White Lies (Book 1)

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

I had been in love with Robbie the way that a starving man loves a warm meal. I had loved his kindness. I had needed it like I've needed nothing else.

I thought I had been in love, at least. I truly had no idea what I was even talking about, in a lot of ways. I could only hope that what I had felt for Robbie was something similar to love.

Despite him never feeling the same way, I had nothing else to compare it to.

There was no way for me to pinpoint the exact moment when I had fallen for him. Maybe it had happened during the many afternoons we spent hiding out in the library, talking about everything and nothing.

"Favorite ice cream flavor?"

"Hm. Definitely vanilla."

"What?" His eyes opened in shock, firing me a look of shame. He had been resting his head on my lap on the library floor, letting me stroke his messy hair. I could feel my heart fluttering all the while, knowing that these displays of affection were all the same for him. An empty gesture. "Easily the most boring flavor on the planet? Are you kidding?"

No way. Vanilla is by far the superior ice cream flavor, and I was going to die on that hill. "Are you kidding?" I fired back. "Clearly you're fooling yourself for not acknowledging vanilla as the supreme higher being of the ice cream world."

"Okay, makes sense. You're already pretty crazy, so as far as this delusion goes, it's not as 'out there' as your other ones..."

"Hey!" I elbowed his ribs, making him cackle with glee. His smile was as beautiful as it was infectious.

These moments were the only few times I had ever seen him be himself.

"Okay, I've got another one for you," he stated, sitting himself up and spinning around to face me. We sat cross-legged on the thick carpet, knees touching. Tall rows of shelves towered over us, framing our mirrored outlines. There was never anyone else in the library. Only the books were there to listen, and they were impervious to our hushed banter.

Before he spoke, he checked to see if there was anyone around. A quick survey to his left and right, then a glance up and down the row of bookshelves – this was his ritual.

He glanced back at me, and this time he was much more subdued. "Who's the cutest boy in English?"

My fluttering heart came back to its regular, steadier pace. "I don't know," I admitted. You, I wanted to reply.

"Oh, come on. Surely you've thought about kissing Ericson! I watch when he talks to you. He clings to you."

"Yeah, but it's all just a joke to him," was a bitter reply, turning my face away. Hiding my disappointment – at him, at Nathan Ericson. "The only time anyone pays attention to me is when I'm the butt of the joke."

"At least he pays attention to you at all."

I gave him a sharp look. "I don't just want any male attention that comes my way. Is that what you think of me?"

He had the decency to look shocked and guilty. "No way, that's not what I meant," he backpedalled, shaking his head furiously. He held my hand and squeezed it as a way of apology. "I'm sorry. You're not like Tiff or Lizzy. That's why I can talk to you. You're different."

I hushed him, giving his hand a light squeeze back. "I know, it's fine. Who do you think is the cutest boy in English?"

His eyes went somewhere else, somewhere I couldn't follow. Glazed over, wistful, giddy. "Nathan. I've always thought he was gorgeous, even when we were kids."