Chapter 2: Locker Troubles

I shift in the passenger seat of Gracie's car, trying to get comfortable.

I'm still for about three seconds before I shift again, ignoring the way Gracie is looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

Five seconds pass and I shift again.

"What's the freaking matter with you, Cass?"

"What?" I ask, turning my head to look at her.

"Why in the world do you keep moving around? What's wrong?"

I shoot her a pointed look, rolling my eyes when she shrugs as if she's not sorry for what she said.

"Nothing," I say in response to the questions she asked.

"Cass."

"Yeah?"

She shoots me a hard look and I sigh.

"Fine. Don't you..." I trail off, searching for the right words.

"Don't I what?"

"Are these jeans supposed to be this uncomfortable to wear? Every time I sit down, they're way too tight, but when I stand up, they want to act like I magically lost five pounds in three seconds, and don't even get me started on this fucking shirt, if you could even call it that, I mean, why the fuck is it so small? I can feel air hitting my belly button and the sides of my body and let me tell you, it is not pleasant. And this flannel is doing nothing to keep me warm. It's the middle of fall for fuck's sake, why could I not wear a goddamn hoodie?"

I'm a little out of breath when I finish, and amusement is all over Gracie's face.

"You done?"

"I think so," I nod. "Just had to get it out of my system, I guess."

I'm wearing the black ripped jeans from this morning, a white crop top that says, 'Fxck off', which I love—the design, not the shirt; I wish I could burn this dumb shirt—a red plaid long-sleeved flannel shirt, which Gracie told me to leave unbuttoned even though it's seventy fucking degrees outside, and a pair of red converse.

"Oh," I say, sitting up straighter in my seat. "And why are these shoes so tight? I swear, my fucking ankles are going to detach from my legs after I take these bear traps off my feet. And please remind me again why I had to leave my hair down?"

I irritably tuck a few strands of my dark brown hair behind my ear.

"One, it's not that bad, stop being dramatic, and two, I'll tell you when we get to school."

I sigh, now regretting the rule I put into place in freshman year: Gracie cannot say more than one sentence at a time on the way to school because, even though I love her, it's way too early for her never-ending monologues at seven in the morning.

Every other second of the day is fair game, which means she's most likely going to be chewing my ear off as soon as we step out of the car.

That's just the way it is with Gracie; if left unchecked, one sentence could turn into a ten page monologue. That's what I love most about her. She speaks what she's thinking as she's thinking it, which makes her the most honest and open person I've ever known, besides—

I caught off my train of thought before the memories hit.

And it's not like he was open or honest in the end anyways.

Gracie pulls up by the curb of the house of my other best friend, Gabriella, and honks the horn.

Gabs comes out of her house in a sweatshirt and leggings, with her hair up in a messy bun.

I turn to Gracie and pout. "Why couldn't I wear something like that?"

A thoughtful look crosses her face. "Because."

That's all I get. I realize that I brought this predicament upon myself, but I was hoping for a little more than one word answers.

Gabs opens the backseat car door and gets in.

"Hey, Gabby," Gracie says before continuing to drive to school.

"'Sup, Gabs," I say, because I'm cool like that, before leaning my head against the window to watch the trees go by.

"Grace, Cass." That's her way of greeting; Gabs isn't the most... touchy-feelingy type of person. If one of us went to her crying, she'd freeze up and pat our backs awkwardly. "Rule thing still apply this year?"

Gracie and I both nod our heads, my hair getting untucked from behind my ear.

Someone in the car shrieks.

That's when Gabs notices my hair.

"Holy fuck, Cass, why is your hair do—"

Another shriek.

That's when she notices the rest of my outfit.

"Holy fuck, Cass, look at your clothes."

"I know," I sigh, shaking my head. "I look hideous."

"No!" Gabs is quick to rush out. "No, you actually look kind of...hot." She's quiet for a few seconds before speaking, managing to sound both angry and excited at the same time. "Why the fuck were you hiding this extremely hot-as-hell body from the world? Do you even realize just how many boys would've been drooling over you had you not been hiding this masterpiece underneath those ugly clothes you wore?"

"Okay, is today insult Cass and her choice of clothes day, or did I miss the memo?" I say, feeling hurt. What I wear wasn't even that bad; sue me if I think my dad's sweatpants are more comfortable than my own.

Gracie giggles, and soon the three of us are full out laughing.

"But seriously Cass," Gabs says, recovering from her laughter. "Watch you get a boyfriend this year."

"Or boyfriends," Gracie pipes up, drawing out the last syllable of the word.

Yeah, right. In the words of my four year old cousin, boys are icky.

Most of them are loud, and rude, and liars and twisters of words and just overall dicks.

But I don't say any if that aloud. Instead, I smile, ignoring their words, and lean my head against the window again, this time closing my eyes.

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"Cass," says a voice that sounds like it's underwater.

"Cass."

It's louder this time, and I groan, shifting, before resting my head against a cool, hard surface.

I'm about to sink deeper into sleep when the hard surface disappears and my head starts to fall.

I sit up, instantly awake, and I look at Gracie and Gabs, who are both, unsurprisingly, laughing at me, holding the passenger side door open.

I unbuckle my seatbelt as I at them, and I pick my bag up from where it was resting at my feet on the floor of the car.

"You guys are assholes," I tell them as I close the door. "I don't know why I'm friends with you people."

They both latch onto my arms, each linking one of their arms through one of mine. "Because you love us," they say together.

"Sometimes I wonder why." I mutter it under my breath, but I make sure I say it loud enough for them to hear me.

We all walk into the school building giggling, and all eyes turn towards us.

My giggling, along with Gracie's and Gabs', slowly dies out, theirs more quickly than mine.

