Standing Still

Chapter 8: Bettering Books and Brazen Boldness

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Truth ^^

I'm excited for this chapter. 😁

I am at 925 reads, and I am literally so happy. If I make it to a thousand I will most likely die spontaneously. Tell my parents I love them. Tell my little brother he cannot have my iphone.

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"This is frustrating," Aiden announced, slapping his copy of the book down on the floor. "Why won't they just say they dig each other already?"

I chuckled faintly to myself, readjusting the geometry book on my lap that lay on my crossed legs. "Love is complicated," I said simply, and he scoffed.

"No kidding."

Aiden and I were supposed to be studying. Instead, though, he'd come into the book store on this windy, chilly saturday morning, and instead of waiting for me to stand up, sat right down across from me in that little reading nook of mine and began to give me his thoughts on my favorite book. It was difficult to try and focus on schoolwork when a Pride and Prejudice discussion was staring you in the face.

He'd gotten almost three quarters of the way through the book. He'd been suspicious of Wickham from the very beginning, (or so he said) and he found it difficult not to laugh at the patheticness of Mr. Collins. (I'd always felt a little bad for him, honestly.)

Part of me was convinced he'd cheated. I was sure he'd watched the movie, or googled the summary. But he'd flipped through a few pages and I could see little notes scribbled into the side margins, and a highlighted sentence here and there. I was dumbfounded. He actually read it. The notes and everything weren't there before- I'd looked through both of the copies in the past.

"Lydia's kind of a brat," he noted, frowning down at the pages in front of him.

"She's just immature," I countered.

"That Wickham, man, he's a jerk. What a poop-head."

I choked on a suppressed chuckle. "Poop-head?" I sputtered, raising my eyebrows.

He didn't get what was so funny for a minute. "Oh," he said finally, understanding. "I'm not allowed to swear at home because of the kids. Poop-head is like, the meanest thing you can say at my house."

"Oh," I said, suppressing another laugh, "well, then, that is very accurate."

He stared down at the book for a moment, and I stared ahead at him. We'd been studying every weekend for three weeks. That wasn't that long, I knew, but there were a few quirks he had that I'd grown accustomed to. First of all, he put off studying for as long as he possibly could. He talked, about anything and everything, and always, always questioned things. He could never accept the simple answer for anything.

When he made a joke, he'd shoot me a crooked smile, just waiting for me to crack up. But I never did. He was funny, sure, but we weren't that close. The thought of being friends with him scared me a little, to be honest. I'd never had many friends, and almost all those relationships ended badly. Take Caroline, for example.

When he did finally do his work, he zipped through it with such speed it left me speechless. He just simply chose the things he wanted to excel at. School did not seem to be very appealing to him.

"I like this book," he said suddenly, glancing up at me. I felt my cheeks heat up as I dropped my head, because when he had looked up at me, I was already looking at him.

He kept talking, though, and I liked that.

"It's sometimes a little confusing, but that's good. 'Cause it makes you think, you know? It's sort of... gratifying, when you manage to figure stuff out."