Page 5 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“A little,” she admits sheepishly.

“You’re WEAK! From tomorrow, you’re drinking a double expresso until it puts some hair on your chest.” This is where the deranged sense of humor comes out because he says all of it with a straight face. He pulls his shirt apart like Superman to show her the hair on his chest. “Look at this. Touch it. Touch it, Lorraine. This is what strength feels like.” He moves closer to her so she can run her fingers over the fuzz. “It’s the reason I don’t cry. You need to get you some of this.”

“Can I buy it online?”

“No, you need to grow it, woman.”

“Honestly, mom, you’re an embarrassment. You need to pull your shit together.”

“Say no more.” She inhales in a breath and sucks her cheeks in, making an incredibly awkward duckface. “My shit has officially been pulled. My shit is so together, you could mold it into a little dollhouse.”

“I didn’t need that visual.” My dad and I exchange a look of disgust before I walk around the counter to kiss her cheek, dropping the tough guy act for just a second. “You’ll be okay, mom.”

She hugs me tight. “Love you, sweetie. Be safe.”

“Yep. See you, big man.” I bump chests with my dad as a manly display of strength—because my mom clearly needs to learn a lesson—then grab my bag and head to the front door. I stop when I open it. “Hey, mom, you need anything from the grocery store?”Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

“Not today,” she yells back.

And my day just got better. I climb into my Jeep Cherokee—another unnecessarily expensive gift my parents bought to spoil me—switch on some R&B to keep the edge off and take a slow drive to school. Loughlin Academy is one of the most prestigious schools in this region. I transferred here last year and even though my previous school was also a private school; it was nothing like this.

There are social dynamics at play here that I have never experienced before. Everybody is so concerned with status and wealth and stupid shit that mean nothing like designer labels and the latest fashion trends. The fact that we don’t have to wear uniforms to school only feeds into the toxic mindset that what you wear means more than who you are as a person. I’ve tried my best to not get sucked into the toxicity by staying away from cliques and not paying attention to the rumor mill. There are bigger things to worry about in life.

I pass the tall palm trees and cream buildings as I drive through the school gates, making my way to the back so I can park. It’s a beautiful day and the California sun is making me wish I was surfing at the beach instead. I remove my sunglasses as I enter the building and head all the way to the other side to get to my locker. I don’t know whose genius idea it was to put lockers here. It’s so far fromeverything. Opening the door, I take out my books for chemistry.

“Hmmm...what a morning.”

That husky voice is the best way to start the school day. My locker is right outside the girls’ bathroom and every morning, like clockwork, Isabella Diaz will emerge at exactly 7:20 and indulge me in a senseless conversation for ten minutes until the bell rings.

She used to be so different, a little shy and reserved, definitely not as talkative as she is now. From our previous discussions, I can safely assume that it was because she was self-conscious and insecure about her weight. She’s always been bigger than most of the girls at this school, and they’ve never missed an opportunity to remind her that she’s not built like a model. But then, about ten months ago, her dad passed away, and she changed in a matter of weeks. She lost some of the weight, not much but enough to change her view of herself. Her skirts got shorter. Her tops got tighter. She changed her hairstyle, started wearing makeup. There was no need for that change because she was already fucking stunning, but yeah, let’s just say I wasn’t the only guy who noticed the glow-up. It is, without a doubt,verynoticeable.

When a teenage girl has the curves of a woman, you’re gonna notice. When a girl wears tank tops with plunging necklines that draw full attention to the sheer abundance of her supple tits, you’re gonna notice. And when a girl has thighs so thick and an ass so juicy that your dick stirs to life at the mere sight of them, you’re gonna fricken notice. I feel the twitch in my pants before I even see her because I already know the five-foot-four-inches of sexiness that is about to greet my eyes.

I shut my locker door to find her leaning against the one next to mine. My eyes discreetly sweep over her from head to toe. Her hair is tied up in a high ponytail, dark curls cascading over her shoulders. A white crocheted crossover top complements her caramel skin and shapes her breasts in the sexiest way. She’s coupled it with a black, pleated skirt that just meets the bare minimum for being appropriate for school. No matter how girly or sexy the outfit is, she tops it off with a pair of white sneakers, which adds just the right amount of cuteness to her overall look. Silver bangles cover half her forearm, but it’s the layers of thin silver necklaces that are more distracting because they draw my eyes straight to her cleavage. She’s a vision.

She rolls her head a little to the left to focus her light brown eyes on me. They’re very light, bordering more on amber or topaz than a simple brown, and the dark liner she wears accentuates them even more. Her eyes are probably what I like most about her...That’s a lie. Who am I trying to fool? It’s her tits. Her tits win the favorite feature award hands down. Her eyes are a very close second, though. They’re entrancing and unique, but as pretty as they are, they’re vacant, empty almost. She jokes, she smiles, she talks a lot of shit, but her eyes remain devoid of emotion, like she’s dead inside.

She lets out a heavy breath. “Le sigh, De Lorenzo.”

“Why are you sighing, Bella?”

“I sighed in French, which is more dramatic. It’s an indication that it’s really bad this time.”

I try not to smile because I’m supposed to play along. She likes to act like one of those ditzy, melodramatic airheads when she’s not like that at all. She even changes the pitch of her voice to sound like Gretchen fromMean Girls. Not that I’ve watchedMean Girls...Wait. Let me backtrack because that’s another lie. My sister has forced me to watch it so many times I know it verbatim. This is not something I’m proud of.

“Why are you sighing in French, Bella?”

“Steven broke my heart this weekend.”

“You already moved on to Steven? I thought you were with Josh.”

“Josh broke my heart last weekend. Please try to keep up.”

“It’s hard. There are so many.”

That’s not a lie. After her father died, she went into fuck-the-world mode and stopped caring about anything and everything. She’s with a different guy every other week...like a black widow with a revolving door. The sex happens, then she gobbles them up, spits out their bones, and moves on to the next one. That is precisely the reason why she has a reputation of being...easy. She gets slut-shamed. She gets fat-shamed. But it doesn’t seem to bother her one bit. I’m not sure if she is a sociopath who feels nothing at all, or if she bottles it up inside and just doesn’t let anyone see how much they hurt her. I don’t know. All I know is that this girl is a bright red flag.

Many guys on the football team see me talking to her every morning and they always ask me why I haven’t made a move yet. The answer is threefold. Firstly, I don’t do hookups, and that’sallshe does. Secondly, she’s just the type of girl that guys like me should stay away from. Am I tempted to go down the road that leads to the sweet spot between her silky thighs? Hell yeah! Do I have to tamper down my anger and keep my expression neutral when I hear about her being with other guys? Also, yes. I’ll admit, I get a little jealous (okay, very jealous) when I see her with other dudes, but I’ve mastered the art of ignoring those volatile emotions because I don’t want to get involved with this chick. She comes with a shit ton of drama.

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