Prince Charming (3 page)

A
long time ago, the library at Heritage High had hundreds of books spread across two floors. It opened at seven-thirty a.m. and didn’t close until four, thereby ensuring nerdy kids like me had a place to hide from the bullies and awkwardness of high school. And we used it for that almost every day.

But not in my senior year. The comfortable library disappeared.

By that time, thousands of dollars in private donations from the parents of Heritage High students paid for a million-dollar renovation to the library. After a summer of construction, the library reopened with only half the physical books it used to contain. They expanded the computer lab, ordered dozens of Kindles, stocked a database full of e-books, and got rid of the card catalog. Heritage High now had the library of the future. I hated it.

Hated it.

I wasn’t the kind of person to always embrace change. Change sucked. Change only brought uncertainty, and sometimes that felt worse than the annoyance of mediocrity. But it was still the only place on campus where I could go to avoid the social pitfalls of my snobby high school.

I had a ten-page paper due the following Monday in AP European History on England’s Glorious Revolution. Since I hadn’t started on it yet, I decided to go to the library that Thursday afternoon.

When I walked in the doors, three other kids sat at rectangular wooden tables spread out in the center of the main library space. Two were freshman, and one was a sophomore. I didn’t know any of their names, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if they knew mine.

Over the last few years, a couple of epic falls, a science lab experiment gone wrong, and some bad T-shirt choices had cemented my reputation as “Geoff Megadeth,” and most of the kids in every grade at Heritage thought they knew all about me.

At least I had that going for my life.

Once I found a seat at one of the wide tables in the far corner, I opened up my binder for the class. My notes filled up 80 percent of the space in the binder, and we still had four more months of instruction before the big test—a test I dreaded, but knew I’d make at least a four on, and a four meant three hours of guaranteed college credit.

Flipping to the back, I found a few blank pages of loose-leaf paper before I slid my school issued iPad out of my backpack. Once I turned the device on, I opened up the McGraw Hill AP European History app and sighed so loudly that one of the freshman a few tables over turned his head in my direction.

“What are you looking at?” I asked, in my most intimidating voice.

His eyes widened, and he lowered his head. Satisfied, I turned back to my notebook and let the words of a study outline blur together on the iPad. I liked history a lot, but I didn’t find England’s seventeenth century very interesting, and the thought of creating the required outline before I wrote the paper bored me even more. Why did AP classes at Heritage have so many guidelines? Couldn’t they just let us study the topic on our own, take the test, and go home?

“Have you started on your paper yet?” Fifteen minutes later, a voice spoke from behind my left shoulder.

I jumped back in my chair and turned around. What I saw made me catch my breath. Laine stood right next to me, in the flesh. Her letterman jacket threatened to fall off her shoulders, and all the awards, patches, and pins of a celebrated high school career centered on cheerleading leered at me. She hooked her black leather backpack over one shoulder, smiled at me,

“Hey, Geoff.”

My ears waited to hear two others words, and when they didn’t, my heart fell to my feet. She actually called my name real name—not the stupid nickname? What kind of bizarre world had I fallen into? Maybe I’d wake up in a couple of seconds. Yeah, that’s what needed to happen. I needed to wake up from whatever dream this was before it turned into a nightmare.

“Hey, Laine,”

“You look really into it.”

“What? No. Yes. Into it. Yummy.” I couldn’t collect my thoughts. They rattled around in my brain like marbles, and rolled away from me when I tried to string a few together. “I mean, yeah. I’m into tit—I’m into it.”

“So you’re studying.”

“Yeah,” I still struggled to talk. “Just working on a couple of things.”

“Have you started on the actual paper yet?”

“The paper?”

“The one for English.” She paused. “Mr. Langston’s class? The one that’s due next week?”

“Oh, that one?”

She smiled. “That one.”

“Um . . . no.” I closed the textbook, and nodded at the chair across from me. “Do . . . you have a . . . you want to sit down?”

“Sure.” She bit her cherry-red lip, and watching her do it almost made me fall out of the chair. Still, she made no move to take a seat. “I wasn’t going to come over and talk to you—but, well, I just wanted to say that—well,” she broke off. “Never mind.”

“Seriously, do you want to sit down?” I asked again.

“Yeah.” She looked over her shoulder. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

As I hurried to move my school stuff out of the way, she slid into the metal chair and tossed her own book bag on the floor. Then I just stared at her, because I didn’t know what to say, and I couldn’t figure out why she’d sat down next to me. It just didn’t make much sense. The library had plenty of open tables, and even more computer desks. Hell, she could have had a whole section to herself if she wanted it.

So why me? Why me? WHY ME?

“Have you started the paper?” I asked when the awkwardness became too much for me to bear.

She nodded. “Yeah, last week. I’m about three quarters of the way done with the outline.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I like English literature a lot, especially that time period.”

I sat back, surprised. No one liked Langston’s class. No one. Right? And she didn’t seem like the English type, since she never talked much in that class. I had assumed she got in just because of who she was in school and the magic spell she seemed to have over everyone—even the teachers. “So, you’re telling me you like AP English?”

She gave me a blank look, as if I shouldn’t be surprised about this.

“Well, that’s awesome. I can’t get into it. At least, not that stuff we’re learning right now.”

“It’s not that bad, Geoff. Some of it is kinda romantic.” She disappeared underneath the table and came back a few seconds later with a thick green binder, a blue pen, and her own iPad. She opened up the binder and pulled the iPad out of the case as a small smirk danced on her face.

“Wait. Are you going to study here?” I paused. “With me?”

“Sure I am. This is a library.” Laine winked. “You do know how these work, right?”

“But I mean—”

“And you look so—I don’t know—lonely sitting here all alone.”

“So you just thought you’d plop down and study with me?”

