16. sixteen
sixteen
EZRA
To say that I was excited to tempt Lysandra into bickering with me was an understatement. There was something about her arguing with me, showing me the fire within her, that I enjoyed. No girl in this school treated me like this, and I knew why.
I was the heir to the multimillion empire my father had built off of property development and private equity.
Every girl in the school wanted to be the heiress.
But I knew that none of them wanted me, they wanted my money.
Which is why I steered clear of those girls.
I had girlfriends before, but once I realized that they had ill intentions, then I had no choice but to leave.
Not that I considered Lysandra for the position, but I admired the way she didn’t pay attention to me. Which sounded awful. I didn’t really know how to explain it.
As I walked through the dark halls of the common rooms, making my way to the library, I found my friend Zack. He was a complete mess, his sleeves ruffled, his shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled, and his hair disheveled. I stopped before him with a creased brow. “Where have you been?”
“Having some fun,” he chuckled.
“You’re filthy,” I muttered, moving past him.
“Where are you going in such a hurry to?” Zack’s breath reeked of alcohol. I groaned in annoyance, covering my nose.
“None of your business. Mate, your breath stinks. Move away!” I pushed him.
“Is it a party? Free drinks? A girl? Or girls? You animal! Come on, tell me. What is it?” he asked, practically bouncing.
“It’s not like that.” I glared at him.
“Mate, is it that girl that Beckman told you about? What’s her name? Lillian? Leanna? Cassandra?” Zack cheered with delight, jumping forward to stop me from walking away from him.
“Her name is Lysandra,” I corrected him sternly.
“I didn’t think you’d go for her,” he began. “After all that crap she told you at the cafeteria. Figured you’d give up on that little game.”
The game he’d mentioned was not what I had been excited about.
Although guilt slipped into my heart, I simply enjoyed being treated as a normal person.
Even if she was unfriendly, she definitely wasn’t attracted to me, or my money.
Which meant she wouldn’t treat me according to the benefits I could offer her.
“Back off, I have to get started on a paper. That’s the only reason I’m meeting up with her.” I shoved Zack away, his hot breath causing my stomach to swirl.
“I’m going to pretend like I believe you and go to my dorm to sleep until tomorrow,” he slurred.
There was no remedy for Zack. I shook my head.
I used to adore him; he used to be my role model, my idol.
But then I realized just how idiotic his choices were.
I hated the shame that would fill my chest whenever I copied his choices and lifestyle.
The party animal. The player. That was not who I was.
And sometimes I wish he’d understand that for once.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch then,” I chuckled, masking the contempt I felt. Being around Zack caused a weight to settle on my shoulders. As if his mannerisms were rubbing off on me. I sighed, irritation bubbling within me as I headed to the library.
Lysandra was already seated at the corner table.
There hadn’t been too many students in the grand archives.
Dimply-lit lamps were scattered across the entirety of the library to cast away the shadows of the night.
Lysandra’s face was painted in gold. I stood by the entrance, students in plaids trousers and vests pushing past me.
There she was. Writing on a dusty green journal.
She dipped her pen into an inkpot before scribbling her thoughts onto the ivory page.
There was something about watching her write down all of her thoughts onto a piece of paper that caused me to have a quiet smile bloom across my face.
Who knew a fiery soul like hers could leave the imprints of her burdens onto a piece of paper in such a gentle manner.
Slowly, and tentatively, I walked toward her.
I could not form words, all I could do was admire her.
Once she realized I had been standing before her, she looked up.
At first, her gaze had been filled with confusion, visible through the streak between her brows, but then it was replaced with sudden disdain.
I really wanted to know why she seemed to despise me so much. I hadn’t done anything horrible for her to glare at me in such a way. Perhaps if I took a different approach, she’d open up just a tad more.
“Oh, it’s just you,” she said with a sneer, squinting her eyes slightly.
“Just me,” I replied rather dryly, causing her to grimace. I thought this new strategy would work. Maybe I’d been too open, too direct, and that scared her.
“Okay, well, I began writing a few pages about the role of women. I used some of the information that the professor gave to us in the packet, but I took the liberty of checking out these books for us to do more research on.” She rested a hand on a stack of books beside her.
“Alright.” I leaned back on my chair and crossed my arms, making it to creak. She stared at me for a long second.
