The Turn of Truth

• days five and six •

On Monday, in our Eco class when we're ten minutes from presenting our project, Alex whisper-snickers to me, "I'm bored." 

"Well, whoop whoop," I reply. 

"No," he says, then after a pause adds: "Who's your favourite writer?" 

"That's very hard to choose." I look at him, my brows furrowing, "Why?" 

He shrugs. "What genre do you like reading best?" 

"All of them have their own charm." 

"So you've got absolutely no favourites?" 

"Where is this conversation headed?" I wonder aloud. 

"I was just trying to get to know you better," he shrugs again, and his gorgeous brown eyes leave my hazel ones to look down at his hands. 

"Group three," our teacher calls out from the front. "Alexander, Cassie, Irina. I'd like you all to come forward and present what you have for us." 

We do. While coming back to take our seats, I whisper to Alex, "Romance. Cheesy romance. That's what I like best." 

"Really?" he smirks. We are at our seats now, I sit on mine and he sits beside me. Irina gets dissolved in the book she's been obsessed with for about two hours now. "Well. Four qualities you look for in a perfect guy?" 

"I don't really look for anything, I think. I guess when you find the one you get to know. Well — at least that's what Nicholas Sparks makes me believe." 

"But still," he insists. "There's got to be something." 

"Sense of humour I guess," I say. "And someone who's tall, I think..." 

"So basically me?" he smirks. 

"Whoa, what? No!" I bite my lower lip and try to think of something witty to cover the blush creeping up my neck. If I'm not wrong, he's got a faint pink tinting his cheeks too. "Who said you have a sense of humour?" 

"Oh, please," he replies. "Stop covering what you just admitted." 

"I've just named two qualities," I point out. "Two more are left." 

Alex's eyes are beautiful. They kind of have the power to make me feel dizzy inside. I don't know. What? I have no idea. Nothing. 

"What are those?" he says, folding his arms across his broad chest. 

"Someone who doesn't have a huge ego. Someone who's not too full of themself." 

"Ouch," he mock-winces. "You just crashed my pride." 

"Exactly," I say, but in the back of my heaad I'm sort of sure my answer isn't true. I just said it to mock him. 

"Okay." 

"What about you?" 

"You can't ask me the same question I asked you," he winks. "But I'm sure you want to know." 

"You self-aggrandizing bastard," I laugh. "Okay. Four weaknesses." 

"I'm not a bastard," he says in a small voice, then gets back to his loud and obnoxious self. "Um. Pretty eyes. Long curly hair is cute I guess." 

"That screams me." 

"And I'm the one full of myself," he smirks again. "Who said your eyes are pretty? Anyway." 

"But you admit I've for long curly hair then." 

"That's a fact, it's not an opinion. I'm just saying it's a weakness — doesn't have to mean you are."