Peter Ettinborough's smile could have ignited a thousand candles, and I was more then shocked to see it the Monday after the party. I'd been standing around with Scott and some of his brusque friends in homeroom when the boy had walked through the doorway, drawing my attention like a child to candy and catching my breath within seconds. I couldn't believe it. Peter Ettinborough had classes with me? Of course he did! How could I have been so stupid? Was I really drunk enough not to remember the association I had with the boy that night that Alex had held his license in front of my face and asked of my confirmation? I couldn't believe it: I had helped my friend theoretically rape and steal from Peter Ettinborough, tenth grade hotty and calculus whiz. I wanted to die.

But Peter seemed completely oblivious to my presence, as he just walked through the door, smiling at his friends as he went to take a seat near the back of the room. It was almost as though he still had no idea what had happened that Friday night, and, judging by the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, I had the inclination he never would.

My state of being, however, was completely the opposite: The moment the realization of who he was had hit me, I'd stood rigid on the spot, completely deaf to the dirty jokes Scott and his friends were idiotically scoffing about and blind to everyone but Peter. It was almost as though I was enthralled or obsessed, and if anyone had noticed my sudden transformation, a new rumor about me and Peter would have been shooting down the hallways within seconds.

I didn't care though. The boy was so innocently gorgeous that once the shock had passed my attention was still dead set on his features. Now that I could see him in a proper light I discovered that he was actually more attractive then I'd previously perceived, equipped with a long and lean figure that nearly made my mouth water and dressed in what a teenager might call “skater clothes”. But it was his eyes that really stunned me. Now that they weren't half lidded in a drunk daze, I found them to be beautifully dark and inviting, a sort of playful aura lingering about them and making me feel weak beyond reason. How could I have even considered messing with this boy that night at the party? How could I have been so naively stupid?

“Miss Andrews, would you kindly take your seat, or do you have something to announce to the class?” Mr. Melton, the short, balding homeroom teacher who doubled as a ninth grade English teacher, snapped, adjusting his round spectacles as he always did when bewildered.

I started, staring about in confusion. Within a second's time, I realized that the school bell had rung and everyone had taken their seats and was watching me in curiosity, including Peter Ettinborough. I immediately took my seat next to Scott, feeling flustered and uncomfortably exposed.

“What's wrong with you this morning?” Scott asked under his breath, leaning towards me and eyeing my face as if expecting to find the bizarre answer. “Did you get stoned in the parking lot again this morning?”

“No,” I retorted, impulsively acting offensive at the accusation. I had never and was not planning on getting high in the parking before school, unlike some of my so called friends.

“Then who were you staring at?” Scott persisted, turning to eye the back row of desks in order to feed his curiosity.

“Nobody!” I cried quickly, knowing that if I didn't act fast Scott would resort to a guessing game filled with crude and dirty remarks. “I'm just really tired, okay? I didn't get very much sleep last night.”

“Why? Cause you were on another lesbian rampage?”

Why do I even bother associating with assholes?

Instead of answering (which in Scott's opinion confirmed his assumption) I turned away from the boy and all his sick attempts at humor, and instead focused my attention on the book I was supposed to have read for English several weeks before, forgetting about Peter Ettinborough and all Alex had done to him in the process.

But I soon was regretfully informed that fate had other plans and Peter Ettinborough was not one to be easily forgotten.

The next period, as I sat beside Janie and my friend Liz in tenth grade History, idly twisting a wad of gum about my finger, I was cruelly reminded of what I'd done yet again.

“Are you using this book?”

I'd sat up so suddenly that the gum had nearly fallen from my mouth. There he was, Peter Ettinborough, standing but three inches away from me and indicating to the History textbook laying neglected on my desk.

“What?” I'd asked dumbly, now not only taken aback by his impressive appearance but also by his voice: It was deep, appealing, and definitely something I'd adore listening to every few minutes.

“The book,” Peter repeated, gesturing to it once more. “Can I use it?”

“Yeah,” I said hurriedly, as if the faster I spoke the less embarrassing the situation would be. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Peter replied, flashing me one of his crooked smiles as he picked up the book and returned to his seat.

“Who's that?” Liz asked, watching Peter as he began to flip through the textbook pages.

“Peter Ettin-something-or-other,” Janie said, combing her fingers through her long red hair. “I mean, duh! He's only been in our class for like the past two and a half weeks!”

“Well I've never seen him before,” Liz cried before blowing a large pink bubble and popping it with a snap, taking no heed of whether or not our teacher, Mrs. Barstad, might have noticed. “He's got a nice ass. Is he a new kid this year?”

“Oh my gosh, Liz,” Janie retorted, drawing out the “Oh” as long as her preppy repertoire would allow. “You can be so f-ing stupid sometimes. Of course he was here last year! He was in our English class and you said he had a nice ass then too. Don't you remember how all the girls thought he was totally hot but he wouldn't date anyone so it was decided that he's gay?”

“No, I don't remember that,” Liz replied without the slightest trance of annoyance as I would have been exerting like mad in such a situation. “But if he is gay I bet you anything I can totally convert him.”

“Oh my God, yeah right Liz,” Janie laughed heartlessly. “Remember that one time when you said you could totally convert Tony Manfredo? And then you went out with him for like a week but he was still totally gay.”

