Liar

Twenty-five

I enter the school, feeling much better since I met Ezra yesterday. He's a really nice guy. I'm hoping that I won't see Niall today and that he won't show up to walk me home today. I've got different things to worry about.

No, I don't.

As I stand in front of my locker I take out my Creative Writing book and head into class. I don't want to be late, not if I have Creative Writing. Mr. Glasson is totally strict and doesn't accept, like, anything. If someone stares at the ceiling, he's completely out of control.

I arrive exactly as the bell rings.

"Paxton, lucky you are," Mr. Glasson eyes me cautiously.

"Good morning, Mr. Glasson," I take seat beside Liam. He's well again, fortunately. We whisper brief hellos and concentrate on class.

"Guys, I want you to write something. Of course, I want to, this is Creative Writing. By the way, you should feel blessed, because this class is very seldom, it's a college class and your school is so great to offer this class, too." He sits down behind the desk. Mr. Glasson is always reminding us that he actually is a college professor, but he never mentions that he got kicked out because he had an alcohol problem. "I want you to write a love story. It's between a girl and a boy, rather a man and a woman, meeting, falling in love and getting married. I want this story to be short, not too long. Ten pages is maximum. You should be finished on Tuesday, what is tomorrow already."

I don't write anything. I just draw some shit on a sheet and let Mr. Glasson think that I'm writing a lovely love story. I hate love stories. Well, I love them, but I hate to write them. I love writing, having control over my own stories, having all decisions for myself. But I hate to write love stories. I don't know why, but always, when I try to write a romantic text, I fail. I just can't write a happy end. I can't. Maybe it's because the biggest love in my life, my mother, left me and killed herself after years spending the money she'd stolen from my dad. But maybe, it's because I've never felt true love. Now that I think I fell in love with somebody that has left me all alone with a stranger after fucking me and leaving right away again, I feel like a silly, silly girl.

"Paxton, I want you to write, not to draw. Why did you sign up for this class if you’re not writing?" Of course he noticed it. Why in the freaking hell wouldn't he?

"I'm sorry Mr. Glasson. I'm just not in the mood to write a love story."

"Aww, Miss Paxton got hurt!" He's an ass. Just like everyone else. "Who did that to you, huh? Poor, poor girl." He laughs at me, and so does everyone else in this class but Liam.

"Mr. Glasson, I won't let you humiliate me. I got hurt, yes, by my mom. She left me and my dad when I was eight fucking years old and she fucking shot herself last fucking year in Las fucking Vegas!" I yell at my teacher. What the fuck is wrong with me? Since when am I screaming at my teachers?

"Watch your mouth, Miss Paxton! I never meant to humiliate you. But April, I won't let you scream at me," he whispers as his head moves closer to me, that his breath is tickling my skin. Ew. "Now go to Mr. Johnson and explain your behavior to him."

I gather my sheet, my bag and my pens, glance at Liam before I leave and he's watching me, full of pity. He didn't know the story yet. Mona does, and Niall, too. I walk past my locker, throw in my stuff and close it again. As I arrive in front of the waiting room to the principal's office, I take a deep breath, imagining the following conversation. I am too exhausted for this right now. I open the door to the waiting room and find Niall sitting on that only chair in this room. Coincidently, he wears the same stuff as the first time I've seen him in this room. The first time I saw him at all. He sits there, not even gazing up to see who entered the room. I keep quiet, not wanting to talk to him. I am too exhausted for these kinds of conversations.