Chapter 3: Hit Me like A Bolt of Lightning

I know the smart thing to do is to look away before he catches me staring at him like some creep, but it's like my eyes don't belong to me and they won't, or at least flatly refuse to listen to my silent commands. Please, Georgiana, the voice of reason in the back of my mind literally begs me and I hear it echo around my skull, what are you thinking? Don't embarrass yourself any further. He's out of your league, so look away. Now.

I don't look away, though. I can't. It doesn't hurt to look at him. In fact, he's easy on the eyes and for the first time in a really long time I feel like I might be attracted to someone. It's not that I'm asexual, or that I don't want to date, but now that I think about it, I don't allow myself to think about guys in that way. Romantically, I mean. When I walk through the door, guys don't cease everything they've been doing and sometimes I get the feeling that they don't notice me at all, like they must know I'm there and yet at the same they're not aware of my presence, so I try not to be aware of theirs, too. A part of me is waiting till I go to college to let go and live a little, hoping that college guys are at least a tad bit more mature than guys my age, but between you and me, I'm not holding my breath. When a guy, regardless of his age and maturity level, looks at a girl, all he sees is a pair of boobs, legs, and a hole in between them where he can shove his precious-

Ahem, this is getting too M-rated for my liking. I never like it when my thoughts stray in this direction because when it comes to sex, I might as well be a virgin if we don't count my unfortunate backseat incident, which I'd rather not recall because that's a story I definitely do not want to get into right now. To put it mildly, it sure brings back some bad memories. Not that my life's full of good ones, but some just pale in comparison to my backseat incident, which is one of the most awkward things I've ever gone through and made it in one piece.

So, in order to save myself the future disappointment because god knows I'm plenty disappointed with a lot of things already, I try to shut my feelings (and hormones) off when there are guys around. Usually, that's quite easy because guys are pigs and acts like such, too, so it's no brainer for me to pretend that they're these sexless creatures, which come from another planet far, far away from here, but sometimes… sometimes when I'm not prepared for my ovaries to go absolutely and batshit crazy, some guy would slip past my defense and make me do a double take. Frankly, it's easier to overlook one's hotness when you know what a piece of work he truly is. Even the prettiest face can't make up for the fact that there's a truly ugly personality behind it. That's why I often become infatuated with guys I've run into the supermarket, or seen on the streets, guys that are perfect strangers to me. I haven't expected to find them so attractive because I don't fancy myself a shallow person, so when I do (find them attractive, that is), I'm a bit startled and confused by my sudden revelation. Not that you can tell yourself not to like someone because if we were able to decide who to like, the world would be a much nicer place to live in, but when I look at our high school's star soccer player, Trent Fields, I know that I don't stand a chance with him because judging from past experience and from his long list of ex-girlfriends, I can tell I'm so not his type, it isn't even funny, but this guy, the one who just walked in? Well, now he's helplessly, hopelessly, absolutely, and indisputably out of my league. So out of my league, in fact, that if people were cars, he'd be a Lamborghini and I'd be… Todd's ancient Honda which – not to be mean or anything – is a lame excuse for a car.

I've always thought that my hair is quite dark, but compared to this guy's jet black hair, I might as well be blond. He's well-built, which probably means he's into sports while the most exercise I do is my walk from the front door to the car and back; he's easily towering over everyone around him, has skin so bronze that glistens like gold because of the hours he's spent out in the sun, a laugh that seems to be coming straight from his heart, but aside from his good looks, there's something else, something about this guy that command's everyone's attention, but I can't put my finger on what this something is. I feel like I know him from somewhere, but when I try to think of where, I draw a blank. And I don't mean another life or anything like that because Gwen's the closet sap, not me, but he does look very familiar, although I'm starting to believe that my imagination might be playing tricks on me.

I couldn't have been staring at him for longer than a few seconds, maybe thirty tops, but Michelle's already snapping her fingers into my face, having caught on the fact that I'm not paying any attention to her. I momentarily feel guilty for ignoring one of my best friends because of a guy that I've never even met, but then Michelle does the unthinkable, she turns around in her seat, following my line of vision and, to my horror, her narrowed eyes stop on the subject of my undivided attention and her body goes completely still.

I wish I can tell you that she swivels back around to face me and starts teasing and poking fun of me for ogling at the hot guy because that's the kind of reaction I expect from her, but in reality…things only get downhill from here.

Pulling herself out of her trance, Michelle nearly starts hyperventilating after she says "oh, my god" in a breathless whisper, flaps her arms and squeals. I understandably start to think, 'hey, it's okay, I'm not the only one. 'Chelle must like what she sees, too.'

But then… well, then he notices us, too, and doesn't glance away awkwardly after catching us gawk at him. Instead it's my turn to go still when he wrenches himself away from his group of rowdy friends and starts making his way over to our table. His steps are long and determined, like he's a man on a mission while I'm frozen on my spot. My instincts tells me to run and save my ass, but said ass is glued to the chair and I find myself unable to move, like my whole body's failing me now, which is just swell.

