Free The Girl of His Dreams by Amir Abrams Page A

sittin’ up front is whack. It’s reserved for the nerds and teachers’ pets.
    â€œOkay, class,” Mrs. Sheldon says, getting up from her desk, then writing on the chalkboard. “Let’s get started. For those of you who had me last year, you already know what to expect....” Yeah, mad readin’ assignments, essays, and twenty-page tests! Mrs. Sheldon’s a beast, real rap. But it’s all good ’cause I dig readin’ all kinda books and poems, then pickin’ ’em apart. She makes us read books written by some of the greatest authors and poets in the world, then forces us to think about the themes and the characters in each book. She challenges us. And I dig that. I dig a challenge. That’s what keeps me comin’ back for more.
    â€œSo, Mr. Lopez,” she says, turning around from the board and eyeing me. “I guess it would be too much to ask for you to step outside of your comfort zone this year and sit in one of the seats up front where I can keep my eye on you.”
    I grin. Last year, I had her class last period and a few times I would slip outta class before the bell rang. She never wrote me up for it ’cause—aside from the fact that I’m one of her favorites, even though she’ll never admit it—I always had my assignments turned in on time and I always got one of the highest grades on tests. “Nah, Mrs. Sheldon,” I say, smilin’ at her. “I’m good.”
    She raises a brow. “Well, you had better be ’cause I expect much more from you this year than I did last year, so slipping out of class will not be tolerated unless you’re looking to fail for the year. Are we clear?”
    â€œI got you, Mrs. Sheldon.”
    â€œGood. You make sure you do. Now let’s . . .” She stops herself when the classroom door flies open, and in struts the hottest chick in the game—my future wifey. Real rap. E’eryone’s head spins in the direction of the door as she glides her sexy self up to the front of the classroom, wearin’ a pair of black designer shorts that hug her curves like a glove and a white gauzy-type blouse over some kinda black tube thingy. Her smooth, toned legs look mad sexy in what I can tell are expensive heels. Damn, she’s fine! I’ve never bagged a chick who rocked heels to school. But, I could most def get used to havin’ a sexy chick like this hottie on my arm e’eryday.
    â€œAnd you are late,” Mrs. Sheldon says, clearly annoyed that her class is bein’ disrupted even if the bell only rang five minutes ago. It doesn’t matter that the hottie is new to the school either. Mrs. Sheldon doesn’t play that steppin’ up in her class late mess. She expects e’eryone to be in their seats before the bell rings.
    All you hear as she walks by is, “Yo, she’s hot like fire, son.... Damn, she gotta phatty, yo.... Yo, you see her body. . . . Whoa, she’s bangin’ for real, yo!”
    I wonder why she wasn’t in class yesterday.
    â€œI apologize,” Sexy says, handin’ Mrs. Sheldon a hall pass. “I had to speak to my guidance counselor about changing one of my classes.”
    â€œHow special.” Mrs. Sheldon eyes her as she says this and I’m kinda shocked that her voice is drippin’ wit’ sarcasm. Oh snap! Let me find out Mrs. Sheldon’s a hater on the low! “Well, take a seat, Miss...” She glances down at the pass. “Miesha Wilson. You’ve already taken up five minutes of the class’s time.”
    Miesha? Nice!
    Dudes are mad hyped wit’ this hottie up in the classroom. Some of ’em even talkin’ mad reckless ’bout how they’d beat it down. But this sexy babe doesn’t seem pressed that she’s the cause of all the commotion. In fact, except for Mrs. Sheldon, she hasn’t given anyone in here any eye contact.
    â€œOkay, class ... settle