The Boy That Hates Books

Nicknames, Smiles And Shoelaces

It was as simple as nicknames, smiles and shoelaces.

I frowned to myself, still frozen to the same position. Minutes had passed before I'd realised that I hadn't replied. I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, and I flinched again.

"Are you going to turn around?" I could hear the confusion thick in his voice, but I could also hear him smiling.

"What book?"

I replied to what he'd said before he asked me if I was going to turn around because I obviously wasn't. I'd made too much of a fool out of myself now. What if he was movie star gorgeous and I'd just ruined my chances with some kind of God? Best to avoid further humiliation, I decided.

He stayed silent for a few seconds more, and in those seconds I realised how weird I most likely looked in that moment. Having a conversation with my back facing the person I was talking to. I tapped my foot on the ground impatiently.

Eventually, I decided to take the upper hand in this unbelievably awkward situation.

"Can you please hurry up and tell me what book it is, because I have somewhere I need to be right now." I sighed, pretending to be annoyed.

With no hesitation, he replied.

"Only if you answer my question." I could still hear his smile.

"What question?"

"Are you going to turn around?"

"Are you going to tell me what book it is?"

"If you turn around." He was holding back a laugh.

"Why do you want to see my face so badly?" I crossed my arms over my chest for effect, before I realised that he couldn't see me.

"Why don't you want to see my face? I'm not that bad looking..."

"Okay fine." I whipped around, turning to face the stranger who had approached me.

The boy stood before me didn't come close to a movie star, or a God for that matter.

"Nice eyes." He said.

"Uh-thank you." I shifted awkwardly on the spot, wondering if he was crazy to say something like that to someone he'd only just met.

"Why are you looking at me like I'm crazy?"

"Are you a mind reader?" I asked Mr Smile, who was no longer smiling.

"No?" he looked lost, "Are you supposed to be left alone or do I need to call someone?"

"What's that supposed to mean!?"

"It means that I'm not really the crazy one in this situation, you are."

"Oh really?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

"It's not every day that I have a conversation with someone's back and get asked if I can read minds."

"And it's not every day that I get crept up on by a stranger in an empty library." I retorted.

"I wouldn't exactly call it creeping up on," he gave a throaty laugh, "I tapped your shoulder and said hello quite a few times."

"You did?" I hadn't heard him.

"I did." He replied.

I gave him another hard stare. He was handsome, but a rugged kind of handsome. Ruffled blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, some freckles scattered on his cheeks. His clothes were crumpled and stained, and I noticed thick layers of mud coating the bottom of his boots.