Page 9 of Bad Kind of Love

CHAPTER TWO

Becca

I woke up this morning with snarled hair and an unbelievable need to brush my teeth. With a good hour to get ready, I took my time scrubbing and cleaning myself till I no longer smelled of waffle cones and chocolate. Blow drying my hair into soft curls down my back, I let my bangs fall freely down my forehead. My peers would gossip and say that my bangs made me look childish and immature but I loved them. It was easy to hide behind them, like they were curtains that could conceal my eyes from observers, but most importantly, I thought they looked good.

After a failed attempt of applying my makeup, I swiped on a few coats of mascara and called it good before getting dressed. My choice of clothing was vastly different from girls my age. Where most girls dressed to impress, wearing their revealing tops and short skirts, I dressed to repel. Baggy shirts, sweatshirts, combat boots, anything to make me look less appealing. I didn’t want or need the attention from anyone, especially the opposite sex. But today, I decided to dress a little more… girly than I was used to.

With ten minutes to spare, I quickly dress into black tights and a pair of loose distressed shorts over them. Grabbing a plain white t-shirt from my dresser drawer, I decide to compliment it by wearing the new jean jacket Aunt Claire bought me.

Standing in front of the horizontal mirror that hung on the back of my door, I studied my reflection. My button nose was far too small for my face and covered in hundreds of tiny freckles that I wish I could erase. My lips were too fat, my eyebrows were too bushy and the mole above my lip needed to go. I disliked almost everything about my appearance, except the natural tan that was passed on from my mother’s Italian heritage.

The one and only thing she gave me.

Satisfied, I grab my black satchel off my dresser and peek inside to make sure my headphones are stuffed at the bottom. Once I know I have them, I scurry out of the room and downstairs to find Aunt Claire cradling a cup of coffee in her hands.

“Good morning.” She smiles sweetly, twirling around in her ankle length boho dress to face me.

“Morning.” I say rushed, flinging the closet door open, and snatching my boots off the shoe rack.

“Running late?”

“A tad.” I hastily step into my boot and tighten the straps before tying them into a sloppy bow. Once I finish tying the other boot, I snag my car keys off the hook and dart for the door.

“Wait!” My aunt stops me, rushing out of the kitchen with a brown sac in her hands. “Here’s some breakfast.”

“Oh, thank you.” I reach for the bag and shove it in my satchel.

“Just a blueberry muffin and a banana.” She sips on her coffee, leaning her back against the couch. “You look great, that jacket looks good on you.” She praises, taking in my outfit from head to toe.

“Thanks, I really like it.” I tug on the buttons, feeling a flush hit my cheeks from her compliment.

“I’ll be home late tonight. Chad’s taking me out to some fancy place tonight for dinner.” She says dreamily. The twinkle in her eyes lets me know she’s fantasizing about the night they’ll have together.

Nodding, I pull on my satchel strap. “Okay, well, I better get going.” I gesture towards the front door. “I don’t want to get detention on the first day of school.” I tease, knowing my luck, that’s exactly what would happen.

“Yes of course, have a good day at school.” She sets her cup down onto the side table. “If you need anything, just call or text.”

“I will.” I smile, before marching out of the house and slipping inside my pearl white Toyota. On my sixteenth birthday, I persistently advised Aunt Claire I didn’t want or need a car. Her spending thousands of dollars on me was exactly what I didn’t want. But, the morning of my birthday, I woke up to find a shiny white car in the driveway with a giant green bow on the top. No matter how much I begged for her to return it, she refused to take it back.

Westwood High was a short drive away from the house. Watching the clock tick on the dash, I punched down on the gas pedal, but naturally got stuck behind a blue hair that was driving ten under the speed limit. Tapping my nails on the steering wheel, I trail behind them for what seems like miles till I could finally whip my car into the parking lot. Driving around, I find an empty space and quickly throw my car into park before killing the engine and hopping out. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I start hauling ass to the front entrance. Seeing no students in the parking lot was already a bad sign that I was running late.

Grasping the door handle, I throw it open and practically heave myself inside.

Oh shit.

The halls were as empty as my dad’s bank account, no one in sight. You could virtually hear crickets chirping in the background… That's how deserted it was.

“Fuck…” I mutter to myself, while reaching into my bag for my schedule. Quickly scanning over the paper, I find my first class, English with Mr. Moore.

Shoving the paper back into my bag, I sprint down the hall as fast as I could in my boots and march up the stairs. Out of breath and apparently shape, I scurry down the hall till I reach my destination. My heart pounds violently, dreading the moment I have to step foot inside the classroom. With sweaty palms, I seize the door handle and ever so slowly pull it open.

Keeping my head down, I take a hesitant step inside. The air seems to shift in the room the moment I enter and all curious eyes land on me.

“Sorry… I’m..” I stumble over the words as my eyes lift and land on Mr. Moore.

Wait.

That’s definitely not Mr. Moore. Last time I remembered he was a sixty-year-old man who was bald and insisted on wearing suspenders every day. Whoever this was, was the exact opposite of Mr. Moore.

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