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“Um, Asia?” He says, more like a question and not an answer.
“She likes you.” His eyes cut to Cyrus, and he becomes defensive.
“No she doesn’t, she barely ever speaks unless she’s singing.” He leans his elbows on the table and sighs. Maybe he does like her, and Cyrus could see it. I have never seen him actually interested in a girl before. He fights because he has to, but beyond that, they never sit with us or hang off him.
“I hate to break it to you, but you guys, all of you, are not exactly approachable, and you probably make her nervous, and the fact she sang with you most likely made her panties wet.” A few guys laugh, they know it’s true. We’re not idiots, we know being at the top comes with its advantages.
“I didn’t even know she existed until a week ago. Olivia caught me smoking, and to avoid detention, she asked if I could sing. I didn’t think so, but apparently I’m not half bad. If my dad gets wind that I got detention, he would have my ass home, and I can’t stand the wanker.”
The conversation flows for the rest of lunch. I even manage to forget for a minute that I’m in competition with these guys and that we are nothing more than a bunch of friends having lunch. Even though I know it’s far from the truth, once we leave here, most will go on to university. Over the years, we will lose contact, but one day when we get a deal or in a pickle, we will call each other like we are still buddies and ask for a favour.
“What do you have next?” I ask Cyrus, resting my head on her shoulder wishing for a few more minutes.
“Chem, what about you?”
“English… I will see you in maths.” I say, standing, offering Cyrus my hand to help her up. After a kiss on the cheek, she walks off with Luna towards her class.
“You have it bad,” Cuyler says with a laugh as he pats my shoulder. I don’t reply because anything that comes from my mouth would be a big fucking lie.
Blaine saddles up beside Cuyler, and she smiles at me. I remember that she is on some stupid school committee that sends small gifts on someone’s birthday. It’s just a fake rose and a note. When Cuyler rushes off to class, I ask her to wait. When I ask her if it could be done at such short notice, she says it can because she actually has others she needs to deliver during this class anyway. She didn’t look pleased about it, but I don’t care what her issue is as long as she gets it done.
***
English class drags on. I check my phone and tablet so many times the teacher snaps at me to put them both away. I ignore the request and hope to see a message from Cyrus, one that doesn’t come, and my damn stomach is in knots.
When the bell finally goes, my ass is out of my chair, and I race to our maths class. My uncle raises a brow at me when I’m early, and I flip him off taking my seat, my knee bounces while I wait for her.
She bounces into class with a pep in her step, her smile for me is wide when our eyes meet.
“Thank you for the rose, I might need to show my appreciation later.”
I pull her down onto my lap, she giggles as I pepper her with kisses.
“Okay enough of that,” Emory chastises. “Everyone get out your notepads today and take physical notes. Three of you managed to understand the homework I set, the rest of you not so much. Maybe going old school will help you all actually learn.”
I groan remembering I left half my shit in my last class since I was in a hurry. Cyrus gets off my lap and takes her own seat.
“Do you have a spare notepad and pen?”
“Yeah, in my bag.”
I reach down beside me and open her bag, rummaging around to find her pencil case, except I find three fucking roses and three damn notes.
Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m good looking and so are you.
Happy B-Day
xxoo Cuy.
Be my ride or die
x D
Happy Birthday
<3 Emory.
“Don’t read them,” she whispers.
