Page 4 of Heartbeat

We all laughed.

*

I ditched last period and went to the library instead. Grant had a huge library, way bigger—and better—than Magnolia’s. Took me ages to find the book I wanted to.

“Sartre?” I heard someone softly say.

I looked up at the guy Dean was talking to, Ethan, standing in front of me. He had his head tilted to the side as he read the cover, and it was then I realized he was the same guy from the coffee shop.

“Uh, yeah,” I said slowly.

“Cool.” He straightened his back. “I like Sartre.”

We stood there for a few seconds in a silence that wasn’t awkward, exactly. We were in a library, after all.

“Is it any good?” he finally asked.

“Yeah. I lost my copy, and it’s extremely hard to find a decent second edition, so…”

“I’m glad you found it. How are you liking Grant?” he then added, leaning on the bookcase as he did.

“Right now? I’m loving it,” I stupidly blurted out.

He instantly smirked.

I guess the number of minutes someone’s brain can go without oxygen was actually less than I’d originally thought.

“’Cause of the book, of course,” I quickly said, trying desperately not to sound too weird and failing miserably. “It’s a very good book.”

Ethan simply raised both eyebrows as though impressed.

“It won the Nobel Prize,” I continued, as if it fucking mattered.

“The book?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, he won the Nobel prize because of it. Although, technically, he refused it… But they wanted to give him the award anyway.”

I just wanted to vanish.

“Cool,” he said, smiling and ignoring how close I was to hyperventilating.

I had absolutely no idea where to look, which was fucking pathetic. And he noticed it; I was sure he did.

“Since you’re new,” he said, sort of cryptically, “you probably haven’t heard about the party.”

“The one at The Den?”

Blake had mentioned something about how every Tuesday they all went to the club Adam’s band had recently started playing at. That was another thing I failed to mention to them—that I was pretty familiar with that particular club.

“Nah, that’s no party,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s a pre-party.”

“A pre-party?” I repeated like a moron.

He just nodded.

“What’s a pre-party?” I couldn’t help but ask.

At that precise moment, I felt like Rain Man.

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