Chapter Twenty-One: Bianca
RILEY'S POV
"What are you two doing?"
We turned to see a female teacher standing by the door, her brows pulled together in a deep frown.
"Don't you know the library is about to be closed?" she asked.
"We're just packing up," I said quickly, standing and gathering my things.
"Well, hurry up," she muttered, clearly irritated.
We walked out of the library in silence. The air felt awkward until Xander finally spoke.
"Tomorrow. Same place. Library."
He glanced at me briefly before turning and walking toward a car I assumed was his.
The next day
As I walked down the hallway, I could feel eyes following me. Just when I thought I'd escaped the attention, I walked straight into Bianca.
Great.
"So," she drawled. "How's school treating you, newbie? Or should I ask how it feels playing around with my boyfriend?"
Her sneer twisted her face into something ugly.
"Hey, Bianca," I replied calmly. "I'm fine. And I'm not playing around with anyone."
"Oh really?" she scoffed. "Because Jenny said she saw you and my boyfriend together in the library yesterday evening."
I sighed. Figures.
"First of all, we were working on a project," I said evenly. "Second, I have nothing to do with your boyfriend."
I didn't wait for her response. I walked away, already planning how to avoid Bianca for the rest of the day.
Closing.
The closing bell rang, and everyone rushed out of the classroom. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
After saying goodbye to Harleen and Amber, I headed straight to the library.
When I walked in, about ten students were scattered around. My eyes searched the room until I spotted him—Xander, sitting at the same table as yesterday, his head resting on his desk.
I inhaled softly before walking over.
"Hey… have you been waiting long?" I asked, feeling awkward for being the late one.
"No," he replied simply, lifting his head to look at me before nodding toward the seat beside him.
Oh.
I sat down, pulling out my book and pen.
"Let's start."
We worked quietly for a while, the scratching of pens and the faint hum of the air conditioner filling the space between us.
Halfway through analyzing a stanza, a thought slipped into my head before I could stop it.
"Is Bianca your girlfriend?" I asked.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
"Who's Bianca?" he asked calmly, not even looking up from the book.
He seriously don't know?
"The girl I was with in the corridor on my first day," I explained carefully. I almost described her differently, but I held back.
Just in case.
"What are you smiling at?" he asked suddenly, glancing up.
"Nothing," I replied quickly, looking away.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"I don't have a girlfriend."
"Oh." I nodded, pretending to focus on the poem again.
"Do you?" he asked.
"What?"
"Do you have one, Rachel?" he repeated, eyes flicking toward me before returning to the page.
"No. I don't."
"Ever had one?"
"No," I answered, a little too fast.
A pause.
"So you've never kissed before?"
My head snapped down immediately, heat rushing to my cheeks.
"I have," I muttered defensively. "Anyway, we should get back to work. Time's passing."
"Hm."
That was all he said, but the silence afterward felt different—thicker.
When we finally packed up, I walked out of the library a little too quickly, trying to escape the strange tension he'd created.
"Sleep well," his voice called from behind me. "You'll need the energy to work harder tomorrow, Rachel."
I didn't turn around.
When did he become so talkative?