FALLING INTO YOU

CHAPTER TWO -The library

The Maplewood Public Library wasn’t Emily’s favorite place in town, but it was close. She preferred the small bookstore on Elm Street, where the smell of coffee and paper mixed in the air and no one cared if you sat for hours without buying a thing. The library, though—this was where school happened outside of school. Group projects. Assigned readings. Students with whispered laughter tucked behind bookshelves.

She hesitated at the entrance, clutching the strap of her bag. The clock walk in without second-guessing. But Emily wasn’t normal—not in the ways that mattered. She questioned everything. Every step, every word.

And most of all, she questioned why she was here.

She could have walked straight home after school. She could have stayed curled in her room, journaling about fictional characters who never laughed at her or pushed her out of her comfort zone. But instead, here she was, heart pounding, because Ryan Mitchell had said library with that smile, like it wasn’t a request, but a certainty.

She told herself she was only here because the project mattered. Mrs. Greene’s assignment wasn’t one she could risk failing. That was the reason. That had to be the reason.

Inside, the library was quiet except for the distant hum of the air conditioner. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows, warming the rows of wooden tables. Emily inhaled, the smell of old pages calming her nerves. She always felt safer around books—they didn’t judge, didn’t gossip, didn’t laugh at the wrong moments.

She spotted him immediately. Ryan was leaning back in a chair at a table near the corner, a basketball hoodie draped loosely over his shoulders, his long legs stretched out under the table. He had a pencil spinning effortlessly between his fingers, his gray eyes scanning something in a notebook.

For a moment, he looked almost studious, almost serious. But then he noticed her.

Their eyes met, and that easy, lopsided grin spread across his face. “Carter. Thought you weren’t coming.”

Emily’s throat tightened. She hated how he said her last name like it was some kind of nickname. Casual. Familiar. Too comfortable.

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Good thing you did.” He tapped the notebook in front of him. “Because I didn’t read the full project guidelines. You probably did.”

She stared at him. “You didn’t even read them?”

He shrugged, not remotely apologetic. “Hey, I had practice after school. Then I was starving. Then—well, you get the picture. You’re the brains of this operation.”

Emily bristled, pulling the assignment sheet from her bag. “This isn’t a joke, Ryan. It’s worth forty percent of our grade. You can’t just expect me to do everything.”

His grin faded a little, replaced by something sharper. “Relax, Carter. I didn’t say I wouldn’t pull my weight. Just… you’re better at this stuff than I am.”

Something in his tone stopped her. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t arrogant. It was honest, almost vulnerable. And that unsettled her even more.

She smoothed the paper on the table, trying to hide the heat rising in her cheeks. “Fine. The project is a year-long research and creative piece. We’re supposed to pick a theme from literature and create something original around it. An essay, a presentation, and—” she glanced up—“a story.”

Ryan leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “A story, huh? That’s your thing, isn’t it?”

Emily blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you. Always writing in that notebook of yours during lunch. You think nobody notices, but I do.”

Her chest tightened. Nobody ever said that to her before. Nobody ever admitted they noticed the quiet things she did, the parts of her she tried to keep hidden.

She looked down quickly. “It’s just… nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Emily’s pulse raced. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop prying, but instead she just unfolded her notebook and placed it carefully on the table, flipping to a blank page. “We need a theme,” she said firmly. “Something from the books we’re reading this semester.”

Ryan watched her for a moment, then leaned back again, drumming his fingers against the wood. “Okay. What about love?”

She froze. “Love?”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “Half of literature’s about it, right? Romeo and Juliet, Pride and Prejudice, whatever. Seems easy enough.”

Emily shook her head. “That’s too cliché.”

“Clichés exist for a reason.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. He was impossible. And yet, she couldn’t deny there was something about his confidence, his insistence, that made her want to push back harder.

“Love is too broad,” she said. “It has to be specific. Like… the cost of love. Or the way love and loss are connected.”

His grin faded, and for just a second, something flickered in his expression—something heavy, almost haunted. Emily barely had time to notice before he covered it up with a shrug.

“Fine. Love and loss. Works for me.”

They began sketching ideas, Emily’s pen scratching across the page while Ryan threw out suggestions, some ridiculous, some surprisingly thoughtful. At first, she assumed he wasn’t taking it seriously, but then he leaned in closer, his voice softer, his words more deliberate.

“Maybe the story could be about someone who wants to say how they feel but can’t. Like… they’re scared. Or something always gets in the way.”

Emily’s breath caught. He was describing her. He couldn’t know that, but somehow, his words struck a nerve so deep she had to grip her pen tighter to keep from trembling.

“That could work,” she managed.

Their eyes met again, and for a heartbeat too long, neither of them looked away.

The air between them shifted—no longer just classmates, not yet anything more, but charged with something Emily couldn’t name.

She broke the moment first, clearing her throat. “We should split the work evenly. I’ll draft the outline. You can… research examples from the books we’re reading.”

Ryan leaned back, smirking again. “Bossy. I like it.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but inside, her chest was warm with something she didn’t want to admit.

As the afternoon sun dipped lower, they worked side by side, the silence between them surprisingly comfortable. Every so often, Ryan would glance at her notebook, curiosity in his eyes, and Emily would quickly cover the page.

When they finally packed up, Ryan slung his bag over his shoulder and looked at her. “You’re not as scary as you look, you know.”

“I wasn’t trying to be scary,” she muttered.

“Good,” he said, flashing that disarming smile. “See you tomorrow, Carter.”

And just like that, he was gone—out the library doors, into the golden light of the setting sun, leaving Emily sitting there with her heart pounding against her ribs, her notebook open, and a single thought looping in her mind.