hømetøwn

• : / four / : •

For some reason, Angie has always been way too comfortable with using the word nipple.

Don't ask me why. I have no clue. She hates the words "boobs," "tits" and "milk producers." But for as long as I've known her, she's been overly flippant with the word nipple. So maybe I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was when her first words upon seeing me at school on Monday were:

"Oh my God, my NIPPLES are like NEEDLES."

I winced as everyone within a five-mile radius gave us a weird look.

"I mean, I get that's it's nearly summer," she said. "And it's hot or whatever, so they pump up the air conditioning. But for the love of Pete! Wentz. Haha. FOR THE LOVE OF PETE WENTZ WHY MUST THIS SCHOOL PUT MY NIPPLES THROUGH SO MUCH AGONY?!"

"Why are you screaming?"

"BECAUSE MY NIPPLES ARE LIKE NEEDLES."

"Okay bye."

"No, wait!" She grabbed my wrist. "We have like five minutes before the bell rings. You have to tell me about that guy you hooked up with."

"We didn't hook up."

She arched an eyebrow.

"We didn't," I insisted. "Look, we just...we drove around, and ate chicken nuggets, and listened to music. That's it. We didn't even touch, I don't think."

Her eyebrow crept even higher up her forehead. When she spoke, it was in a slow, even voice. "Chloe. Lake. Burn. Side."

"Can you stop?"

"Chlo-ee. La-ake. Bur-rn. Si-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ide."

"What?"

"You know something, Chloe Lake Burnside? You know what? I'll tell you what. You can tell me anything." Her earnest eyes latched onto mine. "Anything! You could tell me that you fucked a walrus in your living room on live T.V., and I won't judge you. Hell, I'd encourage it. Walrus fucking is probably good for the soul. What was I talking about? Oh. Right, yeah, how incredibly trust worthy and non judgmental of a person I am. You know that. I mean, come on, Lake. You know me. I'm, like, the least judgmental person ever."

It was difficult not to laugh. I knew first hand that Angie's favorite pass times included mimicking country accents, making fun of the teachers, and criticizing other peoples' fashion tastes.

"Trust me, okay?" I said. "Nothing happened."

She narrowed her eyes and sighed. "Fine, whatever. If you don't want to tell me...whatever. But oh Patrick's sweet ginger sideburns, do I have a story for you."

"Is this about the hot emo specimen you kissed?"

"Um, rude. No interrupting!"

"Right, yeah, okay, sorry."

"So, like...I kissed a hot emo specimen."

"Wow! Thank you. That was a truly long and winding tale. Very well told. Very emotional. Very powerful."

"Don't test me, Burnside. I can and will cut your head off with the blades my nipples have become."

"Why do our conversations always come back to your nipples?"

"They have that effect on people."

The bell rang.

"Thank God," I said. "I was worried I'd be stuck here talking to you about your nipple needles for the rest of my life."

"Oh, wouldn't you like that?"

"You're a freak. Bye." I pulled my backpack more securely onto my shoulders and waded into the crowd of students. My first class, Chemistry, was in the basement. My stomach twisted. Connor had that class with me. We were partners. I could already feel the oncoming storm of awkward brewing in the air.

He was already in the classroom when I got there. He sat hunched over at his desk, his ruffled hair falling into his eyes. When I came in, those eyes flicked up to me, narrowed, then flicked away.

I sat down next to him. He stiffened. Silence pooled between us.

Clearing my throat, I unzipped my backpack and pulled out my binder. As I was leaning down to re-zip it, he finally said something.

"How'd you get home?"

I didn't look at him. "Someone gave me a ride."

"Oh." He stared intensely at his desk, twiddling his pencil between his thick thumb and forefinger. "Uh...who?"

I wanted to say it was none of his business. I wanted to tell him that he was over the line and he had been a jerk and I didn't even want to talk to him. But I didn't. I just shrugged and said, "You don't know him."

His hand clenched tight over his pencil. "Him?"

"Yeah. Him." My voice came out cold.

He still didn't look at me. His eyes were dark and stormy. I almost would have felt bad for him, but then I remembered the night of the concert, and the word bitch buzzed in my mind. I gritted my teeth.

"Are you even going to apologize?" I said.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"Do you even remember what happened at the concert?"

"I was honest with you. I freaking put myself on the line. And you blew me off."

I didn't even know where to begin with that, but I didn't have to. The teacher called us to attention and class started.

The rest of the school day I was reasonably pissed off. I kept thinking about Connor and running our conversations through my mind. He was the bad guy. Right? Everything I did was just a response to the things he had done. I wasn't in the wrong, was I? The idea freaked me out and somehow made me even angrier.

At lunch, I got a text from Brendon.

Hey! So uh. Any chance you're free later today?

I answered, Yeah. I have no life tbh.

A few minutes later, I got a response.

Good, because I'm leaving to come see you in five minutes. I should be there in a few hours.

I nearly choked on my pizza.

Uh ok?? I should be out of school by then. Remember where my house is?

Couldn't forget if I tried. See you soon.

My mom was probably going to freak out, but I didn't really care that much. I was only grounded for the weekend. And either way it didn't matter because in just a few short hours I could see him again. I could listen to that deep velvet voice and study the lines on his cheeks when he smiled and...oh, God. What was wrong with me?

Needless to say, it was pretty difficult for me to concentrate in my next two classes.

Angie gave me a ride home in her rusty van and managed not to use the word nipple more than six times. She dropped me off, yelled a vulgar farewell, then sped off.

I ran into the house, flung my backpack onto the kitchen table, and thundered upstairs to my room. My phone burned in my pocket. He'd be here any minute. I ran my fingers through my short black hair. He drove all this way to see me. That had to mean something, didn't it?

My phone buzzed.

I'm here.