"S-Sorry," the boy stammered, shaken by Solomon's glare.
Lillian dropped her straw and peeked at him. "Why's he apologizing?"
"He smashed the window," Solomon replied.
"No, he didn't."
"He has now."
Solomon chucked the ball at the window to Lillian's right. The glass shattered with a loud crack.
Lillian's mouth fell open. "Whoa!"
Then she resumed sipping her milk. Solomon caught her same old obliviousness and smiled faintly for a second.
That boy got chewed out for breaking the window, and the school added a new rule: No basketball in classrooms.
During PE, Farrah Maeve tugged Lillian's arm as they jogged. "Why is this guy following you like a shadow? It's creepy."
It was Solomon's first day at Seamar City High, and he was already in the spotlight.
Of course, he was not as popular as Lillian.
Three years in, she'd become the school's mascot. When she enrolled, the place got a full upgrade. There were free computers and tablets for everyone.
Plus, her cute face won over every guy and girl alike.
For every 800-meter run, she drooped like a sad puppy.
Her classmates lined the track and encouraged her as usual, "Go, Lillian, go."
Lillian was a total klutz at sports. God gave her brains and beauty but slammed the door on athleticism.
She had long legs, a perfect figure, and Debra's killer looks.
By rights, she'd at least be decent at running, but no. PE was her kryptonite. She never once passed.
The starting gun popped, and Lillian shuffled forward at a snail's pace.
Solomon strolled beside her, keeping up effortlessly.

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