The Bookworm | ✔️

Chapter One - Not So Typical

"All I'm saying is she should have said something to him! She left him hanging with nothing to give him hope, no rejection just ... blank! Flat line! The physical manifestation of NA-DA. ZIPPO!"

I was fuming, even going so far as slamming my red locker shut with a little bit more vigor than usual. The last chapter of my book I kept glued to my hands for the past several days really got my verbal motor running. The ending, in my personal opinion, proved to be highly unsatisfying. Perhaps my belief in love was virtually non-existent, no fault of my own. But this fact didn't excuse how the ending left me wanting more. Too many strings dangled, too many ends needed to be tied up. Endings such as that drove me crazy. I needed closure. Maybe it was my own fault I needed the closure. Maybe it wasn't. All I knew was I couldn't stand for answers to not be given. It without a doubt was my biggest pet peeve.

Before you can ask, because I know you're dying to, no, my failure to put stock in love didn't stem from some crisis I had as a child. I haven't had my heart broken. Heck, I haven't even had a boyfriend and I've never been kissed. Seventeen and still waiting for the sparks to fly. Most people labeled me as a loser and a prude. I labeled myself as wise and still in tact.

Touching my forehead to my locker with a dramatic sigh, I waited for the reply to come from my friend. I knew she still stood next to me. I could see her stupid boots from the corner of my eyes. So why the silent treatment?

The silence I received annoyed me. What happened to my best friend to render her absolutely speechless? My speech couldn't have been that exaggerated ... could it? With a slight growl, I diverted my eyes to the left and instantly noticed Shelby staring, no, gawking over my left shoulder. Something had clearly seized her attention and she was bent on keeping the contact, however small it seemed. The thing with Shelby; she had the attention span of a Chihuahua on crack. No less than fifteen seconds ago, my mouth let out a continuous stream of analytical and deep thoughts on the last book I read and she didn't catch a single word of it.

"And may I ask what fly has caught the frogs eye this time?"

The question came out a little more dry than I intended, but I didn't really care. Leaning on the lockers and closing my eyes halfway, settling into a comfortable position, I stared at my best friend. Shelby knew I couldn't keep my sarcastic remarks to myself. It was darn near impossible, especially when she let her attention wander off in the middle of one of my rants.

Clearing her throat as discreetly as she possibly could, her eyes snapped back to my dark brown ones. A fake and overly cheerful smile crossed my face. "Done ogling the poor sap?"

Shelby oh-so-gracefully stuck her tongue out at me and shook her head. "For your information, I was actually eyeballing Mr. Bad Boy over there."

Curiosity, once again, got the better of me and I casually adjusted the position I currently held to get a better look. My eyes stared straight ahead before lazily dragging their gaze down the halls. And, true to Shelby's word, there he stood; the figure which seemed to have every girl in this school swooning and stumbling around in his presence.

Keegan Monroe.

I won't lie - the guy oozed attractiveness. Dark messy hair sat on top of his head, most of it flopping down on his forehead and covering his right eye. I heard his eyes were a surprising shade of blue given the dark hair that he possessed. I wouldn't know, of course, considering I've never been close enough to even hear him speak.

Broad shoulders sat right below his nicely chiseled jawline and led into an impressive pair of strong arms. I couldn't help but wonder how many times he went to the gym to get them to look that way. Never having seen the guy shirtless, his torso was a mystery, but one could only imagine it was just as toned as the rest of his body.