1. Chapter 1

1

Hope

AT BELLMARE HIGH SCHOOL, EVERYONE FITS IN, EXCEPT FOR ME.

Treading the crowded hallway, no one bothers to look at me, let alone talk to me, mainly because of two reasons. First, I'm the nerd with straight A's in every subject. I always know the correct answer, and you know how people tend to stay away from those. They only talk to me when they're desperate and need my help to pass a test—those instances don't happen often. Second, and I take the blame for this one—my nose is always buried in a novel. It'll sound dramatic, but the world could be under attack, and my first instinct would be to find a safe corner to read peacefully. I only need books to survive.

As I walk toward my class I keep my head down. My eyes peruse the words of a fantasy-romance novel with great interest to know what happens next.

Reading is escapism for me. It flies me to places and lets me experience the lives of others like it's my own. It creates a bridge, connecting my world to theirs. The best part is no one can break it. Between the pages, I find more connection than I ever could in the real world, and with the characters I feel more at home. I'm never lonely with them.

With no siblings and friends, I'm always on my own, and the hobby has turned into an addiction. In every fleeting minute of the day, I try to skim the pages. I know I'd never be able to read every book in the world in this lifetime, but I want to read enough.

Sometimes, I wonder how people go on in life without reading the stories trapped in books. For as long as I can remember, books have been my only comfort. My tunnel to another universe where things are good, and people are nice, unlike my reality.

I'm in my senior year, and I've never had a friend.

Do fictional people count?

I step into the boisterous classroom, and take a seat at the back, because I'm shy and an introvert. Sitting at the front and feeling the attention of the whole class on my back gives me anxiety.

A minute later, Mr. Carlie, our Chemistry teacher, walks in. He's in his mid-fifties with a bald head that shines– something that elicits jokes among students– but he's always too nice to chide them. Out of all the teachers, he's my favorite.

"Good morning. How is everyone?" After hearing a string of replies, he scribbles the topic on the whiteboard with a black marker.

I reluctantly set aside my novel, when through the window something catches my eye—or rather someone.

A tall, lean guy stands under the sycamore tree, with a phone pressed to his ear. The old branches create a magnificent bower over the side of the parking lot. I watch a leaf break off, and slowly glide through the summer air of August as it falls, missing his head by a fraction. He walks around with his back toward me. I run my mind through the faces I know at school, but I can't put one on his back—I mean his hidden face.

Who is it?

As if to answer my question, he turns around. Heath Travon. The infamous bad boy of the school who's always getting into fights and skipping classes. Last year, he transferred here. At first, people gawked at him because he was the new student, and we don't usually get them with how small our town is—I've been with the same classmates since kindergarten. Within the first week, he got into a fight with one of the players on the football team, Jason, who cornered him and said something that made Heath lunge at him. He landed punch after punch until he was a bloody mess, and the principal had to come and separate them.

The only punishment Heath got was a one-week suspension. Since then, he became big news—and bad news.

I've seen girls fawn over the ground he walks on, and guys hate him for stealing attention. However, he's never once interacted with anyone. Enough time has passed, but his popularity is still the same—the frequency of fights too. Perhaps it's because he's mysterious, quiet, and angry. It all adds to this appeal.

Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, he looks deadly. Raising his hand, he runs his fingers through his dark strands. His mouth moves as he talks, but when his eyes lock on me he stops talking. Even from afar, I feel his piercing stare before it narrows into slits and burns me like a scorching flame of fire.

The embarrassment of getting caught makes me break eye contact, but I feel his stare pinned on me like a laser.

Oh God. I hope he doesn't recognize me.

Who am I kidding? He surely doesn't. I'm invisible to people.

I let my hair shield the side of my face. The flaming sensation disappears, but not his stare. It's very much still there, but I don't dare to look back at him.

If it were any other girl in my position, she'd be thrilled about the bad boy of the school staring at them, but I'm not. I want to keep a low profile and pass the next few months, so I can get away from here.

I skim over my notes that I made last night of the topic that's currently being taught. I didn't have a new book to read, and it was too late to go to the library. I had to kill time somehow. Fortunately, the library opens early. I managed to grab a book on my way here.

The class ends with an announcement of a test, and everyone whines. Piling up the papers on top of my folder, I join the sea of people in the hallway.

While arranging the papers in my folder, I feel the strong vibration of my phone in my back pocket. I balance the pile in one hand and then reach for it. I see five messages from Mom. An immediate pang of worry hits me in the chest. She's drunk again. I already know what her messages will say.

Regardless, I open the thread. Before I can read the messages, I collide with someone and stumble back at the impact. I anticipate meeting the floor, but an arm circles around my waist and saves me from my fall.

"I'm sorry—" my words die when I find Heath inches away from my face.

Oh my God.

How did he get here?

My gaze drifts to the striking features of his face. Fair skin that's smooth and clear, sharp nose, defined jawline, and eyes that are deep blue like ocean waters.

