𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 ~ 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐨 𝐙𝐮𝐫𝐳𝐨𝐥𝐨

Chapter 3

The rest of the morning is routine. I leave the house, Ellie drives me to school. Ellie asks me if I slept, I say yes, she doesn't believe me, but she doesn't ask anything else because she's Ellie and she's the best and she knows I don't want to talk about it at 9 am without any coffee in my system.

I get to school. Brock Hunt and the football guys practically fall to the floor when they see me because the absolutely shocking news this week at Carnegie High School is that since my mom saw a photo of me with a guy kissing me on the cheek she's put me on birth control and my boobs have grown maybe half a cup. Great.

It's not that Brock and his group are unattractive, and they're not even one of those hot guys who's personality literally is the fact their hot or anything. I just don't like him. And I don't see why I should pretend I do just because we look like a perfect match. Ahem anonymous Carnegie student who started an instagram account about how hot our kids would be.

I've had a boyfriend, by the way. When I was 15 I met a guy in the summer and we dated for four months. And then it happened, and I didn't want anyone too close to me after that. I didn't want anybody in my space, except maybe Elodie and Viv. But let's not talk about that.

Anyways, a couple lessons come and go and I catch up with my girls and have my "special" Monday recess "no-pressure" talk with the principal where he asks if I'm okay and I say yes and nothing else. But then there's biology. I'm sat listening to Brock invite me to a party when he comes through the door. Oh shit.

This new kid, Alex something, is so ridiculously gorgeous it hurts. While my blue eyes are pure, and kind of a soft colour, his are piercing, with thick lower lashes that are just so sexy it feels dangerous. Which makes it even hotter. I've never felt such lust for someone before, not even my summer boyfriend who after Alex I've practically forgotten the name of. He leans on the doorframe, hands in pockets as if showing up about a half hour late is the most casual thing in the world.

And suddenly, his eyes lock into mine. I feel my breath sharpen, my chest rising and falling but I don't break eye contact. I don't know if I could if I tried. As he walks towards me, he very slowly looks me up and down, as if trying to commit every inch of me to memory. I've never cared so much about what guys thought about me, or about my body, but suddenly I'm heavily conscious of my every movement. I see his eyes move down to my chest, still quickly rising and falling, and then back to my fixed stare. I quickly get a hold of myself and stop looking, but I still catch the corner of his lip rising ever so slightly. He is not going to be good news.