Page 10 of Rules

“Gone with the Wind,” she chuckles lightly, reading the title. “That makes it what the eighth time you read it since you’ve been here?”

Probably like the twelfth, but who’s counting?

A simple shrug of shoulders is my only answer. What’s there to say? I like both Mrs. Moore and Mrs. Brown, but that doesn’t change who I am. I don’t like to talk much. Talking means sharing and I don’t do sharing. Because there is always a chance you overshare and once the words are out you cannot take them back.

“I think I’ll go and grab something new before my classes start.”

She nods. “Take your time honey.”

Walking down the middle aisle, I look left and right. I already know where everything is, but reading the little tags on the bookshelves helps me figure out what I’m in the mood to read.

Just as I’m about to make a turn in the biography row, a lone figure sitting in the far left corner of the study section—a relatively big space in the middle of the library where you can find desks to study in peace—catches my attention. It’s not unusual to find somebody in here before classes start, but something about him draws my attention.

He’s hunched over a book, hands cupping his face as fingers slowly rub the tension in his temples. Black hair is a mess on his head like he’s been running his fingers through it. The tension in his body so strong I can feel it all the way across the empty space that separates us.

As if he can sense me looking at him, his body grows more rigid. Like in slow motion, he straightens in his chair, stormy eyes locking on mine.

The Band-Aid rips, opening a hollow wound I thought had healed.

One week. That’s how much time has passed since“the incident”,as I call it. I have managed to avoid him for one whole week, but now here we are, face to face once again. And I realize that everything I’ve been telling myself for the past seven days—that it doesn’t matter, thathedoesn’t matter because he doesn’t own me, doesn’t hold any power whatsoever, that my pride is the only thing that was shaken, nothing more and nothing less—is a bunch of crap.

Gray irises go wide when he sees me, and I’m temporarily rooted in this spot. The air is sucked from the space, making my skin tingle in awareness. I can still feel his lips on mine, the way they devoured me like he’d die if he stopped kissing me. His calloused hands running up my legs, his hot breath on my skin. My best friend’s name falling from his lips.

Max opens his mouth to say something, but before he can even form words, I turn away and run.

So much for keeping my cool.

Chapter Four

MAX

I rise so suddenly that the chair behind me falls down to the ground, a loudbangfilling the otherwise quiet room.

I cringe at the noise level, my head throbbing in tune with the echo, but ignore it altogether in favor of running after her.

“Brook, wait!”

She doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge me, but that doesn’t stop me from going after her.

A week.

She’s been doing her best to ignore me for a whole fucking week.

Not once looking my way or giving me a chance to explain and say how sorry I am.

This was ending now.

I’ve been trying to concentrate on studying ever since Coach kicked me out of practice, and it feels like my head is going to explode. Nothing makes sense, not one word. The headache I was feeling before has grown to epic proportions. Literally, anything's better than this.

Just when I think she’s long gone, black leather catches my attention. Taking a step back, I look down the row at her.

“Why did you run?”

She gives me a fleeting glance before she turns back to observing the shelf.

“I wasn’t running.”

“Seemed like it to me.”

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