Gracie and Gabs are a little shy when it comes to being the center of attention—Gracie more so than Gabs—while I'm fine with being in the spotlight, but none of us go seeking it out like the rest of the attention-seeking hoes that dominate my high school's social ladder.

Okay, so I'm not popular. I have a decent amount of friends, and by that I mean, like, not even three, but only a few, meaning Gracie and Gabs, that I'm actually close to. But I would rather have one or two close friends than one hundred people that I only have a surface level relationship with.

"Why are they staring at us?" Gracie mutters under her breath to me and Gabs.

"I have no fucking clue," I mutter back.

As we pass by a group of guys on our way to our lockers, which are coincidentally right next to each other this year, they start to whisper.

"Woah, the girl in the middle is hot, bro."

"I know, man."

I snort. Typical dudes with their 'man' and 'bro' and stuff.

"I think the hot one is new."

I make a face at this. I've been going to this school since my freshman year, the same year I met Gracie and Gabs. Does a new clothing style suddenly make me hotter? I'm the same person I was when I was wearing sweatpants to school. Are people really that superficial?

We stop at our lockers, Gracie's on the left, Gab's in the middle, and mine on the right.

I open mine, surprisingly on the first try, and I immediately start to dig around in my bag for the various bags of candy I put in there this morning.

Candy is the only thing that keeps me going in between classes.

I pull out my large packs of Skittles, Reece's Pieces, and M&M's and place them in my locker.

I look to my left to see Gabs and Gracie staring at me, shaking their heads in mock disappointment. At least, I hope it's mock disappointment.

"What?" I ask defensively. "I love candy."

They both giggle and I shut my locker, turning around so I can lean against it.

As I scan the hallway, I see eyes flick away from me.

Are they seriously still staring?

I shake my head a little bit, my hair falling forwards around my shoulders and I huff.

"Gracie," I call and her head snaps to the right to look at me. "Why is my hair down?"

Her face lights up. "Oh, yeah. Well, I was looking at it and I thought the outfit wouldn't exactly work if you had your hair up so I purposefully ignored what to do with your hair until it was too late and we had to leave."

I raise my eyebrows. "I thought it was because you couldn't find any of my hair ties."

"Well," she says sheepishly, laughing nervously. "That's because I kinda sorta took all of them and hid them somewhere in your room."

"Why?"

"Because you look so very pretty with your hair down and I wanted to get you a little out of your comfort zone and it was worth it, you look gorgeous, so can you please stop glaring at me like you want to murder me?"

I glare at her for a few more seconds before I sigh and close my eyes.

Gracie sighs too, her more out of relief than anything else, and Gabs laughs.

"Cass, she's right, you look very pretty." I feel my cheeks heat up. Dumb compliments. "But we need to go, we have English Lit as our first class and you have Chemistry, so, bye."

They both hug me before walking off together, presumably in the direction of their class, and I catch the beginning of a Gracie monologue as she starts rambling on and on about how she doesn't like sunny side up eggs.

I laugh a little before sighing and turning back to my locker.

I want Skittles.

I put my combination in and my locker doesn't open. I furrow my eyebrows and try again.

Still doesn't open.

I groan. I just want to have some candy before the school day officially starts.

But my locker still refuses to fucking open.

Pathetic excuse of a locker. Hey, that spells out PEAL which kind of sounds like Phil.

I'm glaring at Phil, debating on whether or not hitting him would be wrong, when a voice on my right pipes up.

"Locker troubles?"

"No," I say sarcastically as I spin my lock, trying to open Phil again. "This is obviously my car."

Dumbass. Of course I'm having locker troubles. Why else would I be glaring at a piece of metal?

I turn my head to the right to look at the stupid human being, who probably thought he was being smooth, and my mouth dries up.

He is one hot motherfucker.

Black hair that is effortlessly messy, green eyes that are filled with amusement and are staring straight into my soul, not to mention his muscled body that is straining against his white T-shirt, a black leather jacket emphasizing his broad shoulders as he leans against the row of lockers with his hands in his pockets.

Goddamn.

I wish he was a piece of candy.

I close my eyes; I can't believe I just thought that. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I open my eyes and turn back to my locker. I attempt to open it one more time before I give up and return my attention to the male beside me.

"May I?" he asks, gesturing towards my locker.

Fuck, even his voice is hot.

"I don't think so."

He looks surprised. "And why not?"

"I don't feel comfortable telling someone I don't know my locker combination. For all I know, you could be a creepy stalker or a delusional serial killer."

He laughs, and I stare at him, confused, until he stops laughing. "Oh, you're serious."

"Are you crazy? Did you get dropped too many times as a baby?"

He ignores me. "You seriously don't know who I am?"

He's not upset, instead seeming to be more curious than anything else.

Okay, that's it, it's been decided: this boy is officially and certifiably insane.

"Should I?"

He smirks and I find myself studying his mouth before I catch myself and look back into his eyes.

"I'm Aaron Brewer."

That's all he says. What. The. Fuck.

"Oh my God," I say excitedly. "Aaron Brewer?"

He chuckles as he shrugs at my reaction. "I know, I know, it's a lot to take in."

"Guess what?" I say in the same excited tone.

"What?" he smirks.

I drop the fake excitement. "I still have no fucking clue who you are." I turn back to my locker. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to open Phil here before I have to get to class."

As I'm putting my combination in once again, he speaks. "I like you. You're different."

"Yeah, well, let me tell you, the feeling isn't mutual because you're exactly like every other guy in this dumb school."

He laughs and starts to walk away. "I'll see you around."

I hope not.

I roll my eyes at his back before I turn back to Phil.

As soon as I touch his spinny lock thing, the bell that tells you to go to class rings, and I groan.

I stand still for five seconds before coming to a decision.

I'm not leaving without my Skittles.

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The male population is...special. Don't you think? Any feedback on this chapter?

-- jae