He's beautiful. And his eyes…they are unlike anything I've ever seen before.

We stare at each other, much like before, but this time I can't seem to look away. He's the most beautiful guy I've ever seen.

At once something flickers through his eyes, and he averts his gaze. Clearing his throat, he steps back and his hold on my waist slips away. I Immediately miss the heat. For some strange reason, my skin is always cold. I don't know why.

"I—" My eyes move down, and I gape at the scene. All my papers are strewn on the floor and people are walking on them with no care. I grumble at their blindness.

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I bend down and quickly collect the papers from one side. Then turn, only to find a hand stretched out with the rest of my papers and the empty folder.

I glance at Heath, who's crouched down in front of me, with his intense eyes fixed on me.

I'm so stunned, I can barely move a muscle. I wasn't expecting him to help me or save me from the fall for that matter. He's someone who ignores your existence rather than helping you in any way.

Thrusting the folder and papers into my hand, he stands up. I carelessly put all the papers in the folder and bring it to my chest, feeling awkward and shy all of a sudden.

Heath towers over my five feet eight inches frame with his tall and lean build. The strands of his dark brown hair fall over his forehead as he looks down at me with a grave face.

Without saying a word, he turns around to leave, but I block his way. Annoyance crosses his face, making my heart race and my hands clammy from nervousness.

Here it goes.

You can do it.

He won't bite your head off even though he looks like it.

I smile at him. "Thanks for your help. I'm sorry for earlier. It was a mistake. I was just busy—"

His expression hardens as he cuts me off, "Next time, look where you're going. Perhaps, then no one will have to save your sorry ass and collect your fucking papers."

I did not expect such a venomous reply. "Excuse me?" I ask. He frowns.

"You heard me," he retorts in an icy tone.

"I told you it was a mistake."

Giving me one last look, he disappears into the crowd that watches him with interest. A few questioning looks are sent my way, but I'm already walking to my next class.

That was my first interaction with Heath, and I'm already regretting it.

The school day ends. I don't see Heath in any of the classes that we share.

All day I couldn't forget his cold eyes and icy tone. I've never spoken to him before, but now that I have, I'll be staying far away. I don't want trouble, and he seems exactly that. Too volatile to handle.

Besides, I have other things to worry about. Like how my home life is a mess.

Dad walked out on us three months ago. That was after he almost killed Mom.

A shiver runs through me at the memories that sneak back in. It was terrifying. I thought I'd lose her.

I should've seen it coming, though.

That night was the ending point of years of fighting. It started when I was ten—perhaps, even before that, but that was when I started noticing—and then it became a regular thing. Not a single day went by without them arguing over the tiniest things like TV, laundry, money, and meals. From screaming at each other to Dad hitting Mom, every dinner would end the same way; him leaving and my mother being hurt. It looked foreign to me at first, but slowly I got used to it. It got to the point where it felt strange when it wasn't loud in the house. The silence creeped me out more than the noise because I knew something big would happen soon. The wait gave me anxiety.

Weekends were the worst. The three of us would be home and my parents would have more chances to fight. Money was the reason why my parents fought all the time. Dad worked as a receptionist at a small law firm that was on the brink of bankruptcy. What he earned wasn't sufficient to run a house. Mom offered to help, but he refused and later blamed her for being useless and hit her. Every night he'd come home and release his frustration out on her, but never with me.

I wished he'd hit me, so my mother could be safe. Whenever he'd yell at her and raise his hand to her, my body became paralyzed, and I couldn't move. I never moved. I never saved her.

Which is why I'm glad that he's gone. What he did to her that night scarred me for life. It was the first time I feared him. I saw him as a monster and not as my father. That image of him still haunts me at night. I wonder if it'll ever go away.

A two-story house surrounded by two months' worth of herbs appears. I've asked Mom to cut them, but she always brushes off the topic to save the money.

I unlock the door and step inside. The hallway separates into three rooms: the living room, kitchen, and my parent's—now Mom's bedroom. At the end is a staircase which leads up to my room.

I open the refrigerator and find a plate of spaghetti. I put it into the microwave, which only half-heats because it needs to be repaired, but Mom has no plans to spend money on it, or anything really. When I have stuffed myself with food I go upstairs.

My room is a tiny, poor place with chipped cream walls, creaky wood floorboards, and a broken window. A study table rests next to the window with my stack of textbooks and stationery on top. In the center of the room is my iron bed. To the right is a huge wardrobe and the bathroom.

Nothing in the room means more to me than my book wall that's across the foot of my bed. It's a stack of twenty books that I've been able to buy over the years.

Removing my shoes, I slump onto my bed, adamant to finish the book tonight. Strangely, my thoughts fly to those mesmerizing blue eyes.

I'm intrigued by Heath. Everyone at school says he's trouble. I don't believe the rumors, there's always more to a person. It's one of the many things books have taught me. You don't really know someone until you're in their head.

Something tells me Heath is like that. A part of the ocean no one's ever dared to dive into.