Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
He’s Jay…
The guy who drew me in his sketchbook.
He saw beyond the fake mask I was wearing, and he drew the real me.
I can’t possibly be intimidated or scared of him, even if he looks like he can snap me half without even trying.
A muscle ticks along his jawline and then I see his lips twitch, with a ghost smile. “You’re staring,” he says under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear.
“You,” I say, when my words fail me. “What…how? You’re here.”
“I would say, I’m just as surprised.” He turns his head toward me, and his smile widens when he sees me still staring at him like a complete loon. And that’s when I see it. A dimple.
He has a dimple.
And it happens again — that flutter in my stomach.
“So, I guess you’re not Daisy.” There’s no accusation in his voice, just keen interest.
“You’re not Jay either.”
“No, I’m not.” He slowly cocks his head to the side, watching me.
The teacher hasn’t arrived yet, and the class is boisterous. No one is really paying attention to me or him; it’s just the two of us here. In the back of the classroom.
I lick my lips. “What’s your name then?”
He grunts in response. “I’ll tell you my real name, if you tell me yours first.”
“Riley.” I swallow.
There goes the fantasy I’ve created in my head, where I was Daisy and he was Jay. My imagination is now tainted with the reality of us. He’s here, at Berkshire Academy now, and if he doesn’t know my truth already, he will eventually find out.
“Riley,” he says my name, almost like he’s testing it on his tongue. “It suits you.”
It suits me? What is this supposed to mean?
He must see the confusion on my face when I simply blink at him in response. “Do you not know the meaning of your name?”
I shake my head. “No?”
It never occurred to me to check the meaning of my name because I can’t imagine my parents gave any importance to it when they named me. So it never mattered before.
“There are two possible meanings to your name,” he explains. “The first is derived from a Gaelic word, which means “valiant.” The second meaning is derived from the Old English words, Rye and Leah, meaning a field or a meadow.”
“Oh. And you think that suits me?”
“I passed by a meadow once. It was filled with yellow lilies. This is why it suits you. Your hair…” He trails off as the teacher walks into the classroom.
Everyone quiets down, settling back into their respective chairs. I drop my hand back to my lap when I realize it has drifted up, unconsciously touching the loose strands of my hair.
Mr. Gavin begins talking about the class curriculum and expectation, but I can’t focus. “You didn’t tell me your name yet,” I whisper, only half-listening to the teacher.
“Grayson,” he finally introduces himself, using his real name for the first time.
My mystery man is no longer a mystery.
Grayson.
The constant stammering of my heart is making me breathless.
“Grayson,” I say this name, only because I want to know how it feels on my tongue. It’s easy and nice. His eyes flash, narrowing on me when I breathe his name.
My teeth snag on my lower lip, and I watch just how quickly his attention is diverted to my mouth. My palms grow sweaty and I feel a flush creeping up from my neck to my cheeks that are already unnaturally warm.
“Riley Johnson? Riley Johnson!” The sound of my name snaps me out of my thoughts, and I lurch to my feet in alarm, almost knocking my desk over in my haste and forcing Grayson to reach out and hold it in place for me.
“Yes?” I squeak out, embarrassment coursing through me.
My calculus teacher gives me a bored look. “Attendance, young lady. If you’re not going to focus in my class, you can walk right back out.”
I hear a chorus of laughter, and my eyes flicker to my feet. “I’m sorry,” I mumble under my breath. When I sit down again, I can’t bring myself to look back at Grayson.
“Dumb bitch.” I hear the person in front of me sneer under her breath.
“She’s a walking disaster,” her friend agrees.
If I can hear their words, I know Grayson can too. He hears my truth; he sees it now. He sees the wreckage that is me — Riley Johnson.
Stupid, stupid Riley.
I can’t even do one thing right in my life. I just had to go and embarrass myself in front of him. Now Grayson probably thinks I’m a loon, with practically no brain cells.
The thought makes me pause.
Why do I care what he thinks? My whole life has been scrutinized and made fun of. I’ve been ostracized by the whole of Berkshire Academy, I’ve been ceaselessly bullied and everyone treats me like I’m some kind of disease (except Lila, of course).