The Late Bloomer's Revenge

Chapter One

Being a freshman in college for only five months had made me realize a lot of things:

One: it's a lot like high school but more.... laid back.. and brutal.. I swear, there is no in between.

Two: you'll make friends

Three: you'll also make enemies

Four: there's always gonna be that one guy (you know what I'm talking about)

Five: you won't always care about people, but when you do, it fu--... it mentally and emotionally destroys you.

Of course, like any other cliché love story, it has to involve someone special. That girl you like doesn't like you back. The guy in your Psychology 101 won't look at you. The boy leaning his back casually on the lockers is absentmindedly banging his head to the rhythm of his earphones while you pretend to turn the pages of your reading assignment. Daydreaming what it would be like to know what his favorite genre is. Although i wished mine was a love story. My name is Avery Jones my messed up story started at the first day of college.

I chose to sit in the third row. It didn't scream "I'm-a-helluva-braniac" but neither did "I'm-a-complete-slacker".I got acquainted with a few people whom later became good friends of mine.

You see, I too was listening to music that day. Rather loudly, if I may add. And then he walked in. The more.. interactive ones called him across the room and he smiled.

The boy-next-door smile. The kind you see when you gave your ex boyfriend your favorite his favorite videogame for his birthday. Or the kind of smile you saw on your ex girlfriend when she walked in a room and you threw a surprise birthday party for her birthday.

I, for one, have never seen someone light up a room with just their presence. It was almost enchanting watching him boyishly put his backpack down the chair just a few feet from mine. I turned down the volume of my Iphone when it switched songs and startled me.

Just as the song "Waiting for love" by Avicii played. I payed him no mind at first though. He looked like the kind of guy that claimed to take things seriously so, ironically, he could have a chance to play around.

"Waiting for love, waiting for love to come around..."

Just as the song played it's electronic burst of a chorus, I began to tap my worn out white converse on the floor.

The beat was catchy enough to take me back to my summer. Filled with music festivals, dancing to the bass and loud music blasting through the night. My outfit that day composed of a plain white v-neck, black high waisted skinny jeans. On my wrists were a leather bracelet and a watch. I planned my clothes the night before to avoid a fuss if I accidentally woke up late, again.

The pants accentuated what little curves I had and the shirt exposed my left neck that I'd religiously put on perfume so many times to avoid smelling like a mothball.

I instinctively ran my finger on lips as I felt a pair of eyes land on me. It was from him. I looked back. We stared at each other for a few moments and then I suddenly pulled back thinking that maybe he was looking at something or someone else.

But I felt the urge to check if he was still looking at me. And he was.

Gazing at me with those dark, curious eyes as if looking at me could hold the key to solving every riddle known to man. I stared back, whilst allowing the side of my face to be covered with my straight but tediously voluminous dark hair.

Our staring session was cut off when our first class began...

And I knew it was gonna be a very interesting semester.