“What? Don’t you want me to?” She tilted her head and frowned, as if she didn’t understand why I’d asked the question. “That’s what people do in a library. They study. Sometimes together. Of course, I could always go study with one of the freshmen.”

But even as she said this, she made no move to get up from the table we shared. Meanwhile, all the attention in the room had turned to her. Everyone in the library stared, transfixed. She was like that ring from
The Lord of the Rings
. My precious.

Good fucking grief. Of course I would make that kind of lame analogy.

“So, what’s the topic you are focusing the paper on?” she asked, as if she had no idea that she had this kind of effect on others. I gulped, and tried to think of an answer. When I didn’t get one out fast enough, she pressed onward. “I got the assignment to write about Lady Macbeth as an evil archetype.”

“Hamlet,” I croaked. “I’m supposed to discuss the psychology of his character.”

She looked up from her iPad. “Hmm. That’s a pretty easy topic.”

“There’s just so much to write about. I’ve been trying to figure out how I can fit it all into a ten page paper.” I pretended to sound interested in this—not easy to do when a goddess who looked like the Sugar Plum Fairy had just sat down across from me. I wondered if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

She probably did.

“I hate how we have to turn in all the work, too. I’d rather just write the paper.”

“I don’t like making the outlines, either,” I replied.

“But I like the books on the reading list,” Laine confided in a low voice. “My favorite was
The Illiad
.”

“Mine too,” I lied.

Who was I kidding here? What the hell was I saying?

Laine nodded, as if satisfied with my answer, and turned her attention to the iPad. I seized the further chance to study her up close. She had pulled her hair into a long braid since lunch, and it fell over one shoulder. A few strands of hair escaped, and they danced along her hairline. Close up, her skin looked almost translucent, even though I saw a faint outline of makeup along her chin. My eyes fell on her long lashes—some of which clumped together from too much mascara—her rosebud lips, and the small pearl earrings in her ears.

God, she was gorgeous. More than gorgeous. A gorgeous goddess.

How many times could I think that over and over in my head?

We studied in silence for a while, and the only sound I heard was the click of the large clock on the far wall of the library near the computers. Even the freshmen turned their attention back to their work.

I focused on the notes about England’s Glorious Revolution from the iPad app, and managed to create half my outline. Before we knew it, Mrs. McGhee, the librarian, came over the loud speaker to let us know the library would close in five minutes.

Goddamn it.

“Well,” I said as we packed up our bags, “I got some work done.”

She smiled. “Me too. Good job. Maybe I’ll get an A on this paper.”

“An A?” I almost dropped my iPad on the floor. “I... um...I didn’t know you liked school so much. Guess I’m surprised.”

She chuckled. “Of course I like school. I’m in those AP classes with you, you know.”

“No, I just—some people don’t always like—”

“What? You think I’m just some dumb blonde because I’m a cheerleader?”

“Well—no—” I struggled with a way to fix this, cursing myself inside for saying that. “I just didn’t—”

She held up her hand. “Let’s clear this up right now. I like AP English, European History, and Chemistry, too. Shock you?”

“Well, yeah . . .”

“You’re kinda judgmental, aren’t you?”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?” I said, with a fake laugh.

“I don’t think I have to. I think I’ve figured you out.” She raised her index finger.“You have a judgmental side.”

“I am not. I am not judgmental.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m not. No, really—”

“I’m ranked fifteenth in the class,” she mumbled, as she stood up and zipped her bag. “Of course, that’s nothing compared to being ranked second. So I can understand why you might think I was kinda dumb.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m going to Xavier in the fall,” she said. “I haven’t told anyone.”

“Why not?”

“All my friends think I’m going down to Lexington and UK. Monica even thinks we’re going through sorority rush together. But I don’t want to do that. Just want to do something different. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do.”

I thought about my own early acceptance letter to UVA. I couldn’t wait to leave Greater Cincinnati for Charlottesville. Best of all, Blake and Bruce wouldn’t follow me. They planned to go to Bluegrass Community and Technical College for two years, and then transfer to the University of Kentucky—if they didn’t get D averages.

Losers.

We slid our backpacks around our shoulders and strolled out of the library. From there, it was just a short walk to the front of the school. I didn’t have the car that day, so I planned on walking home, and had about a twenty-minute trek ahead of me.

“Are you walking home, or driving?” Laine asked once we stepped out of the school building and into the dreary January day. Cold wind whipped around out faces, and I shuddered inside my navy wool pea coat.

“Walking.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Really? You don’t have a car?”

“Not today.” I shrugged. “Sometimes I like walking. It’s not too far.”

“No one walks.”

“Sometimes I do.”

“Whatever.” She took a few steps down the sidewalk. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”

“No—you really don’t have to.”

“Don’t be stupid, Geoff.” She motioned for me to come along with her hand.

“Well, what about—”

“Just as long as you don’t judge my car,” she said with a smile. “People always make fun of me because my parents didn’t get me a new one when I turned sixteen.”

“People make fun of you?”

She nodded. “Yep. Sometimes they do.”

“I
live in the third house on the left,” I said, as we turned onto Ammunition Ridge, a long cul-de-sac in the north end of Robert Hill. The drive home took us past a couple of old churches, a small northern business district with a coffee shop, salon, and convenience store, and streets where the homes got larger with each block. Robert Hill city officials painted the tag line “Scenic City” wherever they could in town, never hesitating to drive home the fact that the town’s high taxes and stringent building codes kept the city looking more beautiful than any of the other suburbs that clustered close to Cincinnati. The ease of wealth shone in Robert Hill. Every house had a manicured green lawn, and most featured a garden or landscaped porch. Even, clean sidewalks complimented street medians that doubled as gardens. Local magazines often photographed homes in Robert Hill, and one house near Heritage High had landed a spread in
Midwest Living
back in 2003.