Page 56 of Four Simple Rules
“I have a plan,” he groans, pulling his lips from mine. “I want you to show me the art room.” His fingers brush along my cheeks, memorizing every freckle and wrinkle.
“Why?” My brows furrow when he continues his ministrations on my flesh, staring down at me like I’m the sun he revolves around.
“You were an artist. Your pictures hung on those walls. That’s where you’d scurry off with Olivia…” he trails off with a pinched face. “And I never took the time to come and see you in your domain. Do you still paint?”
I swallow hard under his intense gaze, melting me on the spot. “Occasionally, but not very often,” I murmur. “Photography is my favorite.”
Painting was my backup hobby. It was never the passion that consumed my every second. That’s what photography is and was. Taking photos and capturing real-life stills was my jam, which helped to take my mind away from my everyday worries. On occasion, when I picked up my brush and colors, it was never anything to marvel at. I’m not a professional.
“Then, show me the place you loved when you went here.” A soft smile lifts at the edge of his lips, lifting fully when my eyes widen.
“That’s why you brought me here?”
“Why else would we break into our old high school at midnight?” he chuckles, stepping closer to me and bringing his lips to mine.
“Because you’re a psychopath?” I mumble against his lips.
He throws his head back and laughs. “Maybe that. But I’m serious. You came to all my baseball games, and I never once showed up like I should have. We’re starting over, remember?”
Butterflies blossom when I take his hand, leading him down the long, dark hallway. If we get caught inside by security or police, so be it. I’ve always toed the line of rules. Only once did I break them when I was a broken girl. So, today is the day I take Jesse to the room Olivia, and I spent so much time in—my sanctuary.
The moment I pass through the door to the art room, my heart pounds in my throat. Everything is the same. Same long, black tables with chairs resting on top for summer. The same artwork from ten years ago decorates the walls, and photographs hang in frames.
“Do you eat here every day?” I ask, holding tight to my lunch box, filled with a dismal sandwich and chips.
After my debacle in the lunchroom yesterday, I learned who Olivia was—an outcast—and where she liked to eat. Call me a stalker all you want, but she’s the only person who has been kind to me since I stepped foot in this school. So, today, on day two of my freshman year, I decided to track her down and make her my new friend.
When I sat beside her in the back of the cafeteria, it was by chance. Rarely does she ever show her face if she doesn’t have to. At least, that’s what I’ve learned. Lucky for me, the art room was closed for cleaning that day, so she had no choice. She’s been the only person to look at me without grimacing or making fun of me. Word spread fast about me trying to sit with the apparent cool kids. Now, people hide behind their hands, whispering mean things about me. But if there’s one thing, I’ve learned over the years of being invisible, it’s brushing mean comments away.
After the humiliation yesterday when I asked Jesse if I could sit with him, I refused to step foot in the cafeteria. It brings nothing but stomach cramps and heartache. The way he looked at me like I was nothing but a stranger. Then he crawled through my unlocked window with beer on his breath and tried to talk to me like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t squeezed my heart in his fist and burst it completely when he pretended, I didn’t exist.
Olivia looks up from something lying in front of her on the table and shrugs. “It’s better than in there.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, shuddering as I step forward. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“That’s fine,” she murmurs, darting her eyes to the book before her.
“I’m Blake,” I say, opening my lunch box and dragging out the sandwich I made last minute this morning.
“I know,” she says without looking up. “Everyone is talking about what you did yesterday.”
My cheeks heat. “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. The last thing I want to be known as is the girl who approached the untouchable cool kids.
“It was badass,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “But stupid.”
My brows crease. “Yeah… Very stupid,” I mumble, biting into my sandwich.
She has no freaking idea how stupid it was even to think Jesse would want me. Why would he when he was surrounded by all those pretty girls and jocks? No wonder he’s ashamed of me.
And from that day forward, Olivia and I became inseparable. My best friend. My ride-or-die—the girl I depended on for everything and vice versa.
“Holy shit, they kept this?” Jesse murmurs, moving through the room in awe. His fingers brush along a black-and-white photo of our tree taken in the middle of the night. Rare moonbeams seep through the bare branches, spotlighting our paradise. This photo was something I had taken years before for an art project, and the teacher loved it so much that he displayed it in the classroom.
“I didn’t know he kept it. I figured he’d throw it out by now,” I whisper, standing beside Jesse and cock my head.
“I remember this day. I followed you out there…” he trails off, sucking in a breath. “My dad had a fun day making bruises on my ribs. You weren’t in your room even though it was one in the morning. I got worried,” Jesse says, swallowing hard before turning to me. “And there you were, trying to get the perfect picture of our secret hideaway to complete an art project.”
I grin when he cups my face and stares deep into my eyes. “You always knew where to find me.” No matter where I went, he followed me with a protective gaze.
