How To Talk To Your Crush

one

Mickey slammed his locker shut, sticking the small key into the lock and twisting it.

"I just don't think it's a big deal," came a voice from beside him, sounding all nonchalant and smug. Mickey sent his friend a glare through narrowed eyes, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

"You go up to someone. Say words, and leave." The black haired delinquent offered him a blank look and a raised brow. "How hard is that?"

Cole Wood was one of Mickey's friends. He was never in school much, considering he was the type of guy to skip lessons or be too hungover to come in. It wasn't Mickey's crowd, being seen with somebody who was known for his stupid antics, but they'd been through thick and thin with each other since being small children.

Mickey rolled his eyes. "You've got a bruise."

Cole was sporting a particularly nasty injury on his jawbone, one that was slowly turning a dark purple colour. The boy took a quick drag of his cigarette.

"Don't change the subject," he drawled.

"And I told you not to smoke those in front of me," Mickey sighed as he stuffed his books into his bag. "They stink."

"So do you," he fired back in a grumble. "What do you have to lose by saying hi?"

Mickey knew it wouldn't be so easy to get away from this when he told Cole about Andrew. He zipped up his bag slowly, keeping his eyes low. His only advice had been 'talk to him'.

As if Mickey hadn't thought of that already.

"It's weird," he snapped. "I'm in one class with him. He probably doesn't even know who I am."

"You don't know that until you go up to him and say hello."

Mickey ruffled a hand through his hair in frustration, throwing his bag onto his shoulder. Cole tapped the ash from the tip of cigarette, before flicking it lazily on the top of the lockers. It disappeared and was forgotten about, just like all the others up there.

"But what if he finds it weird?" Mickey stressed in a low voice, making sure the congregation of students passing couldn't hear their conversation. "What if he thinks it's creepy and tells his mates? Then they'll just make fun of me and Andrew won't like me."

Cole stuffed his hand into his pocket and groaned in annoyance, slinging one arm around his shoulder. He led him down the corridor as they spoke.

"Look, Mickey, the world isn't out to get you. Saying hello to a guy in your year isn't going to make you a class clown. You need to loosen up, man."

Mickey glared at him. "I don't think I should take advice from you."

"Everybody loves me," Cole smirked, his eyes flashing mischievously.

"People think you're a nuisance."

"The ladies seem to disagree," he sighed as he sent a girl a flirty wink. Her expression wrinkled and she shuffled off skittishly.

"Cole, she's in year eight."

The delinquent's face paled and he quickly looked away, looking sheepish. "Why don't thirteen year olds look like thirteen year olds anymore?"

Mickey ignored him.

He felt his pocket vibrate and used that as an excuse to stay quiet, eyes scanning over his messages. Some Instagram notifications. A message from his mother.

Your father is staying tonight.

Dread filled Mickey's stomach, his jaw clenching. A heavy sigh tore from his lips and he pushed his phone back into his blazer pocket, frown on his brows.