Forever Could Be Ours

Chapter 03. | Pitch Darkness

HAYLEIGH

"I mean, come on. Look at you! You can't keep telling me you tripped on my porch and broke your nose."

I'm not supposed to be eavesdropping but in the corner of my eye, I see Dylan lean his shoulder against his locker with his back facing my direction, talking to Jake.

"Why don't you trust me?" Dylan spits, his fingers running through his dark locks, "I swear it's true. I told you. We shouldn't have stolen the old cognac from your dad's lair."

"We? Let's rewind for a second. You stole it," Jake quivers an eyebrow, "Try recalling the night. What happened after you went outside?"

He sounds just as intrigued as I am hidden behind the door to my locker. I don't blame him. Telling everyone he tripped on the porch was a weak attempt of trying to save the situation. But it isn't questionable. Dylan tends to drink his brain out and lose his balance in the process. He once tripped over the pool edge at one of Jake's parties and Matty had to jump in and save his drunken ass out of the water.

Besides, saying he tripped is more convincing than Annandale High's new internship teacher appearing out of the dark and knocking the sense out of his body.

Dylan furrows his eyebrows at Jake's request and he chews the inside of his cheek.  "I already told you," He switches his books and shuts his locker annoyed. "I was too hammered to stand on my feet and I tripped over a loose wooden board. Don't you remember the time at Central when you fell over a bicycle stand - while attempting to flirt with Britt?"

"That, my friend, was different," Jake raises his hands in surrender. "I was drinking tequila and you know what that does to my balance."

Dylan shakes his head in disbelief, arms crossed and he bites down on his bottom lip. He made a nice attempt trying to change the subject.

"Someone said you were arguing with Blakely. You sure she wasn't the one throwing you a punch?"

Dylan's dry laugh nearly echoes in the hallway causing me to lean my cheek against my cold metal locker. Not the time to get caught eavesdropping when my name is mentioned.

"Come on," He shakes his head in disbelief, "I already told you. I was shit-faced and broke my nose. It was an accident that could have happened to anybody at the party, you saw how drunk everyone was. I know it sounds unreliable but don't get me started on listing all the stupid things you have done while being drunk."

"Don't try making this a competition. I'm just trying to clear your thoughts. Might as well get it out of the world if it was Blakely breaking your bones."

"Please." Dylan scoffs, "She's shorter than a pygmy hippo and her arms break like dry spaghetti. I doubt she can break a pencil." 

At the mention of my arms, I take a glance down my body. They aren't that fucking small, and breaking a pencil doesn't have anything to do with my arm strength, but my fine motor skills. Which, according to myself is on point. Give me 5 pencils I'll fucking show him.

He makes me wish I was the one throwing that punch. I might not have been able to break his bones, but just the satisfaction of knocking him out would be enough. He deserved it by talking like I was weak -  I may be the short but comparing me to a pygmy hippo is just fucking rude.

"Shouldn't you get to class?"

My whole body stiffens by the recognition of Mr. Reid's voice and I almost force my face into the locker. He is the last person who should join the conversation.

"How about you mind your own damn business?" Dylan spits back. The boy has huge authority issues. Sometimes I wonder if a part of his brain lacks the part that says 'stop talking'.