Rolling Dice [sample]

6: Rolling Dice

Before I can finish telling him she snuck it onto my iPod and I actually found I like a single one of his songs, Bryce cuts me off.

“Nothing wrong with a bit of mainstream, Lonely Girl,” he laughs, grinning a 100-watt smile that probably gets girls swooning over him. It sure made my heartbeat pick up.

“Sure,” I say sarcastically, “say that to the transfer from Maine.”

Bryce laughs again, realizing just how funny ‘mainstream’ is. “Mainstream. I think I like that better than Lonely Girl. You still haven’t told me your name, you know.”

“I know.”

I feel more than see him looking at me. Stealing a glance out of the corner of my eye, he’s smiling at me, amusement glimmering in his big brown eyes. I smirk, biting my lip a little.

I actually feel kind of… kind of cool. Almost flirty. Like someone who knows how to talk to a guy like Bryce, who’s Mr. Popular.

I lift my head higher from watching my feet carry me uncertainly up the steps to smile at him, and I open my mouth to say something when –

Smack.

I groan. “Ouch…”

I knew I should’ve just worn flats to school. Darn heels!

I push myself up off my face, and touch a hand to my nose, to check it’s not bleeding. I narrowly avoided having a wardrobe disaster this morning, I did not need to have a broken nose today, too!

Bryce’s hands are on me – the small of my back and at my elbow – supporting me as I get to my feet again. “Are you alright?”

“Beyond humiliated,” I laugh shakily, still prodding at my sore nose, “but I think so…”

“You sure?”

“No.”

I say it so bluntly, we both laugh. I catch sight of his dimples again. I shake my head a little. I like his smile though; the dimples are cute. I notice then that he’s still holding me up, except now there’s no reason for him to, and I glance at his hand on my elbow. He has to get the hint, but he doesn’t move away or drop his hand. He just shoots me another smile.

So I smile back.

And secretly, I’m wishing very hard that I don’t fall over again today.

Bryce takes me to the office, telling me that everyone will get their timetables for the year in homeroom, having been told before summer which homeroom they’d be in. The office is pretty much there straight in front of you once you enter the school doors.

The carpet on the floor is dark red, and I’m surprised it’s not covered in old chewing gum, and aside from being worn, it’s in great condition. The walls are all a pale shade of cream, and the ceiling is high, and everything smells clean. It’s a heck of a lot nicer than my old school, that’s for sure.

There’s some middle aged lady sipping coffee and sorting papers behind the desk we walk up to.

“Hi, Mrs. Willis,” Bryce says pleasantly to the lady behind the desk. She looks up, startled, and then smiles.

“Hello, Bryce. How was your summer?”

“Not too bad,” he says politely. “This is, um… a new student. Transfer from Maine?”

“Madison,” I tell the lady quietly, when she looks at me. “Madison Clarke.”

“Oh, yes, I know! I’ll be back in a minute,” she says, smiling encouragingly – I guess I must look a bit shy, or nervous. “I just have to find your transcript and make sure everything’s in order.”