English class with Mr. Britain was like watching a Hobbit try to explain iambic pentameter. Five feet tall on a good day, hairy as a ape, and glasses like coke bottles, he must have been a connoisseur of second breakfast and elevensies.

Every weekday from 10:50 - 11:42am I would try not to show how much I didn't want to be in this class with all the immature clowns that made up my senior class.

Sure, I had friends, I was one of those people that wasn't one of the super popular kids, but I was friends with some of the popular people. I also had friends who were considered more in the nerdy/not so popular clan. I was almost like a "friend to all" which had its perks but also had its downside. Everyone was my friend, including girls and guys, but being the "buddy" often meant I wasn't the "girlfriend" I was just the "Can you tell your friend Julia that I want to take her to see the new avengers movie?" girl who was your friend.

I wasn't the prettiest girl by any means, I would say I was quite average. 20 lbs overweight, with blond highlights I had done myself I rocked my eye makeup and a bit of lip gloss, with eighties hair band T-shirts and ripped jeans 90% of the time. Today was my Motley Crüe T, light distressed skinny jeans and black chucks look.

On this Wednesday morning however, the monotony of Mr. Britain's voice was interrupted by the crackling of the classes' intercom buzzer from the office making an announcement:

"Mr. Britain, you have a new student in your class, he should be there shortly."

Instantly, the class broke out in conversation and excited whispering. "Oh I wonder where he's transferred from?". "Maybe he plays football, we need a new running back." "I hope he's cute!" .

The anticipation was getting to me too, you could tell all 26 pairs of eyes in the class were trained on the door excitedly awaiting the mystery student's grand arrival. And as if on cue, we heard a polite knock at the door, and it swung open slowly to reveal the boy who would change my opinion of English class for the rest of the year.

The first thing we saw was his hair as he kind of ducted in to the classroom. His hair was long, but not in a dorky man-bun sort of way like Gerry Perkins, it was set in intricate rows of thick braids along the top of his head that gathered at his neck and the rest of his head was completely shaved. It was not a hair style I had ever seen in person, but it looked amazing on him. As I was busy breaking down his hair style he raised his head to reveal the bluest eyes I had ever seen. They were like pools of aquamarine gems that sparkled in the horrid neon lights of the classroom.

Mr. Britain had walked up to him now welcoming him to the class and ushering him to an empty seat at the back of the class that was next to mine.

Mr. Britain asked him his name and I listened to this exotic new student say in a slightly accented voice "My name is Ivar Ragnarsson, Sir. My family and I just moved here from Norway".

You could tell Mr Britain was taken aback by the politeness and formality. Most teens nowadays just didn't show that much respect to teachers anymore.

"Welcome Ivar, and please no need to call me Sir, Mr. Britain will do just fine." Mr. Britain then gestures to me and says "I'm sure Sarah will be glad to let you share her Textbook for today until we can get you one of your own."

I almost fell of my chair when those aquamarine eyes looked directly at me and nodded with a sly smile.

"Thank you sir, I mean, Mr. Britain."

The rest of the class was whispering again but my heart was beating so loud in my ears I couldn't make out what they were saying.

Mr. Britain made his way back to the front of the class and continued his lecture where he had left off.

I tried and likely failed, to act casual and slide my text book to the middle of the bench style table I now shared with Ivar from Norway.

I scribbled a few notes in my notebook to try and look like I was paying attention to the lecture and in reality I was trying my hardest not to look at Ivar. I heard a rustling and glanced over to see him pull a black leather notebook and a pen from his bag. As he reached I saw a glimpse of a tattoo on his forearm as his sleeve moved but it was quickly hidden again when he placed his hand on the table. Just that little peek made me want to see what else he had hiding under that shirt.

He dressed well too, great jeans with a dark burgundy button down shirt that had a contrasting floral pattern on the rolled cuffs and a tight black T-shirt underneath. The tightness of that T-shirt and the way that button down hugged his biceps let you know he worked out.

The bell finally rang which meant it was time for lunch. I grabbed my text book and tried to hurry to put my things away. As I turned to throw my bag over my shoulder I felt a gentle hand on my elbow and looked up to see Ivar smiling at me.

"I just wanted to say thank you for sharing your book."

God, I loved the sound of his voice.

I blushed, and managed to say "No problemo!" like a total dork and rushed out the door to meet my friends for lunch.