Andy Clemons sat down at his desk in Miss Carter’s homeroom just as he had every morning since the start of his junior year. This morning, though, was different, in one small but palpable way: Today was Zachary Pennington’s first day at Custer County Comprehensive High School.

“I heard he’s been in boarding school since first grade,” whispered Sarah Dix, seated behind Andy and to his right. “Switzerland, can you imagine?”

Russ Herman snorted. “Where the hell is that?”

“Europe,” Andy muttered. “Surrounded by France, Italy and Germany.”

Russ poked him in the back with a pencil. “Well ain’t you just Mr. Geometry,” he drawled.

“Geography, you dumbass,” Andy tossed back, a good-natured chuckle in his voice. “And ain’t you just gonna impress the hell out of him?”

“Impress him?” Russ glanced at Sarah with a sideways grin on his face. “Who’s trying to impress some bastard trucker’s kid been playing at being a rich city boy?”

Zachary Pennington’s mother was known in the New York society columns as Elizabeth Milam Pennington. But back in her day, the girl everyone here knew as Lizzie Milam had been quite the floozie, a pretty dreamer who would sleep with anyone she thought could get her out of Custer County. She’d found her escape in a trucker who’d hauled her off early one morning while her daddy stamped his feet in the packed-dirt driveway and hollered uselessly after them.

A year later she had been in Atlanta, so the story went, working as a waitress in a fancy strip club, when who should sit down at her table but Mr. Alastair Pennington. Yes, that Alastair Pennington – the New York business mogul who had married and divorced three wives by the time Lizzie Milam knocked his designer socks off. After a whirlwind romance, the two had married. Whether or not Pennington had known at the time about little baby Zachary was anyone’s guess. Either way, he’d adopted the infant, and Elizabeth Pennington and her son had lived the high life for sixteen years.

Now, for what exact reason no one knew (but everyone suspected), Lizzie Milam was back – disgraced, penniless, and desperate enough to come live with the father she had once left red-faced in the driveway. Two days ago her father had gone to the Atlanta airport in the same beat-up pick-up truck Lizzie had learned to drive in, and brought back Lizzie and her mysterious son, Zachary. No one knew a thing about him.

Yet.

Andy snorted back at Russ and turned toward the front of the room as the bell rang. People like Sarah and Russ might talk dismissively of Zachary Pennington, but the truth was, they were all curious as hell about him. None of them had ever known anyone who’d been to New York, much less to Europe. Much less lived there.

But Andy, like everyone else, would never admit to his curiosity. He could certainly never admit to hoping Zachary would be kind of cool, or to hoping they might become friends. Sarah and Russ would have laughed him out of the county if they’d known.

#

Andy didn’t have a class with Zachary until fourth period, and just his luck -- the teacher put Zachary in a desk all the way across the room. Still, the distance allowed Andy to get a look at him without being noticed – which turned out to be a good thing.

Andy had wondered about himself for a while now, ever since he’d realized that he didn’t have the same interest in girls that his friends did. One look at Zachary Pennington, and Andy stopped wondering; one look, and Andy found himself filled with a yearning he could barely describe, much less figure out how to fulfill.

Zachary was different, all right. He wore his brown hair in a slightly shaggy, asymmetrical cut that no Custer County barber would have attempted for any price. Where most kids in the school wore blue jeans and t-shirts, Zachary wore a white, button-down oxford with the sleeves turned up, and sharply pressed khakis with a slender belt around his trim waist.

But even without the outer trappings, Zachary himself might as well have come from another planet – a planet where boys grew tall and athletically slim, where their skin was an achingly touchable smooth bronze, their hands were elegant and expressive, and the slightest change of expression was magnified by refined cheekbones and full, rose-colored lips.

Zachary glanced up as the teacher introduced him, and his head bobbed in a jerky nod of acknowledgment, but he didn’t make eye contact with anyone and he didn’t smile. He took out a notebook when the lecture began, but Andy could tell by the movement of his pen that he wasn’t taking notes – he was doodling. Sometimes he held his pen still in his long, fine fingers and just stared at the paper, as if hypnotized by the pictures he drew.

