Eastwood Academy

Chapter 3: The Library and the Lake

I clutch the cup of coffee I just picked to my chest and walk toward the library. On my way over, a wave of fatigue from my early morning flight and hauling my duffles through the airport and up to my room hit hard. A large latte seemed like the perfect antidote.

I have a terrible habit of walking fast and staring at my shoes. Especially when I'm nervous. Because this is precisely what I'm doing now, and I round the corner of the library, hugging the hall, I don't see the person in front of me. The result is that I walk headlong into their chest and stumble forward, dropping my bag and spilling coffee all over us. Just fucking great.

Mentally cursing my thoughtlessness, I drop to my knees, yank my bag up, and start to give an apology. However, when I catch a good look at the person standing before me, I am rendered temporarily speechless. Because I know this face, these eyes. They've haunted me ever since I first set foot on this campus. Except my memory hasn't done him justice.

Wow. Just wow. Unlike the last time we met, my mind isn't in a fog of grief, so I notice more than his stunning irises. The boy in front of me is about six feet tall, with a nice summer tan, broad shoulders, and well sculpted arms that look amazing in his simple white T-shirt. Actually, he doesn't look like a boy at all. Most of the guys I've seen at the academy barely look old enough to be first-year students.

But this one is different. His face is classically beautiful, and his light brown hair is a little longer than most guys', hanging down to land just below his ears. He has a straight, angular nose and high cheekbones. For a moment, he stares at me in what I think is surprise, but that quickly turns to annoyance.

Shit, I'm starting a second too long. I mentally scream at myself to drop my gaze but find myself unable to look away from his piercing eyes. For a moment, I think I see a glimmer of recognition, but it's quickly replaced by aggravation.

"I'm so sorry I didn't see you," I stammer as I assess the damage my thoughtlessness has caused. The bag I held against my chest seems to have taken most of the damage, but both of our shoes got splattered, and his look very expensive.

Mr. Hotness purses his full lips in annoyance and rolls his eyes, and, giving me the distinct impression that I'm wasting his time, says, "Don't worry about it, just watch where you're fucking going next time," in a tone that implies I really should worry a lot about it.

Then he steps around me and walks back the way I just came. Okay, that felt excessively rude. I know that getting coffee spilled on yourself is no one's idea of fun, but it was an accident. No need for him to be so mean.

"Nice to see you again, too, Twilight," I mutter.

I know I should turn around and walk away, but my feet stay planted in the same spot, and I turn my head to watch the boy until he disappears out the door at the end of the hall and from my sight. A crazy part of me has the insane urge to follow him, but that's not going to happen. I refuse to turn into a stalker just because I happened to see one hot (and kinda rude) guy. A guy who has been on my mind for years. Leave it to me to spill coffee all over his shoes. What a great first impression.

After I stand for another couple of seconds (maybe minutes), stupidly staring after Mr. Hotness, I remember why I came here in the first place. The library. Right. My place of refuge. Breath, Brooklyn, I tell myself. You are an intelligent teenage girl, not a horndog.

Laughing under my breath at my unexpected reaction, I push open the library doors and stifle a gasp. To describe this place as impressive would be an understatement. Rows and rows of desks line the center room, and off to the side, large mahogany bookshelves house thousands of academic and fiction books. In the center of the room, a large, ornate, carpeted staircase spirals up three more stories.