I can feel him staring at me, but he doesn't say anything. I continue to pretend-read, and he continues to silently stare at me until I can't take it anymore. I turn to face him.

"What?" I ask, irritated. "What do you want?"

He still doesn't say anything. I slam my book shut and turn my body toward his. The fact that our knees are pressed together doesn't go unnoticed. He glances down at our legs and I can see a hint of a grin playing in the corner of his mouth.

"Well," he says. "I sort of liked sitting by you the other day, so I thought I'd do it again. I take it that's not what you want, so..."

He begins to gather his books and a huge part of me wants to rip them from his hands and make him stay here, right where he is. But an even bigger part of me is relieved that he's taking the hint.

He shoves his notebook in his backpack and I keep quiet. If I say anything, I know it'll be nothing but a pathetic plea for him to stay put.

"You're in my seat," a flat, monotone voice says.

Carter and I both look up to see a guy standing in front of us, staring down at Carter with an indifferent expression.

"I was just moving, man," Carter says, pulling his backpack onto the table.

"You should have never sat there in the first place," the guy says. "I sit there." The guy turns to me and extends his arm straight out, pointing at me. "And you don't sit right there. A different girl sat there on Monday, so you can't sit there."

The guy's expression is troubled. He's terribly disturbed that we're in different seats today. I feel sorry for him, recognizing features of one of my own brothers when I look at him. I start to tell him we'll move—that he can have his seat—but Carter's anger intercepts my response. He stands up.

"Get your finger out of her face," he says to the guy.

"Get out of my seat," the guy replies, turning his attention back to Carter.

Carter laughs and drops his backpack on the floor. "Dude," he says. "What is this? Kindergarten? Go find your own fucking seat."

The guy drops his arm and looks at Carter in shock. He starts to reply, but snaps his mouth shut and walks toward the back row, defeated. "But that's my seat," he mumbles, walking away.

Carter pulls his notebook back out of his backpack and sets it on the table in front of him. "I guess you're stuck with me," he says. "No way I'm moving seats now."

I shake my head and lean in toward him. "Carter," I whisper. "Give him a break. I think he has Asperger's, he can't help it."

Carter snaps his head in my direction. "No shit? Are you serious?"

I nod. "My brother had Asperger's. I know the signs."

He runs his hands over his face. "Shit," he groans. He quickly stands up, reaching for my hand when he does. I stand up with him.

"Get your stuff," he says, pointing to my backpack and notebook. He turns around and throws his stuff on the table behind him, then reaches for my backpack and does the same. He looks up at the guy and points down to the seats we were just occupying. "Sorry man. I didn't realize they were your seats. We'll move."

The guy quickly walks back to the row we're in and claims his seat before Carter changes his mind. Realizing most of the class is probably watching the commotion between the three of us; I still can't help but smile. I love that he just did that.We both walk back to the seats we occupied on Monday, then unpack our stuff onto the table.

Again.

"Thank you for doing that," I say to him.

He doesn't respond. He gives me a half-smile, then looks down at his phone until class starts.

Things are a little awkward once the lecture begins. Not wanting to sit by Carter has left him questioning me. I can tell, because it's written clearly in front of me in black ink as I stare down at the paper he just scooted over.

Why didn't you want to sit by me?

I chuckle at the simplicity in his question. I pick up my pen and write a response.

Dude. What is this? Kindergarten?

He reads my response and I swear I can see him frown. I was trying to be funny, but he missed the humor, apparently. He writes something down, something long, and slides the note back to me.

I'm serious, Sloan. Did I cross some sort of line the other night? I'm sorry if I did. I know you're with Asa and I respect that. I honestly just think you're fun and want to sit by you. Spanish bores the hell out of me and sitting next to you makes the urge I have to gouge my own eyes out a little less imminent.

I stare at his note for a lot longer than it actually takes me to read it. He's got incredibly impressive handwriting for a guy, and an even more impressive way of making my heart race.

He thinks I'm fun.