When I entered French class the next day, I found Eric hunched over a battered copy of the fantasy novel Maskerade. His gaze shot up once he heard the clickety-clack of my low heels, his eyes almost glowing under the harsh fluorescent light.

His hope vanished the moment he noticed my glum expression.

"What did they say?" he asked me in French without preamble.

I shook my head. "No way in hell."

"Would it help if I talked to them?" he asked with a concerned look.

"Nope, I'm pretty sure that would make things worse," I said in English.

"Why are they so against it?" he asked. "You've tutored other students."

"They're freaked out about your gender."

He raised a brow like Spock, a personal quirk I found endearing.

"They think every man is out to rape me," I said with a cynical laugh. "Never mind the fact that I don't date guys. Since they're after one thing only, they don't express interest in me either."

"You don't date?"

"Not at all."

He paused for a beat. "Interesting."

"Why?"

"I thought I was the only one," he whispered in the softest whisper.

He's celibate? Like me?

Oh, my God! That's amazing!

I answered him in an equally hushed tone. "You mean you don't date any—"

"Nope."

"Not at all?"

"Don't you start." He sighed. "You know how annoying that is."

I slunk in my chair. "Sorry, I thought I was the only one too."

"Nope, lots of people are asexual."

"Asexual?" I grimaced. "Wait, what?"

Eric balked. "You don't date, right?"

"Uh...right?"

Where is this going?

"Because you're not interested in—" He paused. "The things most people want."

"Right..."

"So...you're asexual, right?"

"I can't—! I don't—! What?!" I asked, my chest constricting. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Making—?" He shook his head. "No, asexual means you don't feel sexual attraction."

I crossed my arms. "I feel attraction. All the time. I'm celibate."

Liar. Cheat. Fraud.

His cheeks turned a furious shade of crimson. "My mistake. You led me to believe—"

"I've developed a perfectly normal sexuality," I said in a defensive tone, my heart thudding in panic. All my life I'd dreaded this conversation. Especially with a guy I liked. "I'm a girl, and I like guys." I gave an awkward chuckle. "Doesn't get much more typical than that, right?"

"Oof!"

"What?"

"Never thought I'd have to say this," muttered Eric, "but every word of your statement was wrong."

Unlike my verbal mishap with Bryan, I couldn't simply run to the cafeteria.

"How so?" I sunk into my chair, wishing I could disappear. "You're either straight, gay, or bi. So, I'm straight."

"Jess, I like you. Very much. But right now, I could—"

"What?"

"Never mind." He turned to me. "I don't blame you. You've been brainwashed by a faith that refuses to acknowledge the diversity of human existence."

Oh, that awoke the daring woman in me. I sat ramrod straight and glared at him with the fury of a Valkyrie.

"How dare you!"

"It's true."

A muscle tensed in his jaw. And mine.

My other neighbor Stacie Lager cast me a dirty look, her emerald eyes glinting with anger. The feisty redhead grumbled under her breath before moving to the back of the class.

"Catholicism teaches us that we should love everyone," I said.

"Why don't you love yourself then, Jess?"

"I do," I insisted. "I'm a practicing Catholic, okay? I follow the rules of the Church."

Liar. Cheat. Fraud.

"No girl as intelligent as you hides behind the guise of faith." He cast a flippant gesture at the hallway filled with students running to class. "Are you afraid of them?"

"I'm not afraid of anyone!" I growled under my breath. "I stand up for my faith and my beliefs."

Eric gazed at me with a passion of which I didn't think him capable. "Show me where in your catechism it states that a woman and a man shouldn't date, show affection, or get married."

I gritted my teeth.

"So there's another reason, isn't there?" he asked in a gentle whisper.

"Take a look around," I replied in a harsh whisper. "Name one guy in this school who wouldn't expect me to slobber and squirm all over him by the first date." I paused. "Okay, maybe a few. But what about the third? Or the tenth? Or the fiftieth?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"So I don't dare put myself in a compromising situation," I added.

"Moi, je veux rien de rien." He gazed into my eyes with an intensity that sucked all the oxygen from my lungs. I wouldn't expect anything at all.

