What Would You Do For Love?

A Shoulder to Cry On: Part 3

Being on the back of his bike was so exhilarating. I never felt so alive in my life. I was just sad when the ride was over. He got off the bike first and then helped me down.

"So, this is where you live?" he asked. "It's nice."

"It's just a house," I said.

He looked hard at the place. "It's nicer than any place I've ever lived in."

"I never really thought about that," I said. Now I really felt bad, wondering what kind of life he was forced to live. "So, I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "I got a reason not to ditch." I laughed at that, my eyes caught his. God, I wanted to kiss him so bad. He must have read my mind, because that's exactly what he did.

He was about to get on his bike, until we heard a rustling in the bushes. "I thought I find you with him." Oh, god, it was Mitch.

"Are you spying on me?" I said, getting up into his face.

"I just wanted to talk to you, and I find you making out with him!" he shouted.

"That's not what this is about, Mitch, and you know it!" I shouted back at him. "You're just pissed off, because I broke up with you."

"We didn't break up, Buttercup, because I'm not going to allow that," he yelled. "When are you going to get it that we belong together?"

He grabbed my arm, but Butch stepped forward, looking like he wanted to tear Mitch's head off. "Hey, take your hands off her!" he shouted.

I yanked my arm away from him, but Butch ran up to him and punched him in the face. Before I knew they were both rolling on the ground mixing it up.

"Stop it!" I shouted, but they just kept at it. I kept screaming at them, but those two just kept beating on each other. "I SAID, STOP IT!"

Finally, with their energy gone they did stop. Mitch was on the ground clutching his stomach, while Butch was still on his feet, but staggered to his bike.

"Are you two done?" I shouted. "If you're both going to act like a couple of Neanderthals I think it's time you both leave."

"We're not done talking, Buttercup," Mitch said, staggering to his feet.

"Oh, yes, we are," I said, and I walked off into the house.

I was so pissed I wanted to punch something, but then I remembered what Dad did the last time I punched a hole in the wall. It was sixth months of therapy. There was no way in hell I was going through that again.