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look
underneath her eyelashes, but the effort was wasted on him because
he had turned to rummage through his bag. She pouted and returned
her attention to the front.
    “Nope, I have learned that it’s far better to
assign you partners instead of letting you pair up on your own.
Consider it a lesson in learning how to compromise, something that
will come in handy in college. Alexander?”
    “Yes, sir?” I said. I mentally cursed, not
for the first time, about the fact that my last name started with
an “A” and usually meant that I was always first to be called on
whenever a teacher got it into their head to be alphabetical.
    “You’re going to partner up with
Yamaguchi.”
    I turned and sent a startled look in Akira’s
direction, and there was yet another round of disappointed groans
that erupted from the “Akira Fanclub” section of the room, with the
loudest complaint coming from Sherri. They were mostly
good-natured, and were soon extinguished by another one of Mr.
Miller’s Glares. When he called out the next two names, Banes and
Wyler, I realized that he was pairing people early in the alphabet
with those that came later, which was rather clever, only it put me
with someone I was highly uncomfortable to be around.
    Oh well, no hope for it, and with that lovely
bracing thought I stood and moved over to where Akira was seated
next to one of the big windows. His usual tablemate had left to
find his own partner, and he grinned at me as he pulled back the
chair next to him with a flourish. A wave of his hand indicated
that I was to sit down while all I really wanted to do was stand
there awkwardly . . . or flee the classroom.
    I gingerly sat my stuff down, slid into the
chair, and tried to make sure it was as far from Akira as it could
get without being too rude. The hair on my arms began to stir from
being this close to him, and the over all feeling of “not all that
he seems to be” was almost overwhelming. There was a heavy pressure
on the back of my head, a strange combination of weight and
electrical type energy that practically screamed something was
wrong. I wondered just how I was going to make it through being his
partner and spending time in his company without freaking out and
either embarrassing myself, embarrassing him, or both. Probably
both. My leg muscles twitched and signaled their readiness to run.
Oh yeah, most definitely both. I started to dig at the skin around
my thumbnails in an effort to bleed off some of the nervous energy
that had steadily built up a slow burn in my gut.
    “No need to act like I’m going to eat you
alive, Alexander,” Akira’s amused voice cut across my building
panic attack the way butter slides across a hot skillet. Melty,
sizzling, steamy, and it made me nearly jump out of my skin.
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,
Akira,” I snapped in embarrassment as my hands clenched underneath
the table in an effort to still the constant scratching.
    “When Mr. Miller read out my name as your
partner, you turned and stared at me like I was about to leap out
of my chair and drag you to the ground. Once you sat down you began
fidgeting in so many ways I’m starting to feel tired from watching.
Could you please stop bouncing your leg, at least, it’s making the
floor vibrate,” he said.
    My leg stopped bouncing immediately and I
clenched my hands tighter, my sense of unease being over taken by
another, more familiar and comforting emotion. Irritation.
    “I did not,” I said through gritted teeth,
“Stare at you like I thought you were going to ‘drag me to the
floor’. I figured you’d be far more civilized than that.”
    Akira snorted and started to laugh, his
entire face undergoing a transformation as his eyes lit up and
crinkled at the corners. I took a brief moment to study him and try
to find anything that would trigger my unease. His laugh revealed a
dimple that hid in the corner of his right cheek, and while that
helped me relax a little, I still