Kissing Booth || Jarren

[ 8 ] Only Kissed You

When his alarm went off the next morning, Justin seriously considered skipping school. Every time he recalled the humiliating events of the previous evening, he wanted to crawl back under the covers and disappear. The mere thought of having to face Kane after breaking a dish, dripping blood on the floor, and yelling at his best friend was enough to stir up a terrible bout of social anxiety.

Unfortunately, cutting class was not an option. Having caught an awful virus at the beginning of the semester, Justin had missed nearly two weeks of school. Any additional absences put him in danger of failing his classes. With a groan, he reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and prepared for an inevitably terrible day.

* * *

Justin's shouting match with Darren Liang's parade of high school douchebags had accomplished absolutely nothing in terms of quelling the bullying. If anything, it made things ten times worse. Turns out, the only thing worse than kissing the King without permission from his crazy fan club was calling him an idiot in front of the entire school.

Justin nearly drowned in hate notes when he opened his locker that morning. They spilled into the hallway in a cascade of colorful origami, along with a few hand-drawn Sojuphan memes and an impressive assortment of dead insects. And oh, the stench had become unbearable. Justin gagged the moment the repulsing odor hit his nostrils. He immediately slammed the locker shut and decided to abandon it for the remainder of the school year. Nothing important had been in there aside from his alcohol-stained hoodie and a folder of old assignments. He would get his exercise in by carrying his textbooks around all day.

As he stepped back and surveyed the mess on the floor, he was painfully aware of the dozens of stares that pricked his skin. They'd been whispering since the minute he walked in, and some didn't even bother to mask their slander, perhaps even hoping for him to overhear. It was mostly the seniors, thank god, and a handful of his junior classmates. A couple of sophomores had tried to poke at him, but he'd shut them down with a hell-worthy glare. No underclassman was going to disrespect him, at least not to his face.

Looking down, Justin nudged a few of the crumpled hate notes with his foot and decided not to read them. It would do him no good in the end. He turned away and started down the hall when a voice rang out, "Justin Phan!"

He winced, recognizing the vice principal's high-pitched wail. He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back around to be greeted by a short, wiry woman with cat-eyed glasses and a clipboard. "What's up, Ms. Vice Principal?" he asked, echoing the nickname used by most of the student body. No one was sure of whether or not she appreciated the name, but it had thus far triggered no consequences.

The vice principal pursed her cherry-red lips disapprovingly and pointed a twig-like arm at the clutter of papers on the floor. "Young man, is this your doing?" she demanded.

"No," Justin replied honestly. True, he had opened the locker, but how was he to know that a hundred pieces of hell would come tumbling out? Not his doing, not his problem. Not his trash to sweep up.

The vice principal, however, looked far from convinced. "You will have this mess cleaned up before you go to class, or you can report to the office for detention on Friday," she declared.

"What? But I'll be late to class," Justin protested. "The bell will ring any minute."

"Then I suggest you get moving," she snapped.

Justin watched incredulously as she turned on her wine-colored heels and clacked down the corridor, entering another room. Most of the surrounding students had cleared out by now, but those who remained snickered at his misfortune. One girl whispered loudly to her friend, "Serves him right."