CHAPTER 79………………..
At the library, Anita unfolded the note in her hand and read through the list of books she was supposed to bring back, when she suddenly sensed an unwelcome presence beside her.
“Are you really going to carry all those books by yourself? I’ll help you. Are all these books for you? I like smart girls.”
From a young age, Anita had always attracted boys more than girls. The reason was simple: closeness between people of the same sex requires mutual effort. That is, even if the other girl showed interest in Anita, if Anita came off as cold or overly shy, the bond would quickly break. But boys—despite knowing she wasn’t very welcoming—clung to her like leeches.
Anita never thought of herself as exceptionally beautiful like a movie star, or attractive enough to draw in every person of the opposite sex. She figured it was just her plain looks, her inability to say no, and her tendency to zone out in her own world that made her seem “easy.”
And Finian wasn’t the only one who tried poking at her like this.
That’s why Anita remained indifferent even at Finian’s sly smile and bold manner.
“Do as you like.”
Rutger often said Anita was annoying because she talked too much, but that was a misunderstanding. She was, in fact, the quiet type. Finian, too, would give up soon enough once he realized his attempts weren’t getting any reaction from her.
Finian Nigel was a real bastard.
At least once a week, victims popped up in Anita’s class. Trying to catch up on her overdue studies by flipping through her books before class started, Anita often felt tormented. Because by then, one girl or another would burst into tears loud enough to shake the lecture hall, and a whole swarm of girls would rush over to comfort her. Only one was crying, but over ten were lining up to console her.
“It’s okay. Forget about a jerk like him.” One girl saying it was nothing, but imagine ten girls reciting the same lines like dominoes falling one after another.
And those girls weren’t particularly smart either. Anita had struggled explaining basic concepts of equations to one of them, which proved it well enough.
They all said similar things: “He was seeing three other girls besides me,” or “We went to the movies together, but…,” or “The girl I saw him with at the café was also dating him…”
So much for liking smart girls. He liked party girls, pretty girls—every type of girl imaginable. Now he probably just thought he’d try someone new, and so he latched on to Anita.
“You’re mistaken. I’m not that smart.”
“Why not?”
He looked at her with an unhurried expression, as though daring her to explain. The confidence in his eyes was so transparent even Anita could read it. He had the same look as every boy who had never once considered the possibility of being rejected.
“If I were really smart, I wouldn’t even be talking to you right now. It’d be no different from throwing my precious time into the gutter.”
His confident face froze in an instant. Seeing his lips stiffen like stone, Anita had to hold back laughter. Not because she held any particular grudge against him.
“You’ll probably never meet a smart girl in your life. They make it their top priority to avoid your type.”
And just as quickly, his lips curved back up again. Leaning forward, Finian whispered in a low, suggestive voice:
“You are smart. Just look at how hard you’re pushing me away right now.”
“What nonsense.”
“If you wanted to play dumb, you’d pretend to give in to me. Isn’t that right?”
Unable to hide her irritation, Anita frowned.
“I…”
“Yeah?”
With the smug smile of a gambler certain of his victory, Finian stared straight at her. Anita cleared her throat once and replied:
“I’ll take the middle ground. Not dumb, not smart. So can you just step aside and let me pass?”
Finian, who had been standing crookedly to block her path, straightened up. His teasing smile vanished, replaced with a serious glint in his eyes. Feeling uneasy, Anita instinctively took a step back.
“My ideal type just changed.”
“…Really?”
Anita didn’t want to ask, but she did anyway. Otherwise, he might stand there until the library closed.
“I think I like women who are moderately dumb, moderately smart.”
“What a great discovery.”
“Want to seriously date me?”
What happened next doesn’t even need to be said. Anita immediately realized it was pointless to talk to someone this insane, and bolted without looking back.
Luckily, Finian didn’t chase her. It wasn’t because he thought it through, but rather because he couldn’t process the reality that someone might actually run away from him.
Either way, Anita was relieved.
On her way home from school, she stopped short as she opened the front gate and stepped into the garden. A net—advertised by Müller as strong enough to hold even a puma—was stretched between her house and Rutger’s.
“……”
After hesitating for a moment, Anita carefully sat on the net. It came up to her waist in height. Soon, she lay down flat across it, staring blankly at the filtered sunlight that streamed through the trees, gentle enough not to blind her.
“Not bad. I’ll just use it as a hammock.”
She muttered to herself for no reason—no one was listening anyway. Anita sprawled there for quite a while.
From that day on, the net became her second refuge. Anita would lie on it to read books, study the shapes of leaves, or simply enjoy the cool breeze.
After about a week, she convinced herself she was really fine. Since the net—once proof of her restless obsession with Rutger—had taken on a new use, it almost felt like none of that had ever happened.
One day, as she rested in the steady rocking of the net, footsteps drew near. Anita guessed it was Müller the gardener or Laura, who liked to stroll around. She yawned and adjusted the book resting on her face so it wouldn’t slip off.
“You.”
Startled, Anita lifted her head, and the book tumbled to the ground. Her eyes, usually hidden behind the pages, widened.
“Since when…?”
She blinked slowly. Because of the backlight, Rutger’s face as he looked down at her wasn’t clearly visible.
“Why did you skip school that day?”
His tone was so casual it almost sounded like he was picking a fight—like he just threw out whatever was on his mind.
Anita lay back down on the net.
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
He pressed on relentlessly. Already exhausted, Anita sighed. She had no intention of answering, no matter how much he pushed.
“Could you pick up my book?”
“You really…”
“I don’t like it getting creased.”
Anita avoided his eyes stubbornly. When she refused to meet his gaze, Rutger picked up the fallen book. Instead of handing it to her, he deliberately opened it and dropped it over her face.
