Page 7 of Loved By The Bad Boy

Noah: yeah. How are you?

Sad. Really,reallysad. Everyone reminds me of him. Sometimes I’m sure the blue-eyed boy at the counter is him until I walk over to confirm. I haven’t come out of the hotel since the day I called someone else by his name.

Me: I’m fine. Super.

Noah: random question. If your boyfriend asked you to pick between him and your friend. Not exactly your best friend but a friend you’re protective of. Who will you choose? Mind you, you’re not dating this friend and you’re madly in love with your boyfriend.

Me: boyfriend.

Noah: oh.

Me: yeah.

Noah: why? Remember your friend was there before your boyfriend and will always be there after you break up with your boyfriend. I am not saying you and your boyfriend will break up but you get what I am trying to say, yeah?

I kind of understand his question. I don’t want to be the girl who dumps her best friend because of a new man in her life, but if Ben had asked, I might have picked him over Maria while trying to change his mind. Now, my answer is uncertain. I erase the text and type in a new reply. A lie.

Me:Yeah, but still my boyfriend. I have to go. Bye.

Someone knocks again. I roll my eyes and slide my backpack over my shoulders. Mom doesn’t need to rush me since I am heading to hell. It’s the same old thing. Another few months of trying to blend in or survive the rest of the school year. I won’t be taking anyone’s bullshit.

Mom’s head pops into my room. “Sleep well?”

No. “Yes.”

It is easy to forget about Ben with both of them around, but it still hurts. Laughing, Mom enters the room, and Dad follows on her heels, hugging me after she does. As we head for the elevator, they start a conversation, and I tune them out. I can’t remember the last time we were together like this. He might have broken my heart, but he brought us closer. It’s kind of a win. A sad win.

Dad opens the passenger door for his wife and leaves me to open mine. They hold hands as soon as he gets inside. It’s more annoying than cute. They need to quit because my poor heart can’t handle it.

We arrive in front of the high school where I’ll be forced to spend the rest of the year. It’s not as big as Broadway Heights, but fear shimmers down my back. Students rush up the stairs leading to the door. Some are in pairs, and others are alone. I reckon I’ll be among the loners pretty soon.

My parents grin at me when I open the door. I put one leg out of the car but make no other effort to leave. Am I a coward for wanting to shut the door and ask them to drive me back to the hotel?

“It will be fun,” Dad says. He smiles in the rearview mirror, and I’m forced to reciprocate it.

“I love you,” I tell them. It’s the one thing that’s always constant.

Mom loves over her shoulder, and they chorus, “We love you too.”

“Don’t overthink it, Tessa. It’s just school, right?” Dad says. Wrong. His hand reaches out to pinch my cheek, and I duck my head. I’m not a kid anymore; I’m seventeen. “Have a great day!”

Mom waves. I wave back. I don’t stop waving until their car is out of sight. I extract the school’s flier from my pocket and crumple it after skimming through for details I’ve already memorized. We spoke to the principal. I’m good.

I jog up the stairs and stop at the entrance. Once I go in, there’s no turning back. The thought frightens me. Taking another deep breath, I nudge the doors open.

Welcome to hell, Tessa.

The hallway quietens, and all heads turn to me. Boys. Girls. Pretty, emo, ugly. I clutch the straps of my backpack tighter, my knuckles going white from the effort. I wait for the camera, gossip, and finger-pointing, but none happens. At once, everyone speaks again, and I’m forgotten.

I release my backpack and the breath I held in. This is not Broadway Heights. There is no Olivia Beckham or Benjamin Carter here. No one knows about me. They don’t know I have vitiligo. And if they do, it’s not contagious. It’s a superpower. I take my first step forward. I will be fine.

My first visit to the principal’s office is short and boring. He assigns a tall, cute blondie to show me around. A boy I instantly dislike because he has blue eyes and smiles way too much for a student. Number one rule for New York: stay away from boys with blue eyes and smug smiles, or they will shatter your heart. We have hardly walked past the principal’s office when he stops me.

“I think we are in the same class,” the boy says. I think not. “Let me see what it says.”

I tuck the timetable into my pocket. I don’t want to be in the same class with him. Leaning on the wall, he crosses his arms on his chest and laughs. Will he still find it funny if I shove my fist into his face? And why is he showing off his tiny biceps? Maybe not so little, but I prefer Ben’s.God. At this rate, I’ll never forget that kiss-stealing heartbreaker. I quicken my pace, but he catches up.

Doesn’t he get it?

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