Julian Alexander Leslie called me at 2.47pm in the middle of a Literature class.

I had to step out of class, given the glares and hushes I received from both my classmates and Professor McKenzie, who is barely twenty five and usually very cool about cell phones in class. It didn't help that my ringtone was "WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?"

Swearing, I scrabbled frantically in my vintage tote bag (1860's Nancy Husher model – so cute) before pulling out my phone, which did not help, just making the chorus of "WHO? WHO? WHO? WHO?" louder than usual. I had to shut it off before it started playing my second ringtone of a Simon Snow movie score.

"Miss Sanders," Prof McKenzie drawled, casually playing with a pen while perched on her desk, dark hair swaying in the wind. "Please step outside and answer it before your classmates spontaneously combust it with their glares."

I mumbled a quick, "Sorry, sorry, I'll make this fast," before rushing out of the classroom into the open hallway.

The number was unfamiliar, but I pressed 'answer' anyways before pressing it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, um, is there a Bec there? Rebecca?" The voice was familiarly English, sweet like honey with a rough edge.

"Yes, that's me," I breathed, knowing exactly who it was but not believing it.

"Oh, hi!" Julian said, sounding delighted. "It's Jules. Julian? We met at the library?" His voice turned sheepish. "You might not remember me."

Color flooded into my cheeks and I grinned. "No, I remember you. The one who never kept his promise to give me his posters, yeah?"

Jules laughed, an adorably rough sound. "Yep, that's the one," he replied. "Although I do intend to keep that promise."

A distinctly Lilly-sounding shout rang from the classroom. "Hurry up!" It was shortly followed by a sharp, "Don't shout."

Julian coughed, sounding uncertain. "Is… Is this a good time?"

I shrugged, although I knew he couldn't see me. "Well, I'm kind of in the middle of class."

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," Julian sounded appalled. "I'm homeschooled. I tend to forget the usual schedules." He drew in a breath and suddenly blurted, "IjustwantedtoknowifyouwanttomeetuponFridaytohangoutandcollecttheposters."

I froze. "What?" I immediately mentally slapped myself for being rude, but Jules didn't miss a beat.

"I-I just wanted to know if you want to meet up on Friday – maybe at 12? – to you know, hang out. You can collect your posters."

God, I could just imagine him winking as he said that.

Another, "What the hell is she doing?" echoed from the classroom.

I wanted to slap all my impatient classmates. Jules actually still wanted to hang out with me! I wasn't there anymore, I was floating of happiness, and my classmates were like intruding birds on my flight in the clouds.

"Um, hello?"

Quickly, I mumbled a "Sure, that's sounds great. I've really got to go now."

Just as rushed, Jules answered, "Okay! I'll, uh, text you."

Awkwardly, I ended the conversation with an "Okay, uh, bye then," hanging up before he could reply.

Before I ran back into the classroom, I allowed myself one last smile.

Oliver was sure Jules was a serial killer.

We lay comfortably across my red chaise lounge I had picked up from the flea market in my room, staring at the pile of clothes my closet had thrown up that was hanging out on the floor. (I had it thoroughly – thoroughly – checked for fleas before adding it to my room.)

Oliver was my best guy friend, and was also very gay. We'd grown up together since our parents were best friends, and were just as close now in high school.

He was looking fabulous, as usual, with his bronze hair artfully messy and black nerd glasses perched on his nose. (The glasses were prescription-free, but were apparently a trendy accessory.) He was wearing bright cherry long sleeved sweater, skinny jeans and a black scarf that was carefully arranged around his neck.

It was an hour before I was supposed to meet Lilly and Jules in Copley Square, and twenty minutes earlier I had recruited Oliver to help me find something to wear. When he'd arrived, I was fresh out of the shower, my hair blow-dried and skin glowing. Now, I looked like I had been through hell and back, and then more.

"You can't meet a guy once, then agree to meet him and allow him to give you something, Bec. I am nearly positive he is about to hand you a bomb on a silver platter."

I sighed, fingering a cute scarf I had bought a year before. "(a), he's not a demented madman. (b), he's handing me a poster, Oliver. Even you couldn't hide a bulky bomb in a poster. And (c), I won't be alone, anyway, I'm bringing Lilly along – I won't be alone." I paused and held up the maroon scarf. "No?"

Oliver snatched the scarf and threw it in a corner. "No. That scarf should have been discarded in the 80's. Also, scarves read 'trying too hard'. You're just friends, so I vote…" Oliver stood up and rummaged through the pile, pulling out a pale coral chunky knit sweater and a pair of clean jeans. "Wear this."

I considered before grabbing a black Simon Snow beanie to the pile. "With that. Perfect."

Oliver moaned. "I just spent half an hour trying to convince you to wear anything but Simon Snow merchandise, but you have, like, five other pieces of clothing, so just wear the beanie and nothing else." He made a big show of checking his watch. "I gotta go, chica. Later," he threw over his shoulder while waving and stalking out.

"You're not Spanish!" I throw back, before smiling and putting on the outfit and checking my own watch. I had a half hour before I was meeting Lilly on the sidewalk. I settled down with my laptop and opened my only Top Site.

.

Lilly was not a very patient person, so when I showed up ten minutes late, she walked in sullen silence for a full five minutes. Copley Square was a ten minute walk away.

"I put up a new fanfic," I tried as way of conversation. "Simon was killed by Agatha in the story."

At that, Lilly jerked her head up, eyes wide. "Wait, what?"

I laughed and jabbed her side. "I knew that would get your attention, grumpy!" It was flattering how much Lilly, my best friend, clung on to every word in my fanfiction.

Lilly's eyes were serious. "You didn't kill Simon," she deadpanned.

I giggled and yanked playfully at a strand of her red curls, now loose around her shoulders, surrounding her face like a fiery halo. "No!"

Lilly sighed, but she was smiling. She nudged me. "So… you and Julian, huh?"

I had already given her all the details of our conversation, but Lilly was sure that we were flirting.

I imagined being with Jules – this beautiful, charming stranger, and had a weird feeling my chest. I'd crushed on boys before, but this feeling… It was definitely different.

Now, I poked her back. "N-o, we're just friends. I barely know him."

We rounded the corner into Copley Square, and immediately caught sight of our meeting place with Jules, where the familiar shape of him stood.

Lilly and I both fell silent.

His eyes were bluer than ever, such a deep blue that it seemed endless. His hair was messy, chocolate brown and too long, falling into his eyes. His smile was the signature Jules 100 watt grin.

He was beautiful, but you could see he didn't know it.

I waited for something to overcome my chest – a sense of longing, perhaps, or desire.

There was nothing.

Then his electric gaze turned to me, and a dangerous spark sparked up in my chest.