𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲'𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞

08 | 𝑁𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎

"Rough morning?" Jay pressed with an uneven smile.

I breathed, nodding my head timeously. "Long day."

He glanced at his watch. "It's seven thirty in the morning."

I was well-aware of that. I cupped my paper travel mug with two hands as if it was an antidote to cure all my problems. I had successfully avoided Sullivan any chance I got, but it was November fifteenth, Thursday morning and I knew that I had no other choice, but to inevitably confront him.

Jay seemed to read my mind, because he asked, "Have you talked to Sully yet?"

"No," I uttered into the plastic, taking cautious sips of the hot chocolate, attempting to keep the sweet and scorching taste on my tongue long enough.

"Well, speak of the devil. Gotta run!" he exclaimed, bouncing off the bench we sat at in the hallways. "And don't worry, my schizophrenia is not seeing the actual devil..." He went to leave but pivoted around and added, "this time."

When he disappeared, my eyes trailed after him mindlessly, coincidentally meeting with Sullivan's as he neared. A backpack was crookedly shifted along his build, one strap on his shoulder. He wore his typical red, orange, and white jersey with the number '24' on the back. The maroon polyester mesh loosely hugged his broad shoulders.

Urgh, to be a shirt.

"Hey," he started, running a hand through his blond wave. He seemed breathless. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Really? W-what could that be about?" I dumbly questioned while cursing my inability to lie or speak English in times of crises.

"Well, a few things actually," he chuckled awkwardly. "Can I sit down?" He beckoned a hand to the bench seat beside me. My heart throbbed in my chest, my stomach curling unbearably. "Class doesn't start till fifteen minutes--"

"I know," I interjected, my cheeks flaring crazily bright and crimson. I didn't want him to think I was obnoxious for interrupting him like how I did, but when I looked over at his expression, avoiding his eyes, he looked normal and not on edge.

I could never look him in the eyes, he'd always make me get flustered and I wouldn't be able to converse with him. Suddenly, he inquired, "so, how was babysitting?"

"What?" I shook my head trying to see and hear him correctly.

Did he say babysitting? Play it cool? Maybe he's mistaken me for someone else? Should I act or deny?

He drew out a little slower, "yeah, babysitting?"

"Right!" I snapped.

Shit, why do I lie if I can't lie? Exhibit A, right now. I can't even make a decent lie and stick with it. Curse my inability to remember shit.

"Great, totally great!" I expressed vividly, "like, the best."

"Taking it didn't go so well?" he chuckled, but my heart swelled. He didn't laugh like he did when he was with Kayla, it was more of a noise between our silence kinda-chuckle.

I nodded, knowing me, if I spoke too much, I'd accidentally let the truth slip. Nonetheless, I watched as he shifted uncomfortably on the bench, finally raising his voice and asking the inevitable, "why did you let me call you Mia for four years? I mean, I never pay attention to the attendance and I somehow never found out on my own--I just, I don't understand how this could've happened--"

"Oh," I took in a sharp breath. "It's fine, really," but my voice sounded sarcastic when I said it and then I remembered back to what Victor told me. I shook my head, ignoring my cheeks which were possibly the brightest shades of a firetruck. "No," I begin again, "I never corrected you about that and I'm sorry."