Page 1 of Shattered

CHAPTER ONE

Neilix

Sunflower: Are you a virgin?

My cheeks blaze hot as I read the question again and again. I'm not ashamed of my answer, but being asked that point-blank by a girl has my face turning beet red.

I glance up, subtly spanning my sights to each of the guys in the room. My phone is hidden enough that there’s no way my best friends would be able to see what’s on it and give me shit, but I don’t trust that they wouldn’t try to look, considering how my face looks right now. As it is, they’re always giving me shit about constantly being on my phone.

“Are you looking at naked chick pics again?”

“Dude, why are you always checking for messages?”

“Adams, stop watching so much porn.”

Thank god they have no idea why I'm so obsessed with it.

Sunflower.

My sunflower.

And thank god, none of them are looking at me right now.

Girls have never been interested in me—I’m likely too quiet to make it onto anyone’s radar—that is, until her. It started as a simple text from a random number asking me how my day was going. I ignored it at first, assuming it was simply sent to the wrong person. But then another came, and then another. Finally, I responded, politely telling them they had the wrong number. The reply I got had sent a flurry straight to my stomach.

Unknown: There is no one else I want to be texting, Neil.

After that, the texts increased from one or two a day to four or five, and now, I couldn’t tell you how many are shared back and forth throughout the day.

Running my thumb across my bottom lip, I try to work up the courage to type out those three little letters.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still a little skeptical and sometimes think it’s too good to be true, even after six months of us texting. What if it’s some big joke? What if it’s a guy laughing at me on the other end?

Even with those occasional doubts, I reply each time, unable to resist the pull. I’ve never felt a high quite like this; the type of high that has you craving it before you’re even conscious in the morning, all the way to that blissful moment when you fall over the edge into a deep slumber. My dreams are often filled with her. When I don’t hear from her for more than an hour, I have withdrawals. And when I'm talking to her, it’s not enough.

It’s thrilling. It’s intoxicating.

And I'm hooked.

At the sound of shouting, I flick my gaze back up to my friends and see that Jacob—one of the five of us playing video games, and one of my best friends—has won the racing game we’re taking turns playing, once again. This is a typical Friday night for Jacob, Mase, Campbell, Jason, and me. A little playing, a little arguing, a lot of teasing.

When Mase makes an attempt at taking my turn against Jacob, I quickly snatch up the controller and tell him to fuck off. Well, not in those exact words. “No. It’s my turn next.” My friends know me as the quiet one, the sensible one, the sensitive one. Sure, I will join in on the shit-talking, as well as the ensuing laughter, but a lot of the time, I keep my thoughts to myself.

And at nineteen, I’m also the oldest of the group. I was kept back in grade one because, apparently, I was not ready to socialize.

“I gotta get going now anyway,” Jacob announces, getting to his feet.

My eyebrows draw together as I look at him because not only is that a little strange since he always sleeps at Campbell’s on nights like this, but it also means I don’t get a chance to try beat him this time. I’d love to be the one who finally does it, just so I have some bragging rights. He and I usually play one-on-one most Wednesday afternoons when it’s just the two of us, but this particular game is the one we all compete over.

The other guys start questioning why and where Jacob is going, so I use that opportunity to type out my reply.

Me: You first.

I wait in anticipation for her response—obsessing over the three little dots that are sure to appear at any second. But when I hear the word ‘party’ come from Mase’s mouth, my ears perk up and my attention shifts back to the guys. A party? I’d be lying if I said the sudden desire to go to one when I’ve never wanted to before doesn’t revolve around looking for my girl.

Campbell mentions that Jennifer Lapmor—the girl Jacob has been pining over for a couple of years now, with no interest returned—is going to be there, and my eyes widen in surprise. “She actually talked to you guys?” Jacob must be over the moon that she even breathed in his direction, let alone told him about a party. And since she told him, it wouldn’t be out of the question for me to tag along with him.

“No.” Campbell chuckles. “I doubt she even knew we were behind her when she was talking to her friends.”

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