"How can that be?" I whispered in French, unwilling to believe a person like me existed. So near and yet so far out of reach. Because my family would never accept him. "You're a man."

"You must learn to trust," he replied, his eyes drawing me into their inky depths. "Without trust there can be no friendship."

I bit my lower lip.

"Men like me do exist," he insisted. "In time you will see. Give me a—"

"Bonjour, Jess! Bonjour, Eric! Comment—?" Care stopped mid-sentence once she read the room. "Oh...oooh, boy. I walked in on something, didn't I? I'll head to the back."

I gestured at the empty seat beside Eric. "No, please stay."

"Actually—" Eric started before I interrupted him.

"We're finished," I said in a firm tone.

"Je comprends." Without any fuss Eric rose and gathered his things. I understand.

Care reached out to him, but he shrugged away from her touch. "Eric?"

Never in my life had I seen such expressive eyes that could melt or freeze metal with a single glance. Until I'd met Eric. As he walked to the back of the room, they held nothing. Just the icy depths of space.

Care sat in his seat and furrowed her brows. "What happened?"

I shook my head.

"Come on!" she whispered. "That dude is the calmest guy I know. What happened?"

"Nothing." I squirmed in my seat. "We had a fight."

"What about...?"

"He thinks I'm asexual or whatever."

She scrunched up her face. "What's an asexual?"

"Who the frack knows?" I asked, gazing at him as he sprawled out his limbs like a skinny little spider. "I was hoping you did."

"I've only ever heard that term used in the context of asexual reproduction," she murmured under her breath. "You know? From Bio."

"Same here. Until now."

"Are you sure you didn't misunderstand him?" asked Care in a serious tone. "What exactly did he say?"

"He said and I quote..." I lowered my voice an octave to mimic his deep voice. "You don't feel sexual attraction."

Care stifled a laugh. "Get the hell outta here, man. You're like pseudo-crushing on guys all the time."

"Right?"

"Hell, you feel more sexual attraction than I do."

I shrugged. "What can I say?"

"I present before Your Honor the following evidence," whispered Care in the haughty tone of a lawyer, counting each person on a separate finger. "Jack the Jock, Bryan Delacourt, Eric Stevens, Morpheus, countless TV and movie nerds, not to mention Mr. Ro—"

"Shhh!"

"Did you just shush me?" asked Care with fake astonishment.

"Everyone will hear you."

"Bonjour la classe!" said Madame Waters in a booming soprano that interrupted all discussion.

"Bonjour, madame!" came the refrain.

"Où est—ah!" Madame Waters caught sight of Eric in the back of the room with a surprised look. Where is—?

When the time came for pair work, I turned to Eric. His leg bobbed up and down, something I'd never seen him do. Until today.

My heart panged with regret. Should I go to him?

Stacie drew his attention and asked him a question. He cast one look at me before sliding his desk over to hers.

Crap, I can't talk to him in front of her.

My chin resting on my palm, I stared at him from afar. Stacie tried to engage with him with strategic playful nudges. Pointing at something on his page, she brushed her fingers against his.

Discreetly, he moved away.

After they'd finished the assignment, the two of them chatted. For once in my life, I wished I could read lips. At the end, I didn't need to do so. Her shoulders slumped in dejection. Eric moved his desk away from hers and began to draw something in his notebook. 

After scrawling a few lines, Stacie ripped out a page and folded it into a tiny square.

Subtle.

"Madame, may I go to the restroom?" asked Stacie in French.

"Bien-sûr," replied Madame Waters.

When Stacie got up, she discreetly dropped the tiny square onto my workspace. Hiding the note under the desk, I unfolded it without making a noise. In a precise drawl, she'd written:

Asexual is an orientation, not an insult. It means you don't find any gender attractive.

So get a clue.

Care and I exchanged incredulous glances before she allowed a minor expletive to escape her lips. Her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to analyze how to fix the mess I'd made.

"Oh, God!" I muttered, resting my head on my desk. "Kill me now!"

"Yes, you screwed up," she said in a firm tone. "But you can still try to talk to him."

It felt like a dragon had set my body on fire, I was so embarrassed. "I can't face him."

