Confessions of a Teenage Caffeine Addict

19 // Mulberry Lane

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Above is a cover, made by Eliza0170. Shoutout to her for being awesome! I love covers, cast suggestions, anything to do with coffee, and basically just hearing from you guys. Feel free to PM me and start a conversation. I don't bite... except on Tuesdays. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think!

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He wanted to explain how people were

never quite what you thought they were.

—William Golding

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KATIE

JANUARY // WEEK 8

Next to Isabel, the library was probably my best friend, and being surrounded by wood, old books, and pen ink was comforting. Their smells wrapped around me like a vague memory from childhood: chocolatey cereal and Saturday morning cartoons. And my dad. He was still there. I felt a sharp pang in my side, just below my rib cage, almost like a cramp, the ones I got when I didn't spend enough time warming up before a run. Yet somehow this pain was agonizingly worse. I pushed my dad and the memory away quicker than the time it took him to walk out of my life.

Jake. I smelled him before I saw him, and that made my Calc homework very difficult. Confident and relaxed, as I had come to know Jacob Roswell over the past few weeks. I wanted to look up from my paper, flash him a pretty smile, bite my lip, then return to my work like he was just another guy. But Jacob Roswell was not, and would never be just another guy. And it was safe to say that I would never be that girl.

Jake slid into the seat beside me, his arm hanging over the back of the chair. I fought to urge to snap my head up from my book as long as I could. From the time Jake entered the library to the time he sat down, it took a total of twenty-seven seconds—a record for me and the number on the back of Jake's hockey uniform. Instead of saying hello or asking how his day was going, like any normal person with moderate to advanced social skills would have done, I just stared at him.

A piece of art. That was how I classified Jake in my mind, because, God, just look at him. Brown hair, the color of pots de creme, a fancy French dessert Isabel's mother made every once in a while. My stomach growled, quite loudly, though Isabel had brought me a bagel this morning. His eyes had all the colors and properties of ice: a beautiful light blue with a darker, outer rim, and undeniably breathtaking. I shivered, feeling a jolt run down my spine, though I knew he hadn't touched me...but I was kinda hoping he would. I wouldn't let myself even think about, or look at his lips because even I didn't have that much self restraint. But it was safe to say—in the least creepy way possible—that Jacob Roswell belonged a museum.

"So I heard you're amazing," he finally spoke. And it was as if his words had floated over to me and tugged the corners of my lips up slightly.

And suddenly, I wanted to be that girl. Try her out, see how it felt to be witty and charming. "Oh, yeah?" I asked, turning to face Jake. "Where'd you hear that?"

No lip bite accompanied my response though. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them and rested my chin on top.

"Derek." He half-smiled. "Turns out he's actually got a brain in there." Jake tapped his pointer finger against the side of his head. I was jealous of his fingers.

My mouth formed into a small o."What?" I played along, faking disbelief.

"Yeah, it's crazy. I figured, if you managed to pull a 95 out of his head, you could maybe do the same with mine," Jake said, putting his elbow on the table to prop his head up.