part0016

As I stared at the words on the screen, I knew it was the only way to get back on track. I had to get him off my mind, so I could get my mind back on the things that mattered—my classes and making Oak Brook Academy work for me.

I sent him a quick text in return, letting him know that I’d be there in a few minutes. As I walked past the mirror that hung over the dresser, I caught sight of my limp hair and my pale skin.

How could he ever describe me as gorgeous? I was kidding myself to even consider it. Wes had his choice of girls on campus, that was clear. He didn’t need to bother himself with someone as plain and unimportant as me.

I reminded myself of that as I stepped out into the courtyard. Maybe he had written the poem out of kindness, but that didn’t mean he felt that way about me. I needed to keep my head on straight and stop giving in to fantasies.

As I walked through the courtyard, I didn’t see any sign of him. Had he just lured me out here to be a no-show again?

“Fi, over here.” He waved to me from behind one of the stone statues in the courtyard.

Behind it was a bench in a little enclave, set back from the rest of the courtyard. I’d never noticed it before.

He walked over to the bench and sat down. I noticed that he had a notebook and a pen with him this time.

He looked up at me and patted the bench beside him. “Let’s get to work.”

I knew it was now or never. I had to get the apology over with so that I could concentrate on our project.

“Wes, I just want to say that I’m sorry about what I wrote.” I frowned as he met my eyes. “I’m not usually so cruel and it was really unfair of me to say those things about you.”

“Those things?” He smirked and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his notebook.

As he unfolded it, I realized what it was.

My heart slammed against my chest as he stood up from the bench and walked toward me.

“‘Vain. It’s so good to be so pretty.’” he glanced up at me and smiled. “‘Callous. No one else matters but me.’”

“Wes, don’t. I said I was sorry.” I took a step back.

He crossed the distance I created and continued. “‘Cruel. I take pleasure in creating misery. No one can touch me, nothing can hurt me. I’m as slippery as slippery can be.’” He chuckled as he lowered the paper for a moment. “That line was a little sing-songy, I thought—like the good doctor we all read as kids?”

“I’m sorry.” My face flushed with heat and I inched back again, right into the statue behind me.

“Why are you sorry?” He locked his eyes to mine. “For being honest?”

“I was just angry, I didn’t mean any of that.” I licked my lips as he drew closer to me.

Could he sense my fear? My embarrassment? Having my own words spoken back to me made them even harder to deny.

“None of it?” He lifted the paper between us again. “Not even this part? ‘But it’s all just for show, though nobody may ever know that I act like a fool just to make myself look cool. No matter how good it seems on the outside, I’m all alone inside.’” He glanced up at me just for a moment, then looked back down at the paper. “‘I’ll laugh in your face and ask for nothing but space, while the me that no one gets to see keeps weeping—hasn’t been sleeping.’” He took a slow breath, then continued with the last two lines. “‘So alone and lost in my greatest fear. I’ll be gone before anyone knows I was here.’” He folded the paper back up, then looked into my eyes.

I couldn’t look away. There was nowhere for me to hide, with the statue against my back and his face inches from mine.

“Do you think I’m alone, Fi?” He smiled a little. “I’ve got more friends than anyone else here. If I want company, all I have to do is ask. But this is how you see me?” He held the paper out to me.

It surprised me that he wasn’t angry about my harsh words. Instead, he wanted to know about the words that had come to me when I’d finally truly looked at him. Hadn’t I insulted him by describing him that way?

“It doesn’t matter. We have work to do.” I started to step around him.

“It does.” His hand splayed against the curve of my waist and stopped my progress. He met my eyes as I looked up at him. “We’re supposed to be honest, right?”

His hand lingered against my shirt.

The warmth of his palm emanated through the thin material and inspired my skin to tingle.

There it was again—that stupid fantasy that I’d been fighting against.

“I don’t know anything about you, Wes.” I took a breath as I dared to stare into his eyes. “I’m no one to you. Why do you care what I think?”

“I just want you to answer the question.” He let his hand fall back to his side and took a small step back. “That’s all.”

“Yes.” I felt some relief at the distance between us, but at the same time, it felt like a loss. “I think you’re very alone.”

He tipped his head to the side and smiled. His eyes gleamed with that hint of amusement. His hair tickled at his eyelashes, his broad shoulders spread even wider.

In that moment, he looked untouchable. But I knew better. I knew I wasn’t wrong. After Maby had told me what she had, it made me even more certain that Wes had a lot to hide.

“And I don’t think that you deserve to be.”

He flinched, glancing away from me as he took a slow breath in.

“Well, I guess we have that in common. Don’t we?” He looked back at me, then walked over to the bench and picked up his notebook. “We’d better make some progress if we’re going to be done on time. I wouldn’t want to be the callous, cruel person that gets you a bad grade.” He flashed me a grin.

I had no idea how he could fluctuate so fast from serious to playful, but he’d made the transition look like nothing. As I sat down beside him, he suddenly leaned close to me and looked into my eyes.

“Yes?” I took a sharp breath in reaction to his sudden closeness.

“Do you really think I’m pretty?” He batted his eyelashes at me.

“Wes!” I rolled my eyes and shoved him away as I laughed.

“I’m just asking.” He smacked his lips together in a playful kiss, which only made me laugh harder.

The laughter broke the tension between us and soon we were working on our actual assignment. I noticed that when he focused, he had no problem working hard.

As I stole a look at him, I didn’t feel any more certain about whether he’d meant what he’d said in the poem he’d written for me, but I wanted to know more about him.