Why Don't We Imagines

Bookworm (Ja)

Y/n's P.O.V.

"NERD!"

I dodge a paper ball aimed from my head by one of the school's star football players; if they're just going to come here to taunt me rather than study for finals, why even come here in the first place?

I make my way to my usual study spot in the library, and thankfully, nobody has chosen to sit down at my table. They should know better not to-- I've claimed the corner desk by the window as my spot since day one, I have never and would never sit anywhere else than this ideal place.

I spread my various notes on the large desk before walking around to grab a few guidebooks and maybe a new book to read since I've already finished the one my mother gave me for my sixteenth birthday-- twice. Scanning the shelves for the books I need, my eyes fall on a guy who's looking at the same shelf as me, but on the opposite side.

Jack Robert Avery.

Unlike most of the 'cool guys', Jack isn't a football jock-- in fact, he could easily fit in with the skating crew since he's never seen without one board or another. He only talks to them when he's at the half-pipes and wherever those people hang out to board, while his football buddies and cheerleader girlfriends have fun on the field. The only difference is that while his clique loathe the library, I've seen him here everyday since the start of the year.

And it's October, which should be saying something.

He's always browsing through bookshelves, though he always leaves the library without the book he has been reading, even if he hadn't finished it. Just like me, he seems to claim a desk for himself-- again, it's opposite me, but a few tables to the right. He didn't let his jock friends crash there today, though.

Funnily enough, despite spending his hours here either reading or studying, he's always at the bottom of our class every time, even though he's always at the library, which is most peculiar. Sometimes, as one of the top students in the school, I wonder how I got stuck in the same class with an idiot like him. I'm serious-- without that heavenly singing voice, perfect smile, the charming tattoos, good fashion taste and wild, curly hair I would love to run my hands through... there would be no way this guy would make a career out of anything.

I take the guidebooks I need and two other books that had piqued my interest and make my way back to my seat, trying to take the route where the jocks won't see me and can't attack me again. Just as I'm sitting down, I see that bad boy Jack's making his way back, too-- only, when he reaches his desk, he doesn't sit down.

Instead, he glances at me, makes eye contact, and smiles effortlessly.

Oh God.

My mind panics-- I can easily attain As for any subject, but when it comes to flirting, dating and talking to guys, or anybody for that matter, I'd probably get a negative score out of a hundred. I'm what the jocks called me-- a nerd. I don't have any contact whatsoever with people, much less guys, and I have no idea how to talk to them and entice them. I hang out by myself, and I don't wear skimpy skirts. I wear cute blouses and dark pullovers, knee-length skirts and comfortable jeans. I seldom wear sleeveless clothing and short shorts-- ripped-jean chicks are Jack's thing, not plain-flats girls.

Nonetheless, my insides squirm and melt as he walks past all the other decent-looking girls who are in the library, trying to cram their brains with knowledge through last-minute studying, and towards my direction. Me.

I'm next to the window-- there's no one beside me, or behind me, there's just me. But he keeps walking, going past people, still smiling that smile-- which has turned a little goofy by now-- until he reaches me, still smiling; though I can see that his cheeks are slightly pink now that's he closer. And wow, he looks much better close up. No wonder he's got girls falling for him left, right and centre.