She's a Bad Bad Girl

Chapter 2

Jaxon

"ASSHOLE!" SHE yells at me. "Asshole!"

Melodie wipes a stray tear off her face and speed walks to her friends. What did I say? What did I do? Does she not like being touched? I run my fingers through my hair, lost in thought.

A hand claps my shoulder. "Don't worry, dude. She's a heartbreaker, she broke mine." I turn to look ash the guy speaking, and find the shitty quarterback from their football team. Correction, our football team. I shake my head, but follow him back to his table anyway. 

Once we're at the table, I ask, "What's her status? You know, at this school." 

"Player. Or a slut, that's what we call her in private," someone at the table answers with a full mouth. "Fucked every guy except me and"—he gestures to the quarterback—"Hayden. Everyone's dated her, then she broke their hearts. Broke mine. Broke Hayden's. We didn't even get to share a bed with her."

I turn to stare at her and her friends at their table. "Interesting."

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Melodie

Currently, I'm sitting in Starbucks, working on my computer, so I don't have to go home to my family and endure my sister's painful ranting. I love her, but... she can be a bit annoying sometimes. Not just a bit. A lot.

I'm typing my essay on a social justice issue for my AP English course, when a scream sounds through the cafe. I quickly spin my chair around and look for the source of the sound. The scream was from a barista, a robber is pointing a gun at her, while his minions are pointing guns at everyone else. Including me. 

I shut my computer and narrow my eyes at them. "We've got a hostage," the one holding the barista yells. "Empty your belongings for us to search or else"—he laughs—"let's just say this barista won't be fully operational."

A few people comply, but most stand their ground. I obviously don't empty my belongings, but, unlike a few other people, I'm not trying to stare them down.

"You heard him!" one of the other robbers yell. "Empty your things or you're sacrificing her life and everyone else's in this room."

"Fuck off!" I yell. They all run away, with their tails between their...

"No, no, no! This doesn't work!" I slam my head on the keyboard, annoyed and frustrated. A girl can't just say fuck off and make everyone leave. If that was even remotely true, I'd use it all the time.

I stretch my fingers and delete the whole scene from the story. What a shitty story. You can do better than that, Melodie. I close the tab, and open another one with an article on the civil war. A one thousand word essay for History, coming right up. 

I'm halfway through my essay, skimming the contents of the article once more, when an ad catches my eye. Juilliard, it says. Follow your dreams and become the performer you're meant to be. 

Subconsciously, my hand uses my mouse to click the ad and find out more. Ever since I was twelve, I've wanted to go to Juilliard. When I lost my... innocence to Clarke and the love I thought would last forever, I pushed that dream to the back of my mind. He was always talking about how we'd go live in Manhattan together, in the ginormous apartment his family owns. He'd go to NYU for football, and I'd go to Juilliard for performing, and we'd live happily ever after. That was before he... hurt me.

"Juilliard, huh? No one would think someone like you would have a passion for the arts."

I stand up from my chair and spin around. When I see who it is, my lips curl into a snarl. "Someone like me, asshole? What's that supposed to mean?" I spit out, seething with rage. Why did he bring me back? I don't want to go back.