Grace.

The mysterious, outspoken girl with black hair and pale skin who sits three rows ahead of me in my calculus class and two rows behind me in my weekly health seminar.

I don't know her last name, since professors here don't take a verbal role count and she randomly showed up to class about a month ago.

But damn does "Grace" fit her face like a glove.

My standards are pretty high, but I don't think that's why I haven't landed myself a girlfriend. No, according to my younger sister, Olivia, my standards are well out of my league, and I should "aim lower."

Pfft, like that's going to solve my problem.

Not... that I have a problem. I'm perfectly fine admiring my muse from afar.

Olivia slides her notebook across the tiny plastic flap-tops of our seminar desks, nudging my elbow with it roughly.

Her beady eyes order me to "look now, or else."

Sometimes I wish my twin would remember that she's younger by about ten minutes, so she'd stop ogling me like our mother. It's nice to treat each other as equals, but to exercise dominance like this, and in our health class, too...

Sighing, I slip the notebook over my Macbook's keyboard and squint my eyes so I can read her chicken scratch.

I grimace.

I still can't believe she got me to tell her I had a crush in the first place. Had I wanted to be teased? No.

Now that I think about it, she's never once told me she was interested in anyone. Why did I have to fall victim first? She gets to have all the fun...

"Yeye," I scribble back, pretending to be chill about it.

Olivia takes the notebook, slaps it shut, then crosses her arms tightly over her chest. A few students murmur their complaints about her loud disruption, but none look in our direction.

I blink at her, squeezing my eyes a little so she can see what a distraction she's being.

She just humphs, pushing a chunky brown braid over her shoulder.

When the seminar is over, Olivia tugs on my sweatshirt.

"See that?" she whispers sharply, nodding to a group of girls leaving the classroom. Grace's sleek, raven hair stands out of the bunch like the elegant neck of a black swan. She doesn't look in our direction as she laughs, oblivious to our gazes.

Olivia snaps her fingers in my face, and I flinch.

"She's out. of. your. league. buddy. And I wouldn't be surprised if she has a boyfriend already. Why wouldn't she? Looking like that..." Her voice trails off as if her appearance is explanation enough.

"I've asked myself the same question," I mumble.

Olivia snorts as if I've made a joke of some kind. "Have you looked in the mirror? We aren't identical twins. Far from it. But you know what? Your sad singleness kind of makes me want to help you." Her voice creepily rises up a few pitches, then cascades down like an arpeggio. "Come, quick."

She leads me to the school's ten-story library, and we take an elevator to the seventh floor.

It's already nine at night, and I have a study guide I should brush up on before tomorrow's test. Olivia knows this. My jaw tightens in annoyance.

"What are we doing here?" I ask as we pass row after row of nature encyclopedias and miscellaneous research journals.

Olivia ignores me as she continues to saunter down the center aisle, swishing her book bag about her legs.

"Liv!"

"Geez, okay! Just have patience for like, once in your life."

She takes a sharp turn into a dark aisle, then returns with a red leather book coated in dust. With a twinkle in her dark eyes, she aggressively blows the particles from the cover. They shoot up my nose, and I'm soon battling for breath as sneezes assault my sinuses.

Okay, that was probably a little dramatic.

I'm just annoyed. And who wouldn't be? We're wasting precious study time. If I'd known telling my sister about a crush would lead to her cryptically taking me to a dark level of the library for some dusty old book...

"I don't read," I say simply. "You know I don't read. I use SparkNotes for classes that require reading, even for math."

She rolls her eyes, shoving the book in my direction. "Listen, David. If you want to ever have a chance with a girl like...uh...like..."

"Grace."

"Yes, Grace. If you want a chance with a girl like that, this is the book that can get you there."

"Then why aren't you basking in the shadow of a handsome boyfriend?"

She grabs my wrist and forces me to hold the book. A smile pricks her cheeks and her eyebrows and nose wrinkle toward each other in annoyance.

"I'm not interested in dating. But there goes a rumor... Anyone who reads this book will be lucky in love."

I raise a brow at her, then look down at the weathered cover. The title has eroded away, leaving an indent here or there. I make a face, then sigh. "Does it have SparkNotes?"

"Dunno. Even if it doesn't... you should at least give it a shot."

With these being her last words, she rushes around me and heads to the elevator. Sighing, I follow behind her.

🌸🌸🌸

You can probably guess how the night went.

Having no roommates or friends to play hooky with meant I seriously had to study, yet I didn't do that at all. Instead, I've been reading.

And I'm already halfway through this stupid book.

I know, I know. I, myself, am also shocked.

Something has seriously possessed me, making me commit myself to the plot, even though it's absolutely ridiculous.

There's a duke called Theodore, who's all cold and uncaring (which apparently is "totally hot," according to the heroine?) and who is obsessed with his status. He's so self-absorbed, in fact, that he rejects every woman who gives him the light of day.

What a bastard!

But something about the women is inspiring—their determination to win the love of an obsessive duke with wealth and power is absolute lunacy, and yet...

I think I understand now why Olivia gave me this book.

My legs shimmy into the thin twin-sized duvet to get comfortable. Finding a cold spot under the covers is especially satisfying, since I decided long ago to loft my bed and have been too lazy to rearrange it after spring break.

As I read into the night, my eyes tire. The skin on my face feels weighted and aged, but I'm too exhausted to get up and do any semblance of a nighttime routine (are the girls of the novel rubbing off on me?). Instead, I strain to read as quickly as possible, skimming for important plot points.

Mostly skipping over the goopy kissing scenes.

Once I close the book over the last page—tears budding in my eyes from both reading fatigue and finally reaching the novel's conclusion—I throw my arms in the air and yawn.

Before I have time to think, my hand hits something on the ceiling, and something heavy drops, hitting me on the head.