Smile On His Lips and Cuts On His Hips (Jalex)

Five - Rose Bushes

What is the best way to keep a secret? “Tell it to everyone you know, but pretend you are kidding” – Lemony Snicket.

It turns out that Snicket was painfully correct. By the time I reached P.E. after lunch on Monday, it was tipping over the edge of eighty degrees, and my red hoodie had been stuffed in the back of my locker since Brunch.

I’d lost count of how many people had gaped at my arm with shocked expressions and open mouths, curious voices unsure of whether or not they wanted to know the answer asking, “Did you cut your arm?”

The answer, of course, was yes. Not that I’d ever tell anybody that.

 So I’d spewed out some story about how I’d been working on cleaning out the backyard over the weekend with my dad, and dead rose bushes had scraped up my arm. We didn’t have roses.

Rian and Zack, my two best friends, had spent over half of lunch interrogating me about the slashes. Luckily, I managed to plaster over all the holes they found in my excuse and seemingly convince the two that the five parallel lines were purely a coincidental accident. Nothing less, nothing more.

I was starting to wonder if the self absorbed couple really fell for the story, or just didn’t care enough to keep pushing.

By third period, though – the periods went straight one through six on Mondays – I’d gotten so fucking sick of repeating the same excuse that my sarcastic asshole side had leaked out. So, I’d been responding to my classmates’ appalled questions with something along the lines of, “Yes, I cut myself.”

Of course, most of them seemed to be giant fucking idiots who somehow managed to miss the absolute saturation of my voice with sarcasm, and were only more shocked until I spent twenty minutes convincing them that no, I was not serious.

There was a kind of sick humor to it – technically, I was telling the truth. Not that they'd ever know it.

So, as far as I knew, I’d managed to make it through two thirds of my day and almost all the people who gave a fuck without anyone actually believing that I’d intentionally hurt myself. Once again, all giant fucking idiots. But it worked to my advantage, so I was relieved that no one was smart enough to see the truth.

Or maybe they just didn’t give a shit about me.

I got to class before any of my other friends, awkwardly casting a glance around the tennis courts before striding over to the chain link fence. I leaned on it, the back of my crimson v-neck tangling with the metal wires as I crossed my arms and kicked a black Nike up until the heel caught in a hole.

Less than a minute later, a laughing group of Alex Gaskarth, Kellin Quinn and Josh Francheschi were sauntering my way. The brunette boy – who was clad in black v-neck, purple hoodie and light skinny jeans – caught my gaze, throwing me a smile as his other friends stayed immersed in their conversation.

I returned the look with a smirk and half wave, sighing internally as his eyes fell upon my newly exposed left forearm. Here we go again.

The three stopped when they right in front of me, Kellin leaning on the basketball pole to my right as Alex and Josh shimmied into the edge of the shade cast by the fence and started throwing out ‘Hello’s.

“Hey man,” Josh chirped, grinning lopsidedly as I silently judged his red and black checkered vest.

Kellin said, “Hola,” with a nod towards me as Alex just gave me this look that I couldn’t quite decipher. It made him appear to be an odd mix of concerned, knowing, and upset. None of which really made any sense.