Halfway into my obsession, I noticed the boy. And kept noticing him until I had a vision of my face on the back of a milk carton. Last year's school picture was so not flattering. I did my best to lose him, clinging to my determination not to be a statistic in the trade of human trafficking. Don’t get me wrong, having any kind of boy, let alone a Greek one, follow me around added bonus points to the constantly dipping Richter scale of my self-confidence. But it started to get more than creepy when I kept seeing him around each corner. To tip the creep-factor, he tried to introduce himself. Henry.
Home free, I found the trailing line of my class meandering downstairs to the Archaic Gallery. A quick glance at my cell phone’s time ensured me that Mr. Beckett would be five kinds of pissed. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee in the little café to my right smelled better than anything I’d ever ordered at Starbucks. Before I could turn my head from the coffee shop, my step faltered. I barely controlled the gasp that escaped. Henry’s reflection looked at me in the glass doors of the café as he followed close behind.