"Well, that's your mistake," said Care, crossing her arms. "Letting your ego get in the way of friendship."

"Hey!"

"Look, how often have we fought?" she asked. "That's right. All the damn time."

I sighed.

"We're still friends because we own up to our shit," she said. "No one's perfect. Just woman up and apologize."

"I can't be late again," I said, my voice laced with panic. "Grandad will roast me over an open fire."

"Ask Eric if you can talk to him another time."

"All right."

I jumped when the bell rang.

"Your homework is to finish this worksheet at home and to complete section two in your book," said Mrs. Waters in French. "Remember there's a vocabulary quiz this Friday."

Care and I groaned. I shoved my things into my bag as fast as I could. For once, Eric didn't saunter out of the class. He raced away, and I had to run to catch up to him.

"Eric!" I called out to him through a crowd of students all pushing and shoving to go the other way. "Eric, wait! Please!"

Stopping on a dime, he didn't turn to face me. Instead, I went up to him after the wave of bodies had dissipated. He sported a blank expression, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Eric, I'm so sorry. I was so out of line." I swallowed the hardened lump in my throat. "I totally freaked out back there. I don't know what—"

My lower lip quivered as the words caught in my throat.

Goddamn it! Don't cry! He'll think you're the biggest psycho.

His gaze softened. "I'm sorry too, Jess."

My throat clenched so tightly I couldn't speak. Afraid that if I tried to say a word, it would release the floodgates.

"I had no right to criticize your faith," he said. "It was wrong, and I apologize."

"It's okay," I croaked. "We both said things we didn't mean."

He nodded.

"Can we forget today ever happened?" I looked up into his eyes.

"Let's try," he said with a sad smile.

"Could you tell me one thing?"

He nodded.

"When you called me asexual, what exactly did you mean?" I asked.

"I thought you were like me." He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I got it wrong. I'd never met anyone like me before. Not once. Celibacy is so rare—"

He paused.

"I thought you felt the same, but I misunderstood you too."

Silence hung heavy in the air as an electric tension buzzed between us. Not sexual. But still intense as hell.

If he was asexual, could he feel that kind of thing? Or was that all in my head?

Even worse, was it one-sided?

"How did you...know?" I asked. "About being asexual, I mean?"

He gave me a wistful smile. "I've always known. I just didn't have a word for it until last year."

"But how did you...I don't know...figure it out for good?"

"I read an article by an asexual," he replied, his eyes full of intensity. "The more I read about the subject, the more I knew that it'd articulated what I'd known my whole life."

"Eric?"

"Yes?"

I looked up at him. "I got angry because..."

Eric waited patiently for me to speak, what I'd been unable to do.

"What I mean is..." My thoughts spun like an out-of-control carousel, making it impossible for me to express myself. "I don't understand...this. What I feel. Whatever...this...is..."

It seemed as though his eyes were drawing me into him, deep pools of inky black.

"I don't have a word for it either," I said, closing my eyes. "It drives me crazy."

Good God! Girl, shut up!

No, you can tell him. He'll understand.

"I know what you mean," he whispered. "If I may be so bold—"

Without a word, Eric handed me a piece of paper, his fingertips brushing mine. Only he didn't flinch when we touched. When I opened it up, I found an America Online email address.

I gave him a quizzical look.

"Write to me," he said, "if you want."

"My grandparents would never—"

His Adam's apple bobbed. "That feeling you have? Maybe the article can help."

"I'm only allowed online thirty minutes a day," I whispered. "They're very strict."

"It doesn't have to be a long email," he said, his eyes scanning my face. "One line. That's it."

"Why?"

The word slipped from my lips like it had in eighth grade when Bryan had asked me out.

"If you write to me," he said, "I'll send you the article. The one that helped me figure myself out. It might help you too. If only to figure out who you aren't rather than who you are."

"Why do you want to help me?" I asked. "I was awful today. I'm so embarrassed."

His warm gaze resembled a gentle caress. "Because I used to be confused too."

I bit my lower lip.

"No pressure, Jess. Take your time. Do whatever you feel is right."

This time when Eric walked away, he strode with confidence.