27 | Passing Limits

LUNES

8:37 AM

Dahlia Gray

An unknown number flashes across my screen, after my not-so-subtle attempt to watch bootlegged movies on my phone before classes.

Not to self: plug in the headphones before you click on the movie.

There's a couple of minutes left before the bell signals and everyone is dismissed to their classrooms. While the vast majority of the student body roams the hallways, chatting up with their friends and exercising their human rights as high school students bound to an obligatory school system—I happen to be one of the few that decided to go to class early.

Well, not early per se, but early enough to pick a seat of my choosing.

I pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey." Presley greets on the other end, and I let out a sigh of relief. I thought I was getting a call from one of the advisors at SAINT. "Just wanted to call you so you could add my contact into your phone. Y'know, for future references."

"Uh-huh," I hmm, not quite convinced by his motive. "You could've texted."

"What fun would that be? For all I know, you could've blocked me on the first text before I got the chance to explain myself." He replies easily, making a couple valid points. I usually don't answer random numbers, unless they associate with SAINT or my doctors.

"True." I nod, adjusting myself on the seat. "Anyways. It's eight in the morning, why are you up so early?" I ask, struggling to remember if he's a high school student or a college student. He looks like he could be in either.

"I have an eight am class at my university," he said in an obvious tone. "Which reminds me: college is a scam and you should never attend."

I laugh, which caught some attention from the few classmates I have in the room. I think even Mr Calloway looked up from his desk to check on me. I blush under the scrutiny.

Presley doesn't return the enthusiasm and in the next words he spoke, they sound gravely serious. "I'm not joking."

I stiffen my next laugh just as the bell rings and signals for the students to head to their classes. I hear Presley on the other line, "it's been a while since I heard that bell."

I shake my head, watching as students compile into the classroom like a bunch of sardines in a pack. Mr Calloway begins to wipe the board clean—getting ready for the class—and I hear the projector generate the fan noise whenever he starts it up.

"Okay, I think it's time we end this call. I have to go to class. Unlike you, I don't have the luxury to go to class and still use my phone."

"Ah, high school," Presley sighs lovely. "The good ol' days. Where they care more about your phone in classes and dress code than they do about the academic curriculum. Good luck, bye!"

And he ends the call.

I sigh and drop my phone on my desk. The chair beside me squeaks as the legs drag against the floor, and I found Harlow being the culprit behind the action.

My smile brightens, and I offer a little wave. "Hey."

"Hey," he returns, taking a seat beside me. A faint smell of nicotine lingers off his body—not enough to force me into a coughing fit, but enough for me to draw back. "Who were you talking to?"

It was innocent, the question, and there was no other intent behind his words. I scoot to the edge of my seat, "it was Presley. I gave him my number the other day and he just called to check in."

Harlow doesn't say anything in return. Instead, his jawline sharpens and he turns away from me and faces the front, where the projector is shining a fluorescent screen onto the now-clean board. He swallows hard, his stare is passive, and I can see his lips pulled into a thin line.

Is he...okay?

The bell rings once more and signals the end of the transition period between classes. Mr Calloway closes the door with a click and begins his lesson. He asks one of the students to hand out a packet for the rest of the class to write in, and begins his lecture.

I thank the girl—I think her name is Jinnah—as she came around and offered a polite smile in return. Harlow says nothing as he takes the packet, his grip on the papers was almost aggressive.

My lips press into a thin line, but I don't say anything. I don't know if he's having one of his moods, and if one measly tick could piss him off. I wanted to ask why, but instead, I decided to scribble in the answers Mr Calloway is giving between his lecture.

I wrote down the words as fast as I could, but it was hard considering my hair kept getting in my face and aggravating me while I'm trying hard not to provoke him.

I groan, pushing a handful of thick black hair away and struggle to keep them there.

They keep falling, like curtains on opening ceremonies, and I found myself growing frustrated as more time passed.

I flipped the packet onto the next page, as Mr Calloway went on about the theories of physics, before I heard a long sigh beside me and suddenly, I felt his hands against the back of my neck, collecting my hair into one hand. I feel him looping—what I believe to be a hair-tie—around my hair a couple of times before he drops his hands.

The entire classroom went silent, and I knew immediately why. I feel heat burning the back of my neck and there's absolutely nothing protecting it from being exposed.

I look around, seeing my classmates' eyes on me and flickering to the guy sitting next to me. Mr Calloway even stopped his lesson to witness this.

My shoulders slouch and I fall deeper into the seat, hoping I would do like the wicked witch of the west and melt into a puddle. I hate the attention on me, and how everyone was looking at us like we were something special. We aren't anything—just normal kids, trying to pass physics with a good grade.

"Can you stop fucking looking at her and turn back to the board?" Harlow snaps, his voice laced with a mild irritation that was enough for a warning, but not enough to sound angry. No one moves. "I swear to fucking god, if anyone has their eyes on her in the next five seconds, I will use the stick Calloway has in his hand and maul out your eyes with it."

And he doesn't sound like he's kidding.

The classroom quickly tears their eyes off of me, and Mr Calloway turns back to the board like nothing happened. I think he gave up on lecturing Harlow about swearing, and I think—just a tiny bit—he's afraid Harlow might do the threat he announced to the room, to him.

The lesson returns with Mr Calloway lecturing with a slightly, almost unnoticeable pitch in his tone. He doesn't turn to face the classroom, and if he does, he overlooks our table.

I turn to Harlow, noticing his eyes concentrated on the packet and his hand jolting down the notes as quickly as possible. He doesn't bother looking up to the board.

I lean over my seat, the lingering smell of his cigarettes no longer occupies his aroma, and I smile.

I study his features; his tousled brown hair that grew a bit longer than the first time I met him, the slight waves in them. I study his dark brows, and the way they would crinkle when he gets to a word he doesn't know exactly how to write, and his long lashes fanning against his check.

His jaw is still clenched, but they loosen considerably since the last time I noticed them. I even picked up a small, almost indistinguishable, mole on his left cheek.

"What?" He huffs lowly, his voice deep. "Aren't you supposed to be fucking writing?"

I grin. "Thank you."

He stops and rolls his eyes, his stare straight ahead. "You know what I'm going to say."

"I know," I lean over, a bit closer this time. I could almost count the individual strands on his lashes, and the slight flex of his cheekbones. Just like he could probably count the freckles across my nose and the bushiness of my brows. "And you know what I'm going to say."

Harlow finally turns to me, and his face is centimeters from mine. His blue eyes flicker down my lips before returning to meet my gaze. My heart suddenly lunges in my chest, at his close proximity, at him—staring at me.

I don't say anything, he doesn't either. Our eyes are met and I can see his features loosen a bit. I offer another full grin smile, and before I know it, I kiss him on the cheek and return back to my work.

I hope I didn't give him a boner.

━━━━━

AVA'S NOTES

if i could describe dahlia, i would say she's the type of girl who is shy and to herself, but is sexually confident. like, now.

so, with that, idk if y'all know but—this book is NA. and we're getting sex scenes. so, 😉

please vote and comment!!