In 27 Days Chapter 2

When I'd first walked into the school not twenty minutes ago, I couldn't help but feel like something had gone wrong, like there was this massive cloud of depression hovering over the place. I'd even seen bits of the staff clustered together in the hallway, their heads together as they talked quickly and quietly in furious whisperings.

At first I'd just assumed that maybe there was a leaked pipe in the building or something. But did a leaked pipe really cause looks of sorrow and horror to be on teacher's faces?

Mr. Rosedale

Who's Archer Morales?

Another kid from the back of the classroom shouted, sounding duped.

Mrs. Anderson tired looking eyes sparked with anger as she glared at the offender in the back of the room

Mrs. Anderson

A very important member of this student body, Mr. Rosedale, and I do suggest you refrain from speaking like that again.

The entire class sucked in collective breaths of air.

Mrs. Anderson never talked like that.

I listened only halfheartedly to what our homeroom teacher said next, explaining how psychologists from town offices would be coming to school every day for the next two weeks to help people cope with what they were feeling. She kept talking about how it wasn't good that we should bottle up our emotions and how we should remember Archer with a glad, happy memories instead of what he'd done.

Well, I had enough trouble sharing my emotions, and I wasn't about to change that anytime soon.

When the first period bell rang, piercing through the tense atmosphere in the room like a knife, I leapt up out of my chair, grabbed my things, and bolted from the room before anyone else had even realized it was time to leave.

I really didn't know why I was feeling like a complete and utter mess. It wasn't like I'd been best friends with Archer Morales or anything. On the contrary, the guy is - was - the school's social pariah.

He was insanely tall and had dark, unmanageable hair, along with a pale, sharply defined face that would have looked highly aristocratic on anybody else. Actually, Archer Morales was a pretty damn handsome guy, which made it all the more confusing as to why he was such an antisocial outcast.

Maybe it was because he just didn't like anybody. Or maybe it was because everyone else just didn't like him.

It had always been so hard to tell what the guy was thinking because he usually always had his head down and his hair was so wavy it nearly always fell into his eyes. Oh, God, his eyes.

The one time I'd actually gotten a good look at Archer's face had been in freshman year, in English 1. I sat in the desk across the aisle from him and he'd accidentally knocked his notebook off his desk at my feet sometime later on in the year. When he'd leaned over to grab it, I couldn't help but look at him as he moved and was more than surprised when I actually saw his face, and more importantly, his eyes. God, his eyes were amazing. They weren't exactly blue or green, but they weren't hazel, either. I really didn't think the color of his eyes had a name, but I'd instantly fallen in love with them.

Archer Morales had the eyes of angel.

When Archer had caught me watching him, his eyes had narrowed as he sat up straight, his lips pursing into a tight line. I'd quickly flushed bright red and ducked my head, trying to keep myself from hiding my face in my textbook out of embarrassment.