CHAPTER ONE: OBSESSION

To really be a nerd, she'd decided, you had to prefer fictional worlds to the real one.
-Rainbow Rowell

Most times I feel like I'm just...there.

The people around me all go out and do things and get into relationships and have normal crushes and they have fun and do stupid things and get to be normal teenagers.

Instead of doing all that I'm just this mildly entertaining jock that people take an interest in once it's convenient for them but nobody would really care if my kind of guys went missing. I know I exist but I don't think I really mean anything.

Right now, that's exactly how I'm feeling.

I never realized how anxiety inducing it was before to keep a secret from someone who's smart enough to figure it out because before, any time I would leave a note it wasn't close to me. 

She wasn't close to me.

Robin wasn't sitting next to me, I couldn't see her reactions in person, I didn't have to act oblivious or lie but now that's changed.

But as I wrote-

Looking into your eyes
I can say with certainty how
Drowning never looked
More appealing

-my hands were shaking.

As I placed it in her book, tucked between the pages and under her bookmark, I had to look to make sure she wasn't back yet.

The nerd wouldn't miss me touching her stuff, she doesn't like me and is way too smart not to connect the dots.

And I definitely don't want her to even think it's me because I know that she'd probably jump the gun and think it's a dare or fake just because I'm a 'dumb jock with no emotions' as she so politely put it.

By the time she say down I was already busy finishing the homework and end up just writing in my notebook.

My life feels like I'm watching myself from above but I can't feel much. With Micah gone I have no friends left and with Robin acting the way she is, I feel like I lost a connection even though I know I never had one in the first place.

I'm not living, I'm just a douche bouncing from obsession to obsession trying to forget myself.

"Hey, Johnny Bravo." Robin's voice makes my eyebrows raise, my body instantly focusing on the way her body heat makes butterflies rise in my stomach but I continue to scribble on my page -pretending like I don't care. "Did you touch my book?"

"Don't worry, Velma." I tease her back, not caring at the slitted glare I get from those pale eyes. "I know touching a nerd's book counts as assisted suicide."

That wasn't a lie.

She seems to fume at this but I think that's cute, so sue me.

"I'm not Velma."

Giving her a small look before turning back to my notebook, I shrug. "And I'm not Johnny Bravo."

I can just tell that her freckled nose is wrinkled at me, making it hard for me not to grin. Still, she doesn't ignore me. "You don't have to look so smug."

"What would I look smug about, hmm? Is it something to do with your book? Can I see-"

Before I even get close to touching her book, I'm slapped away as she cradles it protectively into her chest. "Don't you dare!"

Raising my hands in defense, I scoot away from her. "Wasn't gonna touch it, I don't have a death wish."

Her protective stance doesn't subside, if anything it gets worse when I glance down to her arms. 

God, I guess I wasn't wrong about the nerds and their books. Personally, if some random dude started touching up on my book, I'd deck them with it.

"Damn, alright." I say this while rolling my eyes. "I won't touch your books, Birdie." My nickname for her doesn't go unnoticed but I don't bother to correct myself.

"Birdie!" She shrieks and I don't know why, but suddenly her hands fly to cover her face. "Why would you call me that?"

Noticing the red creep up her skin and because I've never seen her blush before- -it is so cute- -I have to make her situation a little worse.

"Because," I lean playfully into her. "I checked my computer database, since, you know, I'm a robot, and the nickname 'Birdie' for a girl named 'Robin' was a really good one. Good results. And it fits too."

Robin frowns, her blush slowly dying out. "I shouldn't have said that, I know that. My best friend is a heartless bitch and even she was disappointed in me."

"No hard feelings."

"You're not a robot." 

Just dumb then, good to know.

"And you were just mad that you got paired with me?" Offering this up as the perfect excuse, I can tell she's relieved that she doesn't have to say it out loud. "Yeah, I know. You think I won't do the work or anything but it won't be like that at all."

The nerd doesn't believe me, one look at her face and I can tell that.

I don't blame her.

"Mister Jael wants us to get along." Saying this, I wave our worksheet in her face. "That means we both have to do work, right now, together. But you might want to write."

"See! You're already trying to get out of doing math, you colossal dumbass."

"Whatever, you big nerd. Your handwriting is better than mine."

Pale eyes narrow at me as she takes the worksheet from me, deciding to believe me for the meantime. I grin at her, well aware I probably look like a dork.

The list starts out easy, favorite colors and holidays, but it ends with descriptions of our partners.

Attached to the sheet, are two small pieces of paper where we write them.

