hideaway, c.

Rosalie slammed his book shut, the lofty thud overwhelmed by the silence that bore down on the denizens of the library, and then stood up from the desk. The careless action pushed the chair backward, and it toppled over with a series of unceremonious clattering. Although it was muffled by the carpet beneath him, several pairs of eyes turned and glared daggers at Rosalie, who flushed beet red. To somebody who knew him, it was a refreshing change of pace—Rosalie was the one who did the glaring.

He picked up the chair and tucked it into the desk, neat and proper, aware of the eyes that drilled holes into his back. He wanted to whirl around and shout at them to look elsewhere, but then every eye in the library would be turned in his direction.

The blue-haired boy stomped deeper into the library, miffed. The crisis had soured his already compromised disposition, and he was ready to leave the library without taking anything out. With his luck, he’d trip over his two left feet and tumble to the floor face first. The thought conjured the disastrous scene, books strewn across the floor unceremoniously, people hissing and snarling at the poor girl.

The scene rolled into more pleasantries, until people were pointing at the boy who was pretending to be a girl, whose synthetic wig was on the floor. Rosalie’s gut twisted.

He waved his hand in the air, dismissing the thought, and continued his tromp through the library. His haste kept his gaze level, and in retrospect, he shouldn’t have been surprised when the ground reared and came up to meet him.

After another loud crash, Rosalie and another girl lay in a tangled heap of books. Rosalie cursed his accurate premonition.

“Watch it!” he hissed through his teeth, scrambling out of the pile of books while glowering at the girl splayed on the floor, blissfully ignorant. Rosalie continued in angry whispers. “Look at what you’ve done! Now we have to clean this up!”

@aurora