Chapter 11 Eleven Years Earlier
ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER
The bottom of my black Mary-Jane’s scuffle along the cobblestone paving as I hike my school bag over my shoulder and edge around the outside wall of our school gym, seeking out a quiet, shady spot to read while I wait for my brother Tony to finish basketball practice.
The distant sounds of bouncing balls and sneakers squeaking against polished wood echo out of the overhead windows as I turn a corner and spot the perfect spot to settle in.
A gazebo that covers large concrete steps, overlooking the small grassed oval.
Without a soul in sight, I hike my slipping bag up my arm again and head straight for the secluded area, happy that I found a spot I can make my own for the basketball season.
My parents won’t let me walk home without Tony because, and I quote, “there are too many sickos around waiting for a pretty girl like you to snatch away, Gianna.” I repeat the words in my head with Mum’s solemn voice and can’t help but snort to myself.
What does she think Tony would do to stop someone from taking me?
My brother’s scrawny adolescent arms couldn’t throw a punch to save his life.
Regardless, here I am, waiting around after school like a lost puppy searching for a home for the next two hours.
Not that I mind too much, really. At least I get to prolong my homework for a couple of hours and immerse myself into the wonderful world of Harry Potter instead, my absolute favourite place to be.
I’m one chapter and a quarter packet of chips deep when I hear someone round the corner, take a few steps and then stop abruptly outside my gazebo. I look up to find a boy standing there, glaring at me with what I can only describe as a mixture of surprise and irritation.
“Hi,” I say politely as my cheeks turn red.
I put the chips down and wipe my salty fingers on my grey skirt, sitting up straighter.
I can’t help but notice this boy is cute, with roguishly messy black hair that’s long enough to brush his collar, and lightly sun-kissed skin.
He looks tall from where I’m sitting, but it’s hard to tell because his shoulders are stooped.
Butterflies take flight inside my tummy.
Of course I’m sitting here stuffing my face with chips when a cute guy comes along. Of course.
“Hi,” he responds, though not as politely as me.
His large hand grips the strap of his school-bag slung over his back, and he avoids my gaze while clenching his jaw.
He shifts from foot to foot as though tossing up whether to stay or go.
It’s then I realise that my cozy, secluded spot was probably his cozy, secluded spot first, and I’ve invaded it.
“Sorry,” I blurt out, tucking a strand of my black hair behind my ear. The one annoying piece that always manages to escape my ponytail. “I hope I’m not intruding. I have some time to kill while I wait for my brother and I just wanted a quiet spot to read.”
“It’s fine,” he says, still avoiding my gaze. “I’ll find somewhere else.”
My heart sinks at his words. No. Don’t go. This boy that I’ve never seen before, that I’ve literally just met, starts to leave and I don’t want him to. Strange, but I’ve never found a guy so intriguing before, and I like the way he’s making my tummy flip.
“No,” I rush out a bit too quickly, startling him. “There’s plenty of room for us both, and I won’t be loud.”
He raises his brows and finally shifts his gaze to mine.
What I see makes the butterflies in my stomach go into overdrive, and I hug my book hard against my chest so that he can’t see how rapidly my heart starts beating.
His eyes are dark. So dark they could almost pass as black, and they’re framed by beautiful long lashes that I would have to apply three coats of mascara to achieve.
Not to say that he looks feminine. Oh no, this guy is one hundred shades of moody, teenage testosterone and honestly, I don’t think my sixteen-year-old heart can take it.
“Okay.” He glances at me warily, before moving past me and sitting in the farthest possible corner of the gazebo. I can’t help but feel offended, even though his surliness seems well-practiced.
Cracking open my book, I try to concentrate on Harry and Ron entering the Forbidden Forest, but not a single word processes in my mind.
My attention is fixated on the guy whose side profile I can see in my peripheral vision.
He pulls a physics textbook out of his bag (the same book I have, so he must be in my grade).
I continue to peek out the corner of my eye as he begins taking notes, and I’m surprised to find that his nerdish behaviour is doing massive favours for him in the attractiveness department.
Who would have thought a guy studying physics would be so appealing?
Yet here I am, unable to concentrate on anything but him.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, breaking my vow of silence with the intention to offer my bag of chips to him. Something about sharing food with this boy sends my blood scattering into a happy panic.