“Okay, then. Well, there isn’t much to say about women in most cities. Most of the research I could find is about the women in Sparta and Athens. Women’s roles in both cities varied and differed from one another entirely,” she explained.
“How so?” I asked.
I already knew the reason, but I wanted to hear her talk, speak her mind, and share her wisdom with me.
“First and foremost, the women in Sparta were able to have an education, unlike the women in Athens, and most of the other city-states of ancient Greece. They were required to train along with the men, they could own property, they could be seen around men without questions of their virtue and honor,” she said.
“In other words, they had more freedom. Perhaps not as much as we have today, but they were more advanced than the other Greek cities.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“Will you stop that?” she hissed, hitting the table in the process, earning several shushes from librarians and the other students.
“I’m not doing anything,” I defended.
“You’re acting weird,” she exclaimed.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You’re acting… not your usual self,” she rephrased.
I scoffed. “Just because I’m not willing to talk like I always am?”
Her demeanor changed completely. She began to collect her papers and books, before I set my hand over hers. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have assumed that you wanted to talk to me. I don’t even know you, for that matter—”
“Lysandra, please sit down,” I asked.
Her brown eyes swept over me before looking down at her trembling fingers, and she sat down again.
“Tell me more about yourself,” I began.
“Okay, that’s my cue to leave,” she said, pushing her chair back.
“Stop, please. You don’t have to run away all the time.”
It felt as though I could see through her. I could see the sorrow behind her big, honey stare; there was a hint of loneliness and abandonment behind every blink of hers.
“Who left you, and why do you think you have no choice but to do the same to everyone else?” I asked, without thinking. Her face contorted. For a second, I believed she would leave, that she would turn her back on me. Instead, she remained still, her eyes beginning to gloss.
“I prefer not to talk about it, especially with strangers.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could shield herself from me.
I knew what that was like. I had a family of my own that didn’t seem to care much for me. Except for my mother, even if I didn’t understand her reason for staying with my father.
“Then tell me what you like. Your hobbies, your favorite color, your favorite song?”
There was silence again. She shook her head, speaking thousands of words without having to open her lips.
“Fine, I’ll start. My favorite color is yellow, my hobby is watching films, and my favorite song is Spring from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.”
She smiled slightly.
“Vivaldi is good, but not as great as Beethoven,” she chuckled.
“Don’t offend me like that!” I exclaimed, receiving hushes and glares again. I waved them off as I noticed her fearful glimpses around the room.
“My favorite color is brown, and I like to read and write.”
“Write? Books? Poems? Short stories? Tell me more about your art.” I tilted my head, amusement forming on my face as she hid behind the strands of hair that fell over hers.
“A little bit of everything.”
“Interesting. Any favorite books?”
“Classics. Donna Tartt, Oscar Wilde,” she replied.
“I’ve been meaning to read The Picture of Dorian Gray,” I mentioned.
Her eyes lit up.
“I could lend you a copy. I have the uncensored version of the book, it goes in way more depth than the other versions. It makes you reflect on vanity and mortality, which I think you are in much need of, rich boy,” she said with a disapproving glance.
I laughed. “I’m not that bad.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You know, I think I have you figured out already,” I said.
Lysandra scoffed. “Impossible. Not with the little information I’ve told you about myself.”
“You said more than you needed to,” I hushed.
“Mmm. Alright then, tell me the mysteries of my soul, oh wise one.”
“You wish for stability and security. You yearn for warmth and calmness. Perhaps you haven’t had much of that in your life. Your poems and stories help you express, in written form, everything you couldn’t.”
“Are you a psychic?” she asked with widened eyes.
“No, just very observant,” I replied.
She laughed. Actually laughed. I felt entranced by the sound. “Well, this was a nice conversation, but I do need to head back to my dorm. I have to catch up on some homework so that I can actually have a passing chance at graduating next year,” she said.
I had been enjoying her company, I couldn’t hide my disappointment, but I nodded.
“Of course, no worries.” Then, an idea came to mind. “If you want, I can always be some sort of tutor for you if you’re having trouble with the amount of homework the professors assign.”
“Really?” she asked, almost surprised that I had offered.
“Of course. Just let me know, we can meet up here again.”
“Thank you, I’ll let you know when I need help. Th—thanks.”
Then she walked away, her boots clicking beneath her, reverberating through the entire library and into my mind.