Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I watched as recognition sharped his aloof gaze, a slight shift beneath his low hanging eyelids that the shadows nearly hid from me, but I wondered if a part of him felt just as startled to see what I looked like out of my uniform—and in casual attire. I had changed into a pair of blue skinny jeans with a single hole in one knee, an oversized but cropped beige cardigan that exposed my stomach if I lifted my arms high enough, so I didn't, and layered gold necklaces down my chest where the cardigan narrowed into a V-shape. My hair was pinned back with a claw clip but with my curtain bangs curled and strategically framing my face, secured with more bobby pins and hairspray than what could be considered casually thrown up.
I wasn't sure what I felt when his eyes lingered away from my face for a moment, taking the rest of me in, if there was something lingering just as deep that wanted him to feel a little more than startled. Like the moment in a 2000s movie when the school bullies realized how gorgeous the protagonist really was with a decent hairdresser and an updated wardrobe. It's an incredibly flawed plot device to get them to express remorse, but I felt found myself wanting that moment then. For him to feel a little speechless, memories clouding his vision like reporting me to the teacher or that afternoon in the library, and then regret would fill him just as fast.
But unfortunately, a cropped cardigan can only accomplish so much because a second later he offered a soft nod of his head and then turned back to his phone.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes, rubbing my fingers over the slippery bottle of water still clenched in my hand as the breeze chilled the ice water still dripping onto the grass. I had never even fathomed Noel Preston being here at the party tonight—and certainly not talking to him—but then I took another glance around the party, warring within myself as to which was more pathetic. Standing around, alone, waiting to be noticed by someone who hadn't even invited me.
Or talking to Noel Preston.
"I didn't think you were the kind to go to parties," I eventually said. "At least, not if history is any indication."
"I'm not," he replied, sounding almost as unbothered as his stance casually leaned against the hood of a car I could only presume was his, but there was something hidden deep within his low spoken voice. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, since it didn't seem to be directed toward me. "I didn't think you were the kind to show up fashionably late. I would've thought you'd have been one of the first ones here."
I might have been if I had actually been invited, not that I would admit that to him, though, and the fact that he perceived that about me left too revealing, like a shiver threatening to jolt through my veins as cold brushed against my exposed neck. Nothing stopping him from going for the throat.
"Sorry, if I had known you were waiting for me, I would've come sooner," I said, stepping close enough to see his phone illuminate the change in his skin as a blush flooded his cheeks, his eyes evading mine. I let a smirk reach my lips, the upper hand mine. "Is that why you're here tonight? Are you maybe lonely after all, Noel?"