At lunch Andy got his tray and sat down next to Russ. “So,” Andy said. “What do you hear?”

Russ popped a tater tot into his mouth. “What, about the new kid? He’s an asshole, from what Ricky says. Won’t say ‘hey,’ won’t smile at you, won’t hardly act like you’re standing there in front of him.”

Andy frowned. “Doesn’t sound too good, does it?”

“No. Though, you ask Sarah, you get a different story.”

“What, he was nice to her?”

“No. I don’t think any of the girls have worked up the guts to talk to him. They’re all too smitten,” he grumbled. “You’d think he was straight out of some romance novel, the way she talks.”

Andy grunted, disappointed. “He didn’t seem like all that in history today.”

“Doesn’t seem like all that to me now, either,” Russ agreed.

At the odd tone in Russ’ voice, Andy looked up and followed his gaze. Walking to a table with his tray was the very new kid in question. Zachary found a spot at the end of a table near the back wall, sat down, and proceeded not to eat a bite. He picked up his fork and stabbed a little at his food, but none of it ever made it up to his mouth.

Andy laid down his own fork, his stomach fluttering at what he was about to do. “I’ll be back,” he murmured.

Russ twisted in his chair to see where he was going, but, thankfully, didn’t try to follow him.

Zachary was so intent upon poking his food to death that he didn’t look up until Andy’s shadow fell over him. When he did look up, though, Andy had to remind himself to breathe. He hadn’t been able to see Zachary’s clear, gray-green eyes from across the room in history class, but he could see them now. Andy suddenly wished there was some way he could just park himself in front of Zachary for a couple of years and stare until he got his fill.

Then he realized he was dangerously close to doing just that.

“Can I help you...?” Zachary asked, those lovely eyes creasing in a defensive sort of anticipation.

Andy blinked and cleared his throat. “Uh. Hi.” He seated himself across from Zachary and stuck his hand out over the table. “I’m Andy. I’m in your fourth period history class.”

Zachary stared at Andy’s hand as if faintly puzzled by it.

Suddenly self-conscious of his work-roughened skin and bitten nails, Andy pulled his hand away. “I... um... just wanted to introduce myself...”

How had this happened? Andy was of average height, blond, with the brawny build of a kid who’d grown up doing chores and playing baseball; he’d been told by several objective parties that he wasn’t bad-looking. Though no one would call him cocky, he usually walked around the school with a small measure of self-assurance. But a few seconds in front of this kid and he felt like a mouse in front of the cat.

He decided to plow ahead and hope it got better as he went. “I guess it’s got to be rough, coming from the city and all. I mean, I spent some time in Atlanta as a kid – I didn’t much like it, but it was real different from here, so I can’t imagine coming here after...”

He trailed off as Zachary glanced at him from beneath his long lashes, radiating impatience.

His destruction of his food had not slowed during Andy’s abortive attempts at conversation. “Are you not hungry?” Andy asked. “You’re sure punishing that chicken patty.”

“Is that what it is?” Zachary drew in a breath and at last laid down his fork. He rose and picked up his tray in one graceful motion. “I’m sorry,” he said, not a hint of remorse in his tone or his expression. “I’ve already forgotten your name. Charming chat and all, but I’ll be off now.”

Andy turned in his chair and watched Zachary stride off toward the tray slots. He strode past the sorting bins and trash cans and slid his tray in with the all the trash and silverware still on it, then walked away as if completely unaware of the dishwasher’s outraged squawk. He left through the side doors without a backward glance.

Rising, Andy caught Russ smirking at him, and embarrassed anger rose in his chest. By the time he rejoined his friend, he was nursing a healthy resentment of Zachary Pennington, handsome or not.

“Well?” asked Russ.

“Ricky was right,” Andy said, picking up a cold tater tot off his plate. “He’s an asshole.”