salsa, which normally I wouldn’t do because eating at a party shortly after a breakup makes you look mopey and desperate, but I estimate I needto stay here at least another few minutes before it’s safe to walk back through the living room. Before my heart rate returns to normal.
    â€œHi.”
    â€œHoly jeez!” I almost flip the entire contents of the salsa bowl onto my dress because I was so not expecting for someone to—to—
    Michael stands in front of me, his eyebrows raised at my obvious weirdness. Perfectly groomed eyebrows, I might add. Guys actually taking the time to do personal upkeep is kind of a turn-on of mine, and most guys in this town just . . . don’t. Memo to high school boys everywhere: Axe body spray cannot be used in place of actual hygiene.
    â€œI’m Michael. I think we had class together last semester,” he says. He’s so much taller up close. Mmmm. Tall guys are my Kryptonite.
    â€œI’m—I’m Melanie Jane.” Seriously? Stuttering? Pageant queens do not stutter. I am nothing if not well spoken—with all my training it’s like I can’t even help it. I take a breath. Maybe this is a good thing, him finding me.