“So? Just because he was making out with that guy-”

“Aaron Jackson,” Janie added, continuing to show off her Alex-inherited talent of knowing all the names worth remembering.

“-yeah... Aaron Jackson... Sure...” Liz agreed before finishing her tale. “Just cause Tony was making out with him doesn't mean that I didn't convert him. You should have seen him: Begging to steal my virginity like every time we were together!”

“So you lost your virginity to a gay guy?” Janie asked, wrinkling her delicately freckled nose. “That is so f-ing weird.”

“What can I say?” Liz shrugged. “Gay guys have sex best.”

By now, I was completely disengaged from the conversation, despite the fact that I was sitting right in between the two conversing. Instead, I was watching Peter Ettinborough apprehensively, a sort of nervousness cast over my thoughts as I replayed that sinful evening in my mind, over and over again.

Alex had told me about the party at Catherine Halloway's house several weeks in advance, and it was to be a rambunctious affair. All the Varsity and VJ jocks were to attend, proving that evening would be full of crack-pot pick-up lines and multiple games of “Who Can Toss the Expensive Antique From Venice the Farthest?”. But it was also known that a lot of the rich high school grads who lived up in the west hills would make an appearance at some point during the evening, promising the reassurance that there would be at least some incredibly attractive, suave, and charming guys to look appealing for.

So, on the Friday evening of the dated event, I was readily prepared with a skimpy little outfit that my parents would never approve of and a face made up to match a well-paid hooker when Alex drove up in her Jaguar, looking equally as irresponsible (if not more so), and took us to Catherine's.

It was the usual scene: A crowded house filled with the sounds of the throbbing stereo, a cacophony of voices, and the expected supply of drunk laughter on the behalves of the jocks and the pathetic girls who were enraptured by them. Alex and I got to mingling immediately. Scott and his “rich boy gang” had been there, all of them either indulging naïve girls in separate corners of the house or trying desperately to indulge girls in separate corners of the house and failing miserable. Scott, of course, had his tongue down some girl's throat within seconds as usual, and it was useless to even consider approaching him.

So Alex and I ignored him, as usual, and instead made our way to the punch bowl and the gorgeous high school grads who could be found lingering here and there amongst ignorant students in their nonchalant ways.

After several minutes of scouting out the crowds on my own turf (Alex had already gone upstairs with some older boy who looked so eager he was nearly tripping over himself), I managed to catch the eye of one unfamiliar boy... A very tall and gorgeous unfamiliar boy. He was about 6'3” (meaning that he looked over me by more then a few inches), with sandy blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a classy attire that screamed of the west hills. I was interested in an instant.

So, following the usual boy-meets-girl scenario, we slowly made our way towards each other, taking careful precautions not to lose each other's eyes. Once we were finally within centimeters of one another, I was dazed with the sweet scent of his cologne. It was obvious beyond a doubt that this boy was a rich-kid grad, and I was growing more and more courageous by the second.

“Hey,” I said coolly, hoping that my attempt at seductively batting my eyelashes wasn't appearing too fervent. “I'm Blake.”

“Blake?” the boy repeated, eyeing me just as intriguingly as he'd done from afar. “That's a beautiful name... Say, I was wondering, Blake, if you'd like to go upstairs with me and we can talk where it's quieter?”

Great. There really was no such thing as a polite boy. He hadn't even told me his name and already he was inviting me upstairs for sex. I declined automatically, instantly becoming aware that this guy was just another good looking jackass who deserved to have his good looking face ripped off and given to someone more assertive. But Mr. No-Named Jerk-Off didn't seem too perturbed as next thing I knew I spotted him slinking up the stairs with some other girl in a tight blouse.

The foul always seem to triumph.

So I was alone again and feeling much less zealous then I'd been when I'd arrived when suddenly I was grabbed around the wrist by Alex and her manicured talons.

“Come look at this,” she'd said excitedly.

“Wait,” I stammered in bewilderment. “What happened to the grad you were with?”

“Oh my God, he was seriously, like, not good looking at all, so I left him upstairs,” she replied, just as perkily as if she were informing me about a joyous occasion instead of her shallow assessments. “But hurry up, you have to see this!”

She'd pulled me through the drunk and obnoxious crowd until we'd come to a neglected wall that was bathed in shadows.

“Look!” Alex had cried, pointing to a dark lump sitting on the floor.

It was Peter Ettinborough, drunk and nearly unconscious.

“Isn't he so hot?” Alex asked, kneeling down next to the boy and brushing his hair out of his face. Before I had a chance to answer she added, “You wanna do something fun?”

That's when my nerves began to creep through my veins like thousands of spiders, arousing my fears all at once.

Alex had smiled mischievously before revealing to me her plan and before moving closer to the cold figure, preparing to retrieve his wallet...

“Blake... Blake! Come on, it's time to go to second period.”

I obediently stood up at the sound of Janie's voice, finding myself sitting, slouched over, in my first period History class as I lazily watched Peter pack up his things to leave. Peter Ettinborough had a smile that could ignite a thousand candles, and a presence that could torture my soul. But I was drawn to him all the same.