Forgotten - Page 110

The boy smiles a sad smile then, and a hint of a dimple appears on his right cheek. My stomach flips over, and suddenly I’m very aware of myself. I shift awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Realizing that I’m staring, I break my gaze and turn back to my locker to get the book I was after in the first place.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask, still facing the locker in an effort to appear nonchalant.

“I need to talk to you,” the boy says quietly.

I stuff the book, a notepad, and a spare pen from the top shelf into the oversized gray and white striped shoulder bag I found in the hall closet this morning, and slam the locker door shut. The hall is crowded now, and the girl with the locker next to mine exhales loudly as she tries to get to her own belongings. The boy is blocking her way.

“Oh, sorry,” he says to her when he realizes his blunder.

“Whatever.” She shoves her way past him.

The boy has moved to block my way now, and I begin to rethink my desire to remember him. There’s a slightly creepy sense of urgency about him.

“Are you okay?” I ask, wondering whether there’s something wrong with him. Is this kid going to freak out on me? Is that why I don’t remember him?

Gripping my bag like a security blanket, I take a step to the right to try to move around him, but he anticipates my move and blocks me again. He bends slightly and looks directly into my eyes before speaking.

“No, London, I’m not okay. We have one fight and that’s it? You won’t return my calls. You weren’t home yesterday when I came by. We need to talk about this.”

When he finishes, he straightens slightly but doesn’t stop with the eye contact. I don’t know what to do, so I opt for honesty.

“I’m really sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t even know you.” I smile weakly as if to console a friend.

It’s like a lightbulb turns on in the boy’s head. He stands completely straight and his eyes narrow. He shakes his head and then looks at me with even more venom.

“Real mature, London. Thanks a lot,” the boy hisses. He turns and strides down the main hall in the direction I need to go.

The girl with the locker next to mine giggles as she passes; she’s heard the whole conversation. “I’ll take him if you don’t want him.”

I wait until there’s no sign of the boy before I weave my way to study hall. As I move, I review what happened and end up just as confused. I open the massive library doors and walk through the metal detectors, happy to have one whole class period to ponder the situation.

And, oh yeah, do my Anatomy homework.

But then, as I approach the bank of tables reserved for study hall, I realize my bad fortune.

The brooding boy sits alone at the only table with any free seats.

Of course he does.

Surprisingly, the gorgeous freak is otherwise engaged all period long, so I manage to finish my homework with time to spare. Even so, I can’t help but notice the huffs and snorts coming from the boy as he writes furiously in his notebook. Angry much?

Now, as I sit packed and ready to leave the moment the bell rings in forty-four… forty-three… forty-two seconds, the boy is still writing. I can’t help but watch the muscles on his toned left forearm flex as he moves the pen across the page. His worn T-shirt looks baby-soft and hangs perfectly across his shoulders and chest. I find myself wanting to touch the waved lock of hair that peeks out from behind his right ear….

“What?” the boy snaps as he looks right at me. Several other clock-watching students turn in our direction.

“Nothing,” I whisper, looking back to the industrial wall-mounted clock that tells me I’ll be free from this uncomfortable situation in twenty… nineteen… eighteen… seconds.

I hear the boy rip the pages he’s been working on from his notebook, which strikes me as odd, since I’d think he’d want to keep them safe until class.

Finally, the bell rings, and I stand so quickly to leave that I practically knock my chair back.

“Wait,” he says in a softer tone. Instead of running, I turn to face him.

“Please read this,” he says, offering me what I realize now is a letter. It’s folded in half, with my name written on the outside.

“Okay,” I say as he brushes past me, leaving me confused and alone in a barren library with a warm and oddly familiar scent lingering behind him.

Tags: Cat Patrick Romance
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