She inclined her head. “Mr. Slater’s class?” He pinpointed the moment she connected the dots as her eyes widened and her jaw went slack. “Michael? No, it can’t be…”
    “It’s me.” He cringed inside, thinking of how he’d been a later bloomer, shedding his extra pounds once he left Point. He’d pushed the limits at the gym to prove to himself he wasn’t that awkward, chubby, pizza-eating loser anymore.
    “But Michael was…”
    He sighed. Best to get it out of the way so they could talk about the real stuff—their time apart. “Fat?”
    “I wouldn’t say that, but certainly not, well…”
    She made an up-and-down sweeping motion with her hand and inspected him from head to toe. It reminded him of science class, except this time he was the unfortunate specimen under the microscope.
    He flexed a bicep. “Ripped?” He was proud of the hours pushing weights and of his fitness training. The effort he’d put in had transformed him from a lazy, doughnut-eating young man into someone he hardly recognized himself. It was no wonder Savannah hadn’t at first. And she had never looked at him that way before. It felt more awkward than he’d imagined.
    Judging by the pink hue creeping up her neck, she was embarrassed that he’d caught her appreciating his physique. As kids, she’d always swatted him when he read her mind, so he kept out of reach just in case. His half-hearted attempt to keep a straight face failed when she gasped and covered her mouth. She shoved past him and hotfooted it down the hallway.
    It took about three seconds for him to realize she was running away—from him. How ironic. He should let her go. He should get on a plane and never look back, but then history would repeat itself. He didn’t want that. The time had come to pursue her, even if it was just down the corridor through his old stomping grounds.