“Y-yes, I just - wow!”

“Never seen a film before?” he teased.

“N-not like that, no.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded.

“I-is this your major?” I asked, it seemed a reasonable thing to say.

“Yeah, Film Studies I mean. This is a requirement. I’m honestly most interested in the French New Wave but that’s not available until the second year.”

“You look older,” I blurted, “sorry.”

“It’s okay, as well as true. It took a while before I really knew what I wanted to do, so I applied as a mature student. I’m twenty before you have to ask.”

“I’m Rachel,” I said, managing to remember my name.

“Augustus,” he replied, taking my hand.

“Like the emperor?”

“Something like that.”

He looked at me for a moment, as though trying to see into my soul. Despite a lifetime of warnings of both my parents in my head I let him. Just hoping he would like what he saw.

“You seemed a bit overwhelmed,” he said.

“I was,” I admitted.

“Can give you my notes if you -”

“Yes, please!” I enthused, way too quickly.

Without a word, he got out a little hardcover notepad and a gel pen from the pocket of his dress shirt. With swift, smooth movements, he wrote out his contact information before pulling the page and giving it to me. Making the whole thing look like a magic trick.Chapter Four - AugustusThe keyboard rattled like a machine-gun. Words flying across the white screen. I was never really taught how to type. It was just one of those things that I picked up. ‘The knack’ as my other brother Mick liked to call it.

Apparently the knack was strong with me because there were times when my mom would ask if I was actually writing anything or just typing gobbledigook to make it sound like I was working. Making matters weirder, I also had the ability to seemingly do two things at once. Talents which made film studies a natural fit for my skillset. Such as trying out my thoughts and notes on a film while I was watching it. Homework generally lasted roughly the same duration of a given film’s runtime.

I was tempted to play some music in the background, particularly for the silent movies but resisted the urge. The music selection being a major factor in a film’s construction, particularly in terms of the New York School, Anger and Richard Kern counted near the top. It was impossible for me to pick between the two.

I loved both of them for very different reasons. If one were to put a gun to my head, I’d have to go with Anger for his superior cinematography and decades of pissing off the fundies. He was breaking taboos and thumbing his nose at church ‘authority’ at a time when he could still go to jail for it.

The kick was so light I was scarcely sure I’d heard it. I figured it was some visitor, rapping at my chamber door. Only this and nothing more.

“Identify yourself,” I called, pausing the video.

“It’s Keira.”

Of course it was. Keira was the only one in the cluster brave enough to talk to me. Much to the chagrin of everyone else. Not least her boyfriend, Matt. An absolute gym rat there on a rugby scholarship. Things could have been even more tense but fortunately this had been nipped in the bud.

It all came to a head a few weeks ago. I could actually feel the music through the wall. My headphones only made so much difference. Matt had bought subwoofers at least partly to vex me. Or at least so I was convinced.

It was the third party that week, and I was beginning to wonder how much longer it would be before someone went to the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Not that I was about to say anything. I’d made that mistake back in high school and had gotten doused in German import beer for my trouble.

“Hey.”

I’d turned in the direction of the salutation and found Keira to be standing quite close to me.

“Gutentag,” I said, no idea why. Making matters worse, I’d thrown up a Devil horns sign.

“Haven’t seen you at a party before.”

“Haven’t been to one either,” I teased.

“What changed your mind.”

“I got hungry.”

At least that was what I’d planned to say. I’d actually only gotten to the ‘I got hun’ before the side of my head bounced off the freezer like a squash ball, sending me collapsing to the floor in front of the open fridge. Most guys would have stayed down. Maybe even played dead, assuming they actually still continued. Though us Graves were made of stranger stuff.

Matt hadn’t even turned all the way away before I sprang to my feet and started bouncing in place like a boxer.

“No shit.”

“Only between your ears,” I said, with just enough mustard.

The hit was hard. I went down again, closing the fridge door on the way. As though the world were on instant reply, I got up again, refusing to stay down, Matt already on his way out of the kitchen.

Tags: Jamie Knight Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net