the moral of the story

chapter fourteen: bad dye job

"oh come on!" diana shoves me outta the way. she pounds her fist against the wooden door. "come out and talk to me like a man!"

i make eye contact with oliver again, who just sighs and runs his long fingers through his curly dark brown hair. diana continues to knock so hard, i think she even kicked it one point.

she halts, suddenly, breath short and rapid. she blows a strand of the wig's brown outta her eyes as she steps backwards, nearly knocking into me and oliver. diana continues to stare at the door when i feel a jab at my ribs.

"ow." i mutter, glancing down to find oliver's elbow centimeters away.

i peer my eyes up to his, and find them drifting towards the stairs. i knit my eyebrows together in confusion. what is this unfairly attractive boy who's nice to me for some reason trying to say to me? he sighs in frustration and leans down so his lips are next to my ear. i feel everything in my body heat up as i feel his hot breath on my cheek.

"what do say we ditch her while we still can?" oliver whispers, sending chills down my spine.

i try not to let him know how affected i am by his words as i meet his eyes again. "who's the mean one now?"

"when did i ever say you were mean?" oliver questions, furrowing his eyebrows.

"you must've been thinking it." i shrug. "i'm not the nicest person in the world."

oliver's face softens. and i have to wonder if diana is listening to our conversation, or if she's still mindlessly staring at that door. i mean, we're hardly five feet behind her. but something inside me wants her to keep her eyes glued to that door, so i can stare into oliver's for as long as i can. i try not to jump outta my skin when he brings his thumb up to my cheek.

"why would i think that?" he wonders. "when i think you're incred—"

"coward!"

oliver and i practically jump apart at the sound of diana's yell. i avoid his eye contact as i push my hair outta my face, cheeks probably redder than freakin rudolph's on christmas eve. i can't even look at oliver, but i'm guessing he's just as flustered. eventually, i pull my eyes up, expecting to find the fury of a jealous girlfriend, but instead i'm met with her back.

oh. she yelled at the door.

before i can even think, the door whips open faster than lightning, it seems. roman appears suddenly, his blonde hair falling in his face, his upper lip curled up as his eyes are narrowed into thin slits. i'm one of the most hated people in america, and i don't think anyone's ever looked at me like that before, thank god.

"don't ever," roman starts, pointing his finger at diana, "call me a coward."

•

roman allows us to file in his apartment after a few more words exchanged with diana. i take a moment to let the heating hit my cold skin, considering there's none in the hallway.

i let my eyes wander around this guy's apartment, from the stained carpet floors, to the dirty dishes that seem to be piling up in the kitchen sink. i see an oil heater in the corner, so i have to assume that's how he survives the bitter winters in boston. there's a tv that looks like it came right outta stranger things, with this god-awful booger-green couch in front of it. i have no intentions of placing my ass anywhere near that thing, but i'm left with no other choice when diana and oliver sit down on it. diana pulls off her dark wig and lets her sun-blonde hair fall down to her shoulders. she fluffs it out with her hands as oliver glances up at me, signaling for me to sit next to him.

with a soft groan, i fall into the seat next to diana, who's in between oliver and i, which is probably a good thing. i can be trusted around him anymore. not alone, anyways. he's too flirty and one of my biggest weaknesses are guys who are emotionally open with me. i don't know, maybe oliver is giving off those vibes, that's why i'm drawn to him.