The embarrassment won't stop here, however, because to my utter mortification, just as soon as he reaches our table and opens his mouth to most likely confront us and tell us to stop staring because we're giving him the willies, Michelle jumps out of her seat and straight into the stranger's arms. The most disconcerting thing though is that even though my cousin threw himself at him, this guy doesn't look put off by the fact that there's some unknown girl hanging off his arm. In fact, he… says my cousin's name and puts her back on the ground.

Michelle pinches his cheek and the guy scrunches up his nose even though anyone can see he's not even remotely annoyed with her. My cousin always acts like everyone's her best friend and treats them the same way, too. They chat for a little while, unmindful that I'm sitting only a meter away when suddenly Michelle goes silent, turns her attention back to me and says, "Oh, and this is my cousin, Georgiana. Georgia," she beams at me before sliding down in the seat across from me, "this is Mark," she introduces me to him and at that moment Mark, who thankfully hasn't so much of acknowledged I exist so far, turns his dark eyes on me.

"Georgiana goes to Santa Monica," Michelle adds for whatever reason and Mark imperceptibly nods, almost making me think he didn't hear her.

I don't know how to react, or how to act around guys like him, so instead of risking failure and making a total tool of myself, I decide to hold my tongue and keep quiet. That's easy since the moment Mark looks at me, I don't feel like doing much talking, anyways. His eyes, which I've previously assumed to be brown, are actually such an intense navy blue in color that they're almost black. But when he smiles, his smile transforms his face and instead of looking big and intimidating and tough, he looks like a little boy that wants to play. And boy, don't I want to play with him.

Oh, god, I'm most certainly happy that people can't hear my thoughts even though I have the feeling that they don't need to be mind-readers to be able to figure out what I'm thinking at the moment.

Mark gives me a long look that makes me blush from the tips of my toes to my head and I feel a little faint when he opens his mouth again, partly expecting him to say something like, "what are you looking at, freak?", or call me a creep, or pathetic excuse of a girl because I always brace myself for the worst, but then-

"Hi," he says simply, leaning against our table and smiling down at me, making my insides turn to mush. He doesn't seem like he's about to bite my head off for staring at him because he's too hot and I'm too ugly to be looking at him. No, he's smiling and his smile has got me hypnotized.

"Hi," I somehow breathe out, but I feel like my heart's trying to fight his way up my throat and I hope that I'm the only one who notices.

"So you go to Santa Monica, huh?" Mark asks, but I can't tell whether he's making a small talk or if there's an underlying animosity in his voice when he mentions my high school's name. Either way, I don't dwell on it. I can't dwell on it because it doesn't matter. I barely manage to nod in agreement, both wanting him to get away from me and keep talking in this deep voice of his which is a very confusing sensation. "And you've got ice-cream all over your breasts," he mentions and initially I'm clearly taken aback as to why we – or actually he – would be talking about my breasts in the first place, so I try to find some logic behind his words. That is, before I notice his gaze travel to my cleavage. It's not lust I saw in his eyes though but amusement. The moment I realize I have a molten ice-cream in my hand and Mark's eyes fixed on my breasts, I scramble out of my seat in a fit of embarrassment, loudly cursing before I run straight towards the bathroom to clean myself up, too ashamed to look back, even if I'm sure both my cousin and Mark are staring after me.

A scarlet red blush spreads over my neck and shoulders and I'm thankful that they can't see me because I sure as hell don't need to add more salt to the fresh wound. That's why I think boys are trouble – I'm always a clumsy mess when I'm with someone I like, or am attracted to.

I grab a handful of napkins and begin to wipe at the mess I've made, all the while muttering, "Stupid, stupid, stupid. How can I be so freaking stupid?"

But, in the spirit of honesty, it's often girls like me that foolishly think themselves the smartest who are usually the greatest morons.

A couple of minutes later, someone softly knocks on the door before they come in and I have a pretty good idea who that someone is.

I glance at Michelle from the corner of my eye and see her resisting the urge to laugh. Her whole face's going red and when I finally turn to face her, she almost loses it. "You totally lost your cool in front of Mark back there!" she explodes, like I don't know that already before she begins laughing so hard that tears pool at the corners of her coffee brown eyes and her entire body shakes because she has trouble breathing normally.

I sigh deeply, throw the dirty tissues in the trash bin and wonder how I haven't smashed my head against the wall yet. One might think that after all this time surrounded by goons and boneheads and the like, I'll be used to the humiliation that comes with being Georgiana Smith, but alas, that's not the case with me. I wait for Michelle to calm down and sober up, relaxing a little bit when she finally stops laughing in my face. I guess I would laugh until I pass out, too, if I was Michelle, but I don't think looking back, I'll ever laugh about this. I wish I could rewind the clock and spare myself the blushes.

If I was cool like Caroline, I would probably laugh my adorable, giggly laugh, flip my hair, and lick the chocolate ice-cream off my fingers, making all the guys in the room stare in a mix of awe and lust.