“No. Why would you ask that?”
There’s a strange hint of defensiveness in his voice as he throws a me a look over his shoulder.
“I was just asking because I’m full and still have half a bag of chips here,” I reply, treading carefully. I’m thrown by his weird behaviour. Have I somehow offended him?
“Oh,” he responds, his shoulders sagging slightly. “No, thanks.”
He turns back to his book.
“Are you in grade eleven?” I ask, trying to start a conversation. I said I wouldn’t be loud, not that I wouldn’t talk at all.
“Yes. Same as you.”
He doesn’t bother turning around this time, but my heart flips all the same.
“You know who I am?” I ask.
He turns at the giddiness in my voice and answers me with a cocked brow.
“Who doesn’t?” He says slowly, eyes boring into mine. “You’re Gianna Morello.”
My cheeks burn a deep blush across my face. His gaze lingers there before he slowly turns back to his book. I cross my ankles and prop my open book down on my lap.
“What’s your name?”
If he’s irritated at my questions, he doesn’t show it. In fact, his earlier irritation seems to melt away the more I speak to him.
“Zayn.”
“You look like a Zayn,” I blurt before I even know what I’m saying.
“Oh yeah?” I notice his pen stops scribbling and hovers over his pad. “What does a Zayn look like?”
I’m glad he’s turned away from me, as I’m sure my face is bright red by now.
“I don’t know. Just… like you.” I answer lamely. I’m definitely not about to tell him that his name is dark and broody like him and embarrass myself further.
“Well, you look like a Gianna.”
“Oh yeah?” I throw his words back at him with a stupid grin forming on my face. “What does a Gianna look like?”
“A beautiful girl.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to take notes while I die a happy death on the steps behind him. It’s not the first time I’ve been called beautiful, but it’s the first time those words have felt like someone’s inflated my chest with a bike pump. I’m positively euphoric.
“I take physics, too,” I say, changing the subject in the hopes that my cheeks will return to their usual olive colour in the meantime.
“I know,” he scoffs. “I’m in your class.”
“No you’re not,” I say automatically. “I would have seen you.”
Wouldn’t I? It’s not like the class is that big. His only response to my words is a tensing of his shoulders as he continues to pore over his book.
“Why are you studying here?”
He’s quiet for so long that I’m not sure he even heard me, but then he puts his pen down and I see from here that he starts to work his jaw once again.
“It’s quieter than home.”
Awareness tingles along my skin and I know, deep down, with those four muttered words that he absolutely doesn’t mean the same thing, but I can’t help the words that pour from my mouth. “Yeah, my home gets pretty loud, too.”
He slowly turns his body so that he’s sitting on the step half-facing me, and his dark gaze carefully comes to rest on mine.
He stares at me intently, like he’s trying to get a read on my intentions.
My heart starts to gallop under his unwavering attention.
I want to look away, but I can’t. The silence between us stretches on; each second that passes feels significant and my palms grow sweaty against the worn pages of my book.
Then, before the moment becomes uncomfortable, his gaze flicks down to my lap and all the tension seems to leave my body, as if his gaze was an anchor and now I’m free.
“You like Harry Potter?” He asks, surprising me with the change of topic. I can’t help but beam at him.
“Like is a very mild word for how I feel about Harry Potter.” I twist in my seat and tuck that errant hair back behind my ear.
He watches the movement and grins, exposing white teeth and the most adorable dimples on his cheeks.
My stomach dips once again. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any cuter. “Have you read them?”
“Yeah, only up to book six though.”
He leans back against the wall of the gazebo and loosely crosses his arms as I drop my chin in mock outrage. “What do you mean? How could you stop at book six? That’s inhumane!” I declare, waving my book in the air.
“It wasn’t by choice,” he laughs softly, and I decide that I really, really like the sound of his laugh. Soft, but a bit rough around the edges. “I did enjoy them, but the school library doesn’t have the seventh book.”
“I don’t accept that as an excuse,” I say, and it occurs to me that I’m exposing my deepest darkest secret to this guy.
That I’m the biggest Harry Potter nerd in the world.
“I made my dad drive me to the book store at four in the morning so I would be the first in line on release day! I couldn’t wait another second to find out how it all ended.
” I can tell my face is lit up with excitement at discussing my favourite books, but I don’t mind. It seems to amuse Zayn.