Love Left Unrequited

Chapter 10

As I'm just putting the book back on the shelf, I ram into something as I take my first step. Something hard and green. Something that definitely wasn't a bookshelf.

I looked up, horror and embarrassment in my eyes as I saw none other than Spencer in front of me. He only raised an eyebrow before letting out of a laugh.

"Weren't you just in the cafeteria?" I prompted.

He nodded. "Yes. I needed to get a book, believe it or not. I mean, I've never heard of people doing that in the library either, if it makes you feel better."

My hand is still rested on the book, which he swiftly picked up. "Got a knack for romances? Love Left Unrequited, huh?"

"I've never even heard of this book," I defended. "I was only looking at the back."

"Right," he chuckled.

"What book are you looking for?" I asked, getting myself off of this topic. He complied, thankfully, and didn't mention the book again.

"Just some Hemingway books."

"I'll help, then." I grabbed his wrist and steered him toward the H's.

"I've never been much of a fan of Hemingway. I don't know why. Everyone else likes him, but I can't even make myself like him. I feel like he's bland," I blurted while I ran my finger along the spines of the books.

"Really? You don't seem like the type," he returned. I swiveled to face him.

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's just that you look like the type who would devour any book and be nice to it after. As if it is some unfortunant book that couldn't help the life it got. 'What a poor baby'," he cooed. I rolled my eyes.

"Do not. I happen to think that everything Coleridge wrote is just blasphemy."

"So, no albatrosses around your neck?" he joked. It was a reference to a poem by Coleridge. "All I'm saying is that that guy sure knew how to use a hookah pipe for his daily fix."

"More like minutely fix." This made him laugh, bellowing and loud. A distinct shushing noise was made, directed to us, by the nearby librarian.

"Good one," he chuckled. I tried not to notice how the smile defines his face. I tried not to notice how vibrant his brown eyes currently are. But I couldn't help myself

Before I even realized what was happening, the shrill bell rang overhead, signaling my departure. I lose sight of Spencer in seconds. Once I was back in the throng of people, I felt encompassed, not crowded. I felt, suddenly, like we were together as a unit, a school of fish swimming through the sea.

Nothing in particular takes place during the first two hours of school. It was a collection of separated greetings, pounds of work. There was no time to talk anyway.

Surprisingly, Vance leaves me alone during computer class. I couldn't help but notice that he is wearing glasses today. I look over on his phone screen (only once, mind you), and I see a book.

The teacher up at the front of the class is staring blindly at his computer. Most of the students are doing the same, playing mindless games.

"Too scared to read a physical book? What would people think then?" I asked, my words biting.

"This is convenient," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. He didn't look up.

"I'm glad you've come to know me so well that you can identify me by my voice; you never had to look up once." Silence.

He never did look up.

*

"Did you ever look at the bulletin board, Octavia? The one where we left the note?" Jackie asked me on our way to lunch.

"No," I said, opening the door to the auditorium. At first, the lights are dark inside, but it only takes a moment for the blinding lights to be introduced to my eyes. I already heard small talk and voices echoing from inside.

Jackie gave me a pointed look to which I ignored. She followed my lead inside. I pushed back the curtains and it revealed a sight I wished I didn't have to see.

I didn't even bother taking a mental note of the scene. Celia and Spencer are there, facing each other as their knees touched. I turned away and grabbed the nearest chair and sat. I can't imagine what they have to talk about. I could hear his slow, accented voice from here, though.

They talked to each other. They kept talking to each other. Spencer didn't cast a single glance in my direction. I wouldn't lie; it stung. It stung because, for my own selfish reasons, I wanted that to be me. I wanted the boy who would walk with me and talk for hours about the pros and cons to classic literature. I wanted the boy who could make me smile as effortlessly as he did.

And I didn't know why.

I didn't have a problem with being independent. If anything, I appreciated the women who were able to take a stand without a man. But Spencer made me change my mind.

And I didn't know why.