The Matchmaker

FOR THE VALENTINES DAY COMPETITION. INCOMPLETE RIGHT NOW. READ COMMENT LIKE FAVOURITE Jenny got dumped by her boyfriend, and now it's my mission to get her with someone by Valentine's Day. Now, I'm thinking Crowe Ridges; well-liked, rather unintelligent, good-looking Crowe Ridges. Problem is, he has his eye on ME.

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1. crowe = subject a

Allie crept cautiously along the shelves, blue eyes glued to her subject. A wandering hand arbitrarily selected a hefty book and she flipped it open, sliding surreptitiously into a secluded corner where she could watch her subject undisturbed. She peered at him over the top of the book, her calculating gaze tracing over his black fringe that just scraped his eyelashes, hanging over green eyes. He had a nice nose, Allie decided, and lips that would have to be examined scrupulously on a future occasion. After all, she could not have a subject unfit for another subject, could she? No, that would not do.

Crowe Ridges was one of her more perfect subjects, Allie observed. Appearance-wise, at least. Despite his apparent lack of intelligence, Allie still held a small portion of hope that her second subject would still be able to accept and love him regardless of his flaws. She focused on the comforting thought that intellect was not valued as highly by most others in comparison to herself, and allowed herself thirty seconds to contemplate exactly what made her different to the other girls in her grade.

The difference, she noted, was that while other girls were absolutely enthralled with makeup, glamour and members of the opposite sex, she was perfectly content on reading her books and matchmaking the members of the opposite sex with her fellow peers. Was there something wrong with her? No, she resolved. Last week she had overheard a conversation where the subject was, in fact, herself. She had been referred to as a “nerd”, and after fastidiously defining the word, she had simply agreed with the statement.

She turned her attention back to Subject A. She watched as he frowned, apparently flummoxed with one of the maths problems before him. His eyes flickered from calculator to workbook to textbook, and after somewhat subconsciously clenching his jaw intermittently, he solved the equation and the frown disappeared. Allie was rather fantastic at numbers, if she were to say so herself. As the bell rang, students rose from their chairs and exited the library, heading to their classes.

Allie was one of the last to leave the library. She quickly borrowed the book – whatever it was called; it had done its job of keeping her hidden – scanning the barcode and swiping her student card. She scribbled her details into the card and walked to the exit of the library. As she stepped out of the building, she tripped and was sent flying over a generous section of dry carpet to the grubby floor where footprints of mud tarnished her spotless blouse.

Allie heard a low chuckle from behind and froze, an inhalation of oxygen suspended in her throat.

Crowe offered a hand out to her, a wide grin across his lips. “That looked fun.”

Allie’s eyes widened, accommodating a rather wild look as she hastily stumbled to her feet and scrambled away. Crowe adopted a peculiar expression – one of confusion and amusement – as he watched the brunette sprint away. He picked up the library book.

Alexandra McPherson, the card declared.

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