But I'm not Caroline Emerson, and I'm not cool because I'm not one of them cool girls, and I mess up. A lot.

And that doesn't bother me, yet this guy somehow rattled me in a way no one has before.

"Are you done?" I ask, exasperated, knowing full well that she won't ever let me live this down, but hoping that she's done for the day. She did have a good laugh, after all.

"I'm sorry, Georgie," Michelle sniffs, wiping tears of joy from her eyes and brushing a lock of brown hair out of her face, "but I couldn't help myself. The look on your face,'' she starts to say, but goes into another round of obnoxious giggles instead, "you were just too cute!" she finishes, trying to pull herself back together. I look at my cousin skeptically, wondering if this time she's the one who's lost her shit, or cool, or even mind.

"Cute?" I repeat her earlier words. "You think that was cute? Embarrassing is more like it. I made an idiot out of myself, 'Chelle," I try to explain to her, wondering how she can be so smiley still while I'm all pins and needles, so embarrassed and nervous I can't speak clearly.

"Aw, don't fret, G," Michelle soothes, patting my arm consolingly and trying hard not to smile, "even Mark thought your embarrassment was cute."

"I'm glad you two find it so amusing," I say petulantly, crossing my arms across my chest and trying not to think about how my mother must be right and I'm incapable of handling myself around people. "I obviously live to please others," I say sarcastically, trying really hard not to make a fuss about it because that's not what I usually do in situations like this one. I'm not a drama queen and I don't want to become one now. Especially because of some guy. How embarrassing.

"He wanted me to apologize on his behalf if you ran away because he scared you," Michelle continues, not knowing about all the stuff racing through my head at that moment and probably thinking that I was overreacting which I really am and I don't know why.

"He didn't scare me," I deny, rolling my eyes at her silly suggestion because in the worst case, guys repulsed me, but never scared me, "he just…"

"Ah, does someone have a crush on a gorgeous blue-eyed boy?" Michelle asks knowingly, bumping our shoulders together and when I make the mistake of looking back at her, I see her wagging her dark eyebrows at me suggestively, as if I'm the kind of girl that would want to jump in bed with a random guy she's just met without knowing the next thing about him, aside from his first name, which is something a lot of the girls I know and go to school with would do in a heartbeat. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I want sex to mean something to me. Having sex is not like handing out candy, or so I like to think. Although Gwen always says I'm "overromantizing the game" and sometimes I wonder if I should agree with her.

"Don't be so embarrassed!" Michelle assures me after I take too long to respond and refuse to look at her in the eyes because I neither want to lie to her face nor tell the truth since right now she is embarrassing both me and herself. "That's a common reaction among the female population when they first meet Mark, so, trust me, he's used to it," she says, shrugging one shoulder and again, I start to wonder how people cope with this, cope with being the center of attention. I wouldn't handle it, I wouldn't handle having all eyes on me, or being in the spotlight. I can't imagine being so wanted that every guy would be tripping over his feet and making a mockery of himself when in my presence. Just like I did when I saw him up close.

"And you? Do you like him?" I ask her, slightly narrowing my eyes at Michelle, ready to catch her in a lie, but she's not put off by my question. On the contrary, my cousin tilts her head back and gaily laughs, as if I'm the funniest girl to be around.

"G, I doubt that Cole would appreciate me having a crush on another guy," Michelle says with a teasing smile and I know enough about her boyfriend and her relationship with him to know that it's rock solid and that my cousin doesn't have wandering eyes. "Besides, Mark's too high-maintenance for me." She shrugs, not caring to elaborate.

"What do you mean?" I ask, now curious to find about more about this Mark guy and relieved that Michelle no longer looks like she's about to dissolve into giggles again, which admittedly is a very nice change.

"Well," Michelle says, taking a deep breath to help her collect her jumbled thoughts before continuing, "don't get me wrong, Mark's a great guy, but he's a little," Michelle pauses meaningfully, searching for the right word, "whimsical, I guess. He practically owns our school. He's used to getting what he wants and he'll go to great lengths to get it. He simply doesn't realize that sometimes his actions can hurt people. But that's what happens when you're Mark Ryder and you've got the world at your-"

I tune her out at this point, however. I don't do it because Michelle's boring me, or because I've heard enough to satisfy my curiosity. It's his full name that gets me thinking and sends me down memory lane because I swear I've heard this name before, so I start racking my brain, trying to put my allegedly excellent memory to use.

Mark Ryder, I repeat in my head and the harder I think, the more frustrated I grow because I know him, but…

Oh, hell.

Like a bolt of lightning, it suddenly dawns on me and I'm both relieved to have remembered and unsettled because if there's one guy on earth I should not be entertaining any romantic feelings towards, this guy will Mark Ryder, St. Patrick's high school's golden boy and my mortal enemy by default.

A/N: Hello, darlings! I'm really glad with the way this chapter turned out. :) So, did you like it? Or should I say… did you like Mark? :D Anyways, thanks for your support and patience, it means so much to me =)