Chapter One

To be clear, Lily did not go to the library to fall in love.

She went because her mom canceled their Wi-Fi for the third time this semester and she had exactly two days to finish her book report on Frankenstein, which she definitely had not started. Also, she needed air-conditioning. Desperately.

She didn’t expect to find someone sitting in her favorite beanbag chair.

He was tall. Well, tall-ish for um a guy. Definitely taller than her, but most people were. He had a mop of curly hair that looked like it lost a fight with a hairdryer and was currently reading a graphic novel upside-down.

“Uh, that’s my chair,” Lily blurted before her brain caught up.

The boy looked up. “Oh no, did you invent it?”

“What? No, I—wait. That’s not how chairs work.”

He grinned. “True. But you sounded pretty emotionally attached.”

She blinked. “It’s just… very cushiony, okay?”

He moved over slightly. “We can share. Unless you bite.”

Lily raised an eyebrow but sat. He smelled faintly like popcorn and fabric softener, which was confusing but not unpleasant. She opened her Chromebook, already regretting everything.

“I’m Jack,” he said after a moment with a smirk on his face.

“I’m Lily. I’m stressed, socially awkward, and currently failing English.”

“Wow. You’re like a character from one of those teen TV shows where everyone has amazing skin and trauma.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You’re weird.”

“Thanks. I try.”

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Over the next few weeks, Lily started accidentally going to the library more. Like, a lot more. Jack was always there, reading weird books, offering half-baked advice, or arguing passionately that pineapple on pizza should be a crime.

“You’re wrong,” Lily said one day. “Pineapple is God’s fruit.”

“God’s fruit belongs in fruit salad, not on a cheese circle of chaos.”

He was ridiculous. And funny. And smart. And very annoyingly good at Monopoly, which he insisted on playing every Friday at the teen table like it was some sacred tradition. Also to note that he was horridly handsome, (except the author doesn't know what that phrase actually means).

One Friday, after a particularly aggressive game where Jack bankrupted her with a hotel on Boardwalk, Lily sighed dramatically and slumped over the table.

“I’m doomed. Broke. Emotionally shattered.”

Jack leaned in, smirking. “Wanna go get some ice cream and pretend you’re rich again?”

“Only if you’re paying.”

“Deal. But it’s a date.”

She froze. “Wait, is it?”

“I mean, unless you’re emotionally attached to the friend zone like you are to beanbags.”

Lily stared at him, then burst out laughing.

“Fine. It’s a date. But I get to pick the ice cream flavour.”

“Even if it’s pineapple?”

She grinned. “Especially if it’s pineapple.”

Moral of the story: Never underestimate the romantic potential of beanbags, bad Monopoly skills, and fruit-based pizza arguments.

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