Loud laughter startles us both, making Robin jump and me turn to cover her from sight as I realize it's the dildo factor reject formally known as Sebastian McNamara -offensive guard for my football team who thinks he's someone important when he's not.

His annoying boisterous laughter comes with grabby hands, as he takes the slip of paper from me.

"I know how to describe her!" Chuckling, Sebastian takes my pen off my desk making me cringe. I've never known how to handle confrontation well, let alone against someone like him. "Here-"

Sebastian doesn't give me time to react to what he wrote- -N.E.R.D- -before he's shoving it back into my hands and bumping playfully into his gaggle of fellow idiots.

Staring down at the paper, my heart drops.

Glancing up at Robin, I nearly flinch at the obviously upset tone to her features.

Do something, I scream at myself. Idiot!

"When I called you a nerd, I didn't...I didn't mean it as a insult at all..." I trail off, shaking my head to myself. "Here, sign this. I'll be the nerd and right something else for yours."

Silently she takes the paper from me and nods. Writing a genuine description is easy for me, since I think about her all the time and she has quite a lot of good qualities.

Though, I am well aware that she's a little too impulsive.

Finishing it, I take it to the front of the room so she doesn't have to walk by the dipshits anymore than she has to but doing it so she doesn't have to doesn't make the smug look in Sebastian's eyes any more bearable.

After a few minutes Robin breaks the silence by asking, "Are you serious about not asking me for work?"

"Yeah." That's not a lie, not at all. "I'll do my own homework and my own math just fine."

"You're not even doing math," She points out, crossing her arms. "You're scribbling."

What I'm doing is writing the second book to the book I've already published that has over five thousand copies sold in the three towns around us, all of which are small but apparently, that doesn't quite matter because she sees what she wants to.

I don't think she'd understand that I write because it lets me escape.

Because in my books, every cloud is grey.

Every gentle wind pulls on hair.

Every small town has a bad boy, every high school has one nerd and a nice car parked out front. Every cop is dirty, every politician is soulless. Teenagers are understood and tired. Heroes are overrated. Every woman is feisty or sweet, every man is fucked-up or sexy -sometimes both. Mothers are dead or worn out and the fathers are either emotionless or gone. Everyone has a golden halo of hair or the jet-black locks of the antagonist.

They all drink coffee with three cubes and eat nothing but salad. Sometimes, the salad isn't enough. In their small town- -it's always a small town- -there are cafe's or libraries or underground gangs. There's always sweet old couples, angry men and fighters. There's always kissing, crying or screams.

And rain.

Lots of rain which sometimes ends with bodies pressed together.

The forest that hides the main character's secrets has chirping crickets and hidden forts. The gym one hides out at has starring eyes and empty nights. The old apartment the other can barely afford is well put together despite all the dust. The moonlight is always dressing things up and the daylight always reflects the best in the lover or the enemy's eyes -sometimes they're the same person. The first fight always brings people together.

Thunderstorms rage while the thunder cracks and the most sensitive will hide. Lighting illuminates things but none of them are important and I can't decide why.

Things never happen in the way they're supposed to and the best mistakes happen on purples -of this I can't make sense.

I do know-

Lips crash together. Cars don't.

A single tear rolls down the strong one's cheeks and the goofy one's eyes crinkle when they smile, when the lover's eyes sparkles and the evil one's flash. Hair shines or curls or gets messy, it's always messy. People always look nice, never just look normal. Arms dangle limp by sides and fists clench. Arms are thick and legs are strong and eyes look like the soul.

Thoughts race or minds melt and people freeze while their anger boils. Chills run up spines and tingles run down legs. Thoughts are crystal clear but feelings aren't. People always have to be pale or flushed or tan.

Pillows that we know are soft still have to described when people collapse, instead of climb, into bed.

The words 'beautiful, realize and I' are said too much. Words like stunning and idiosyncratic and devastated are passed over for beautiful and quirky and depressed. All are used to describe the same person. People can't just hug they have to embrace. They can't just cry they have to breakdown and sob. They can't just wait to think they have to engage. And it's all for the plot.

They're not tired, they're fatigued but you'd never guess because they look gorgeous in this lighting.

They aren't disheveled, they're messy and that's sexy.

They're not despondent and isolated, they're lonely and depressed because every introvert will be a extrovert at the end of the novel.

But at least these characters aren't gasping for breath every time they get a minute free. At least they're sleeping even through nightmares. At least they're not real.

Because even in my life, the clouds are grey.

And goddammit, I'm starting to hate that color.