Page 9 of Reconnected Hearts
“Whatever.” I wave him off. “Just stop being so loud. I can’t focus.”
He raises a curious eyebrow and I justknowI’m going to want to slap him after whatever nonsense is about to come out of his mouth next.
“I think, Lucy, that maybe you’re justboredof the book, seeing how you’ve read it about a million times. That’ll happen, y’know.”
My jaw clenches until it hurts, and my teeth grind together. I’m trying diligently to not scream right in his face because that is not acceptable in society. But if society wasn’t around, he would be dead meat.
“I’m not bored of it,” I argue. “And stop saying my name like you know me. You don’t.” He chuckles; it’s a dumb, irking chuckle that makes me want to slap that cocky smile right off of his face. I feel like I’m twenty again, being made to feel small and irrelevant in front of an entire lecture hall. He’s the only person who has ever made me feel like that. Or hewas.
Until I found out about Jace and Amy.
“I’m serious,” I seethe.
“Oh, I know,” he replies easily. “That’s what’s funny about it.”
“And, what, pray tell, is so funny about what I said?”
“Oh, just that you’re probably the easiest person in the whole world to know. You might as well have a cheat sheet to your psyche tattooed on your forehead.”
I don’t know why I’m so offended by that, but I am. It’s like he’s the one slapping me across the face. I reel back and stare at him, sick to my stomach at the insinuation.
“That’s not true,” I bark. “You don’t know a thing about me, and you have no right to talk to me like you do. Just because I’m a woman?—”
He cuts me off with a groan and throws his head back in annoyance. “Not this again!” He runs a hand through his hair and looks down at me with sheer exasperation. “I don’t have anything against women. I have something againstyouand need I remind you, that is only because you seem to have something againstme. If you just so happen to be a woman, then so be it. But I am notout to get you just because you don’t have a Y chromosome.”
My eyes narrow. “If I were a man?—”
“I promise I would hate you just as much, sweetheart.”
I bite down heavily on my tongue, so much so that I start to taste blood. The bitter, iron taste grounds me, but not enough to make me keep my mouth shut.
“If I were a man,” I start again, with more ferocity this time, “you wouldn’t laugh at the fact that I don’t like you. I wouldn’t be considered emotional, and I certainly wouldn’t be asked if it’s ‘my time of the month’ just because I’m upset. Do you know how frustrating it is? You didn’t single anyone else out in class, itsuckedNoah. I already found it hard to connect with people, and you made that worse.”
Rage bubbles in my chest, like boiling water seeping over the sides of a pot. My heart is racing, and I am afraid. But I stand my ground and stare at Noah.
He seems to be at a loss for words; his mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally opts to keep it closed. He turns, stiff as a board, and goes back to idly flipping through his stupid magazine.
I watch him. I don’t dare look away. I want him to feel my eyes on him, and I want him to explode under the pressure, just like I did.
He doesn’t even spare me a glance. He just turns page after page, until finally, his mouth opens.
As easily as reciting the ABCs, he says, “I still think Emily Dickinson is better.”
And, somehow, it feels like a win.
CHAPTER6
NOAH
Iwatch Lucy when she doesn’t think I’m looking. I watch the precise movements of her fingers when they turn a page of her book. I watch the way the corners of her lips start to curve up as she reads, but she bites her lower one to keep herself from smiling. I watch her sheer absorbancein the story and wonder what she’s thinking as her eyes fly across the pages. Maybe I’m bored. Maybe I’m curious about the person she’s become since we graduated. Whatever it is, I’m noticing things about her I never did before, like the way her gold jewelry all matches perfectly or the tiny heart tattoo on the inside of her wrist, just barely visible against the darkness of her skin in the shadows. I can’t explain it, but she seems more human to me than she ever has before, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
She looks up, and I don’t have time to avert my gaze before she catches me staring. I’m like a kid with my hand stuck in the cookie jar.
“What?” she asks, a crease appearing between her brows that sort of matches the dimples that indent in her cheeks when she frowns. She reaches up and brushes her hand under her eyes and over her chin. “Do I have something on my face?”
I clear my throat and do my best to be nonchalant. “No, no, you’re good. I was just kind of...zoning out. My bad.”
Still looking terribly confused, she seems to take my excuse at face value and goes back to her reading. I let out a short breath of relief. I didn’t want to have to explain that I was zoning out thinking abouther.
