HAYLEY
Monday.
Another day to watch the lunch lady shovel food onto trays with a disinterested look. The old lady constantly wears a look that tells you she'd rather be anywhere else in the world than here.
With my platter of sandwiches, salad, strawberries and a bottle of water, I murmur a “thank you” to her. But the woman's attention is already on the next tray in front of her.
Figures.
When I turn away from the line, my gaze falls on the last person in the queue, and my muscles go stiff. Axel.
The entire cafeteria is teeming with noise and movement, but in the seconds that accompany his slow turn to glance my way, I'd swear I can hear my own heartbeat.
Those emerald eyes land on me and I watch him swallow. Then he says it. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I whisper, forcing the most natural
