Knowing Jude

“My name is Ava Hansen and I…”

“Yes…”

“Seventeen.”

“No, but…”

“Please, if…”

The line goes dead on the other side and I slam my phone on the table.

“Where the fuck do they expect me to get experience if nobody will give me my first chance?” I complain out loud, fighting the urge to hurl something across the empty space and down the library balcony. Which would have to be my English textbook, my essay notebook or my copy of Hamlet, so no thanks, I would rather keep my anger in check.

My shitty old phone is obviously out of the question. Shitty, old or not, it’s the only one I’ve got.

“Beats me too,” a voice comes from behind me, and I swivel in my seat.

A tall blonde guy is standing behind my chair, carrying a backpack, holding its strap in one hand and a lollipop in the other.

“You are late Jude,” I accuse, looking at my wrist watch.

We were supposed to meet at 4.00pm, not 4.12pm.

Jude Walker walks forward and drops his bag on top of my books. I push it away.

“God forbid that we all be on time,” he says, taking a seat directly opposite me. His blue eyes rise to mine. “Remind me again, what’s your name?”

What? Really?

“Gotta be kidding me,” I mutter beneath my breath, collecting my English books and stuffing them in my bag.

“No I’m not,” he answers. “Arya? Angela? It’s got an A somewhere, right?”

I hold my bag on my lap and stare at him, speechless. He is fúcking serious.

Wow.

I’ve gone to the same school as this guy for three freaking years, going on to four, and he doesn’t know my name? Yes, we are not in any class together but we are in the same year so what the hell?

He lifts his lollipop and pops it into his mouth. He continues looking at me, waiting for my response.

Hah!

I ignore him and start digging for my Math book. I place it, more like slam it, on the table, then follow it up with a workbook and a diary. I place my bag aside and grasp a pen.

I look back at him.

“We need to make a schedule,” I tell him.

He frowns, then pulls the candy from between his lips, leaving them glistening and red.

“You’re not gonna tell me your name?”

“What do you want? My name, or help with Math?” I snap.

“Both.” Then before I can catch on to him, he reaches forward and grabs my workbook. He looks at the cover before returning it. His red lips stretch into a smile. “Ava. Ava Hansen. I knew it had an A somewhere.”

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth loud enough so he doesn’t miss the sound. “Congrats on the close guess, genius. How about we work on that schedule now?”

He winks and leans back in his seat, all carefree.

I stare at him and wait for him to say something, but it looks as if he is doing the same thing, waiting for me to say something. Which I already have, but oh well.

“You going to say anything?” I prod.

He leans forward again, twisting the lolly stick between his fingers. “You know, I always thought you were nice.”

I groan and press the heel of my palm against my forehead, fighting a fresh urge.

To throw my pen right between his eyes and see what happens.

“And I always knew you were an annoying asshole,” I shoot back.

He draws back, his brows actually coming together in a frown.

Did I surprise him?

I know sometimes we don’t realise some things about ourselves until another person points them out, but really? That should have been obvious to him.

“No I’m not,” he denies.

I throw my hands around, suddenly tired of this pointless conversation.

“Whatever, can we make the fúcking schedule right now?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t know you were the cursing type, either,” he says, his red lips turning up in a hidden smile.

Oh what the hell.

*****