The Eccedentesiast

Chapter Twenty-two

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Chapter Twenty-two
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"Oops! Excuse me." A boy with glasses awkwardly laughed as he went on his, retrieving his fallen items.

Emma looked down at the guy, not recognizing him. She gulped. He was cute, really cute, and she rarely said that. That word existed in her dictionary, but in no way, shape, or form did she ever imagine herself using it on a boy—and mean it.

She noticed a dimple on his right cheek and she knew he was jacked by the way his arms filled his sleeves when he picked up a thick textbook.

Emma cleared her throat, lightly fanning her face because this was just ridiculous. Her, Emma Myers, calling a boy cute and fucking meaning it—it was the end of the damn world.

What? she asked herself, staring down at the guy who stared back at her. She hadn't meant to grab his attention, and so a blush crept up her neck.

And since this was on her; the guy's books, papers, and pens falling all over the place, she bent down to help. Her knees made fast and hard contact with the floor of the hallway, and she almost winced, clearing her throat again.

"I'm Alexander." He smiled at her, but she kept her head down like a submissive housewife, picking up wrinkled pages, and screaming about it in her head. "What's yours?" he asked, a big, friendly smile adorning the already perfectly chiseled bottom half of his face.

"Emma," someone spoke, standing between them, stepping on papers and pens, burning his laser-like stare on the crown of her head. And in between the two shins that stared at her, Alexander glared at the ass of Shawn.

And as Emma stared at the shoes—black and black, she trailed her gaze up, unnecessarily scanning his outfit, all black.

"Hi," she mumbled, feeling awkward on her knees, in front of the guy she lost her virginity with and now wants nothing to do with him.

"Let me help," he offered, and apologized, not caring in reality for what he may or may have not ruined. He ignored the boy's stare, getting ready to go on both knees. But before he could even bend, Emma was gripping his calf, staring deeply and darkly into his soul—maybe it wasn't that way, but with her, he could never tell what she was all about—from one second to the next.

"N-No. Please go," she said. And even if her eyes said something different; like 'fuck off', she had stuttered.

Shawn shook his head, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "Really, it's fine," he gritted out. He looked at Alexander. "I'm Shawn," he introduced himself, starting to extend a hand but then going against the weird gesture.

Alexander shook his head heavily but then stilled, staring back up at Shawn. His eyes narrowed into slits and then widened. "You're on the football team. I saw you when I went to pick up a few stuff from Coach Honey yesterday." For some reason, he looked amazed, as if he stood before a Greek God or a celebrity, but this was none of that—so maybe he just really like football.

Shawn nodded, smirking. "Yeah. You're playing?" he asked, shifting to lean on one leg.

They got up at the same time and Emma handed the guy his stuff, briefly glancing at the cover of an old magazine.

Interesting.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be a running back," he said, swiftly turning and balancing his things in one hand to put in the combination of his locker. "Guess we're neighbors." He glanced at Emma and nodded towards her locker.