Pencils and Pool Water (Complete)

Chapter Twenty

Back. Now, where was I? 

The next day, Calvin approached me in the library again, but this time, I didn't run away. I needed to see where things were going to go. 

"Hey Lake," he said, setting his stuff down across from me, all too casually. I glanced at him, ignoring the way my heart swelled at the sight of him in the library- foreign, but right. 

"Hello Fritter," I said calmly, taking the disinterested approach. He put his feet on the table, and I snorted at his nerve. 

"What are you reading?" He asked, and, caught up in the book, I simply lifted it and let him read the cover. 

"Speak- Laurie Halse Anderson." Calvin's lips quirked up into a smile. "Read it. It's interesting." 

I nearly swallowed my tongue. "What? You've read it? Highly unlikely." 

He arched an eyebrow. "Really? So the main character isn't a girl named Melinda who was raped at a party when she was drunk and called the cops and-" 

"Shut up!" I hissed, kicking his chair. "People are staring at us." 

"People?" He looked around in disbelief. "There are maybe four people in here,  and that's counting you and me."

I huffed, stuffing my book in my bag and sliding the strap over my shoulder. I began to walk and Calvin made an indignant noise. 

"Where are you going?" 

I smiled kindly at the librarian, who nodded in acknowledgement. 

"Away from you. I don't need to take this... Harassment from you." 

Calvin laughed, fueling my irritated mood. "Harassment? What, trying to make conversation about a good book?" He squinted his eyes at me, his blue orbs like slits. "I bet you're that kind of book kid, aren't you? John Green, the Classics, and Perks of Being a Wallflower, huh? The deep insightful ones."

I hesitated at my car. He was right, of course. 

He grinned, giving a cocky grin that was all teeth and no... Well... Calvin. "I knew it. You are a little hipster." 

"I am not," I snap instantly. "How dare you? Those books are mainstream literature."

"What, too mainstream?" He teased, and I stopped in my tracks. 

I didn't ask which ones, or what his favorite book was, because I felt a wave of hurt crash over me. "Calvin," I whispered, a bit broken. "Why are you acting like this? Like a jerk." 

He froze, fake smile and all. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean this, Calvin." I waved my hand, gesturing to his arrogant stance and his cheeky grin. "I know you Calvin-" 

"No, you don't." He snapped. "You have no clue about me." 

He stormed off, fists clenched, body ridgid. Just as I was about to slide into the front seat, he turned around and ran towards me. I blinked in surprise; his facial expression was distraught. 

"I... We..." He panted, and I felt myself attempt to use the glass pieces of a broken heart as a wall against this boy. This lovely, perfectly imperfect boy who I have been, somehow, madly in love with since I was thirteen. 

Stiff, prepared for a fatal blow, I tried to use my lungs. "Spit it out, Fritter." 

He straightened, looked right into my face (we're the same height now and I hate it) and said, "My name is Calvin and yours is Simon, and I'd like it if  it stayed that way."