Counting to D Read Free Page A

teacher walked into the room and started sorting through a stack of papers on his desk. “You’ll love Mr. Maxwell,” Lissa said. “He’s a riot. Check out what he’s wearing.”
    I saw that Mr. Maxwell wore tan pants and a green button-down shirt. What was interesting about that?
    “He wears that every single day. He has like a dozen of the same outfit. Well, he actually has a blue short-sleeved shirt too. When he changes from the long-sleeved green to the short-sleeved blue in the spring, it’s a huge deal.”
    I let myself begin to relax. “A meticulous physics teacher seems appropriate.”
    Lissa smiled. But then Mr. Maxwell started lecturing, and she never got a chance to say anything back. Listening to a lecture on kinetics grounded me. I scribbled force diagrams in my notebook and felt the most comfortable I’d been since moving to Oregon.
    When class ended, Lissa jerked her chin toward the rest of the class. “So are you going to follow the herd to AP French now?”
    “No, I actually have Spanish next period.”
    She stood up and slung her backpack over one shoulder. “Well, all the foreign language classes are in the same hall, so I’ll walk you partway.”
    “Thanks.” I followed Lissa out into the hall. Had I just made a friend? Would survival at this school really be that easy?
    I’d gotten used to having familiar faces in all my classes, so when I walked into Beginning Spanish, things looked very different. The room was full of freshmen. I found an empty chair near the window and stared out at Portland’s endless rain.
    Kennedy High was on the western edge of the downtown area. Portland was a decent enough city. It was smaller than San Diego, but had some cool architecture. My mom was already going nuts over all the green buildings, but I couldn’t see any of those out my classroom window. All I could see was a soggy soccer field, and a backdrop of hills covered with fancy houses that cost way more than my mom and I could afford.
    “ Hola, te llamas Samantha, ¿no? ”
    Surprised to hear my own name, I spun around and found myself facing a tall guy with black hair several months past its need for a haircut. This guy was definitely older than fourteen. Hadn’t he been sitting three seats over from me in calc? “ Sí, me llamo Sam. ”
    “ Agradable encontrarte. Me llamo Nacho. ” His long bangs hung over the frames of thick black horn-rimmed glasses. I would have said he looked emo, but his jeans fit properly and his faded black hoodie could pass as baggy, so he may have just been sloppy. Whatever you wanted to call him, he was definitely cute.
    “Nacho, like the food?”
    The guy pushed his bangs out of his eyes. He had dark, chocolate-brown eyes and the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a guy. Did emo boys wear mascara? He was eyeliner-free, so he was probably just naturally gorgeous. He had super-straight teeth too, which he was showing off in the form of an adorable smile. “Outside of this class, people call me Nate.”
    I nodded. I’d never really understood why Spanish teachers make you pick a Spanish name, but at least Nate had picked a tasty title for himself. It was my first day in this town, and I was already crushing on a snack food.
    “So what other language do you speak?” he asked me.
    “Weren’t we just speaking Spanish?”
    Nate laughed. “No, I mean why am I no longer the only senior taking Spanish for toddlers? I took AP French last year and decided to go for Spanish next. What’s your story? Were you taking Swahili or something at your old school and they don’t offer that here?”
    I blushed. How could I explain why I put off taking a foreign language until the last possible second without revealing what a freak show I really was? “Sorry, Nate, you’re still the only senior in the class. I’m a sophomore.”
    This caught him off guard. Then Señor Gonzales started babbling about the present perfect tense, and Nate didn’t have a chance to rebut.
    His