Now… I don’t even slow down.
“Fuck off, Maya,” I say, my voice flat and cold. I pull my arm away from her touch without glancing at her.
I don’t care.
I don’t wait to hear it.
I keep walking, my boots heavy on the ground. I push past a group of sophomores who quickly scatter without a word. Someone mutters something under their breath. I don’t turn around.
I brush past Noah and Reece without looking at them, close enough that my shoulder nearly grazes Noah’s. I can feel their eyes burning into my back, sensing the weight of their thoughts. The tension radiates off them in waves.
I fight the urge to turn around and tell them to fuck off, too. To ask them what the hell they’re staring at. Maybe shove Noah into the lockers just to see how he reacts.
I keep walking, because if I stop, if I let them see even a flicker of what’s really going on underneath, they’ll know. They’ll see it all over my face that I’m in too deep with Bells. That I’m not the same asshole they warned off the other day.
And I can’t allow that to happen.
I head to first period, which is English. It used to be the only class I didn’t mind because it gave me a chance to zone out while Miss Mallory droned on about whatever we were supposed to analyze that week. I would sit there and think as she talked, wondering what her body was like under those tight pencil skirts and low-cut blouses. Whether she’d be loud or quiet when she fucks. Whether she’d let me bend her over her desk after class. If she wore anything underneath those skirts at all.
Now all I do is stare out the window.
The words on the paper blur together into meaningless shapes. Miss Mallory’s voice fades into background noise, drifting over something about the death of the American Dream. I don’t catch a single word of it. I don’t register a single syllable.
My mind is elsewhere entirely. I’m back in my bed with Bells tangled in my sheets, her skin pressed against mine, her breath in my ear.
I shift in my seat, run a hand through my hair, and keep staring at the trees outside. At the clouds moving slowly across the sky.
I wasn’t wrong in my assessment last night when I was lying there with Lola asleep across my chest. She has ruined me. Completely. Irreversibly. Thoroughly fucking ruined.
The bell rings loudly, jolting me back to reality. I grab my bag and rush out of there before Miss Mallory can ask why I didn’t take a single note.
When the next period comes, I ditch it altogether.
Biology. There’s no way I’m sitting in that classroom listening to Mr. Harrison talk about whatever crap I don’t understand and won’t remember. Not when my brain feels stuffed with cotton and every word sounds foreign.
I move down to the brick wall near the back quad. I pull out what’s left of the joint from earlier this morning, light it, and lean back against the wall. The rough brick digs into my spine, but I don’t move. I take a long drag, hold it, let it settle deep in my lungs before exhaling slowly.
Bells would be pissed if she knew I was down here instead of in that classroom. She’d give me that look, the one where her eyes narrow and her jaw sets, and she would probably tell me I’m wasting my potential or some other bullshit she actually believes. She’d probably lecture me about how I’m better than this, how I should care more, and that skipping class isn’t going to get me anywhere.
And the messed up part... I’d probably listen. I’d stand there and take it because hearing her care, even when she’s angry, does something to me I can’t explain.
The smoke rises into the air and then vanishes. I watch it go, wishing I could do the same.
I have no idea how much time passes. Time stretches and contracts in weird ways when you’re trying not to think and failing spectacularly at it.
I pull out my phone. Nothing catches my eye. A few texts from people I don’t care about. Some chick I hooked up with weeks ago asking if I’m around. Another one sending me a photo I don’t bother opening.
I don’t respond to any of them. I lock the screen, shove it back in my pocket, and take another drag.
The joint burns down to nothing. I flick it into the grass.
A few more classes pass by in a blur of noise and movement that hardly registers. I attend one and skip the other. When I do go, I sit in the back and let the words wash over me without sticking.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m already exhausted again.
I walk to my old seat—the one where Noah, Reece, and I used to sit when we ran this place. Back when things were simpler. The one where I can see everything: the cafeteria doors, the lunch line, who’s walking in and who’s heading out. Habits don’t die easily.
And unfortunately, Nicole is sitting there too.
