He’s The Campus Sun But Only A Monster For Me Chapter 02

He’s The Campus Sun But Only A Monster For Me Chapter 02

People always asked why someone as bright as Lucas Gray was friends with me.

My deskmate once leaned over during class and whispered,

“Beatrice, are you and Lucas really childhood sweethearts?

How are you guys… uh… how are you so close?”

I knew what that pause meant.

It meant: Because you’re so ordinary.

And I was ordinary.

I’d never been pretty.

My nose wasn’t straight, my lips weren’t full, my skin was pale but not glowing.

The only thing anyone ever complimented was my eyes—big, bright, like the waters of southern France.

But on a plain face, even pretty eyes got lost,

like a pearl dropped into a dull, gray box.

I grew out my long bangs, covering nearly half my face.

I wore thick black glasses.

I looked like a snail hiding inside its shell.

It wasn’t insecurity.

I was perfectly aware of how ordinary I was.

Grandma always said: Know yourself.

Know who you are, what you want.

Everything else is just noise.

I just didn’t like being watched.

The feeling of being stared at, judged, made my skin crawl.

So I hid behind my bangs and glasses, faded into the background, quiet and unnoticeable, like an old, comfortable shirt.

Hardly anyone in class even remembered my name.

In high school, there was a ghost story about our classroom.

It said a girl had died in the last row by the window.

She stayed after school alone, writing in the dark, the scratch of her pen echoing.

That ghost was me.

I always stayed late after school, sitting in that corner, drawing or reading, staring at the sunset.

Someone walked past the dark classroom, saw me sitting still and pale,

and nearly scared themselves to death.

The story spread.

A few kids who’d tried to talk to me before looked at me differently after that—curious, a little scared.

It was more frustrating than being ignored.

I never explained. I didn’t care to.

I’d always been like this.

Outside of Lucas, I’d never had real friends.

And I was fine with that.

Grandma said friends weren’t about quantity, but quality.

If you couldn’t find a true friend, being alone was better.

I had cats, dogs, butterflies, wind, sunlight.

Those were better than fake friends.

One lunchtime freshman year, I carried my tray behind the building to the flower bed.

A patch of sunflowers bloomed bright yellow under the midday sun.

I squatted down, eating while watching the flowers.

Out of the corner of my eye, an orange stray cat poked its head out of the bushes, staring at the fish on my plate.

I tore off half a piece and set it on the ground, stepping back.

The cat hesitated, then trotted over and ate quickly.

I watched it, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Beatrice!”

Cheers erupted from the basketball court nearby, along with my name.

I looked up.

Half a court away, Lucas wore a red jersey, sweating, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead.

He waved at me, wild and bright.

His eyes were so bright, like two stars washed clean by sweat, clear even in the harsh sun.

He must’ve just finished a game.

The school basketball scrimmage—that’s why the court was so loud.

His teammates followed his gaze, saw me squatting by the flower bed with my tray, bangs covering most of my face, and looked confused.

They were probably wondering: How does Lucas know her?

I nodded slightly in response, then looked back at the cat.

I heard later what happened.

Lucas led the freshman team to beat the sophomores.

His last three-pointer was steady and sharp, the whole gym screaming.

But when he got home, he told me the best part wasn’t winning.

It was seeing me watching the flowers.

I stared at him for a second, then went back to what I was doing.

People always read too much into Lucas Gray.

Smile at someone, and they thought he liked them.

Talk a little longer, and they thought you were dating.

Rumors spread like pollen, but they never landed on me.

Everyone thought there was no chance between Lucas Gray and me.

We were just too mismatched.

But that never stopped him from finding me in a crowd, shouting my name, running straight to me.

At the Christmas assembly sophomore year, the whole grade took a group photo in the auditorium.

I naturally slipped to the very edge of the back row, like an extra punctuation mark no one noticed.

The photographer directed us into place.

I heard people up front cheering, yelling:

“Lucas! Middle! Center stage!”

I didn’t look up.

I stared at a tiny ladybug crawling on my finger.

Red shell with seven black spots, slow on my nail, antennae twitching.

So cute.

A hand suddenly landed on my shoulder.

I looked up.

