Hi,

Chapter 17

I'm going all out, because my life has officially turned into some stupid teen drama. I feel like crap, so I decided to look like crap too. I'm wearing the baggiest jeans and T-shirt I own, like any stereotypical depressed teenager. My hair's a mess, my mascara is smudged, and my eyes are red from crying way too much. Pathetic. I'm pathetic. I drag myself to my locker, and when I open it, I'm immediately confronted with my reflection in the dingy mirror magneted on my locker door. I can't remember the last time I looked this bad. Without thinking, I rip the mirror down and toss it to the bottom of my locker.

"What did that poor thing ever do to you?" a voice says from behind.

I close my eyes, cringing a little, and turn around. Of course—it's Haze, standing there with his hands in his pockets, giving me an amused, knowing look.

"Just my luck," I mutter, trying to keep a straight face. But he's already smiling, eyes twinkling.

"Oh," he says, trying to hide a smirk.

I tilt my head, waiting for him to stop surveying me with his mocking eyes. "You look..." He struggles to hold back a laugh.

He grabs a piece of my hair, snickering. "Shut up," I say, but I can't help laughing too.

He laughs with me, and I give him a playful shove.

"No, seriously. You look exhausted, Mack," he teases.

"Yeah, really... shut up." I shoot back, still smiling.

Haze takes my tote bag off my shoulder and stuffs it into my locker. "Come with me," he says.

I raise an eyebrow. "Class starts in five minutes."

He gently guides me toward the exit, placing his hand on my lower back. "And you're going to terrify everyone in there."

I can't help laughing as he leads me outside, his hand warm and steady against my back. Once we're outside, he removes his hand but stays close as we walk. For a second, I let myself relax, grateful he's here, even though I know why he's being so nice. He knows I look this terrible because of Nathan.

"You know," I start, giving him a sidelong glance, "you don't have to do this. I'm fine. Really."

"Do what?" he asks, confused.

"This. You don't have to fix the mess with your friend. I can handle it."

He lets out a low chuckle. "Oh, is that why you look like you're two seconds from collapsing? You're fine, huh?" He raises an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. "For the record, I'm not here because I feel obligated. I'm here because I care about you, Mack."

I glance at him, surprised. Did he just say he cares about me?

"Well, then my look has nothing to do with Nathan," I mutter, trying to sound nonchalant.

Haze snorts, clearly unconvinced. We reach the gas station across from school, and he steers me inside, stopping by the slushie machine.

"What flavor?" he asks, hand hovering over the levers.

"Ah yes, slushies, the cure for all fashion disasters," I joke. "You gonna spill it on me?"

"What flavor?" he deadpans, pretending not to hear my sarcasm.

I roll my eyes. "Cherry, obviously."

He pours a cherry slushie for me and a blue raspberry for himself, pays, and leads us outside to sit on the curb. He hands me my drink. "Thanks, Haze," I say softly.

I fidget with the straw, feeling nervous under his gaze. I take a sip, and a shiver runs down my spine. I should've brought a jacket.

"Cold?" he asks.