Lucas had pushed through the crowd from the front center C位 to the back corner, squeezing into the space between me and the kid next to me.

He turned sideways to the camera, holding up a peace sign over my head.

His beautiful face was so close I could smell his clean laundry detergent, mixed with the warm scent of a teenage boy.

“Smile for me,” he whispered, only loud enough for me.

I froze, then my lips twitched.

The flash went off.

In that moment, I saw Lucas’s canine tooth, impossibly cute, glowing brighter than any stage light.

He smiled like he was truly, completely happy,

like squeezing through dozens of people to get to the corner was the best thing in the world.

That photo ended up on the school’s homepage.

I read the comments below:

“Who’s that girl on the end?”

No one knew. Someone said she was Lucas’s friend.

Someone said they’d never seen her speak in class.

No one found it strange.

Of course Lucas Gray had ordinary friends.

Like me.

He was just that good.

Good enough to be this kind even to a regular friend.

He brought me hot milk in winter, grinning as he pressed it into my hand—perfect temperature, not too hot, not too cold.

During free period PE, he ran over from the soccer field, handed me a water bottle, and said, “Aren’t you hot out here?”

He plopped down next to me, breathing hard as he drank.

Sweat rolled down his jawline, stunningly beautiful.

He walked halfway across the library to set a thick math notebook on my desk.

It opened to a page highlighted in neon, with a note: You asked about this problem. I found an easier way.

We walked home side by side, his bag slung over one shoulder, strap loose.

He kicked stones as he walked, muttering about how hard a problem was or how silly someone was.

The sunset stretched our shadows long.

His head tilted slightly toward me.

Like he was listening.

Or just wanted to be close.

Listening to music on the rooftop was a summer tradition.

Our houses were separated by a narrow balcony gap.

Lucas climbed over all the time, long legs swinging over like it was a doorstep.

Every long weekend, he walked right into my room without hesitation,

flopped onto my bed, spread out, and claimed the entire center.

He patted the empty space next to him, grinning. “C’mere.”

I walked over and nudged him lightly. “Move over.”

“No.”

“Move.”

He huffed and rolled to the side, leaving just enough space for me.

I lay down, pulled an earphone from under my pillow, split the cord, stuck one in my ear,

and held the other out to him, pressing it perfectly into his ear.

Lucas turned onto his side, smiling, propping his head on one hand, watching me.

The earphone cord hung between us, like a thin bridge.

I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t happy.

So I just closed my eyes, pretending to sleep.

I wasn’t playing popular music.

It was night sounds I’d recorded myself—crickets, frogs, an occasional owl hoot.

The summer night hummed through the speaker, warm and fuzzy.

Warmth suddenly filled my palm.

Someone’s hand moved slowly, inch by inch, lacing their fingers through mine.

I didn’t open my eyes, but I curled my fingers, holding his hand tight.

My heartbeat was the loudest sound in the dark.

Our hands lay still between us.

Moonlight slipped through the curtain, landing right on our intertwined fingers,

like a thin silver thread sewing us together.

One night, he’d just played basketball, showered, still warm and steaming, hair wet like a drowned puppy.

He climbed over unexpectedly.

It wasn’t a long weekend. I had no idea he was coming.

I’d just showered too.

I stepped out wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, and saw him on my bed.

I froze, then said flatly, “Close your eyes.”

Lucas lay back, hands behind his head, smiling innocently at me, blinking. “No.”

I ignored him, pulled on a jacket, and turned to grab an ice-cold cola.

When I turned back, he was still staring, smiling innocently, his little tooth sharp and sweet.

I twisted the cap open with one hand and pressed the cold can to his cheek.

“Ah—”

He flinched, then laughed.

He took a big sip, Adam’s apple bobbing, then handed it to me naturally.

Like always, I lifted the can and took a sip too.

It was a little too sweet.

I never cared what other people thought.

But I cared about him.

It wasn’t a secret. I’d known since I was six.

That summer day under the oak tree, when a boy as pretty as an angel knelt in front of me and said, “You’re so smart.”

I knew he was different.

He was like a little sun, warming me all over.

Grandma said if you like someone, you should like them bravely, no hiding, no running.

But she never told me how to not hurt when you love someone too bright.