Bad Boy Burn

3 || Remember When

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Olivia POV

Tom's eyes went wide when he spotted me and he froze in his movements like a deer caught in headlights. He took one second to shove everything back in his locker before sprinting upstairs towards what were clearly labeled as art rooms. That was funny, for the five years I'd known Tom, I was pretty sure he'd been awful at art.

His locker door creakily swung open from where he had neglected to lock it.

"What the fuck?" Jenny exclaimed loudly.

I cringed as she turned on me.

"Who are you? What the fuck was that?" She fired questions at me. "That was the weirdest thing I've seen like... in my life!" She exclaimed. "And I've seen some pretty weird things," she reassured me.

I rolled my eyes at her nattering. Honestly it wasn't that big a deal and I actually wasn't surprised by his reaction. Tommy had always been a big baby when it came to me.

"So spill!" Jenny demanded, waiting impatiently as I started to pile things into my locker.

"Well there's not really much to tell..." Apart from the fact that Tom had been ignoring me for seven years and apparently was still doing so.

"Oh come on!" Jenny was totally unimpressed with my reservations. "I don't care how much there is to tell, just tell me already!"

I sighed as I closed my locker and locked it. I gestured vaguely towards the stairs, signalling that Tom could probably hear our conversation and started tugging her out of the corridor.

We made our way towards the dining hall for break. "So him and his mum used to lodge in my house."

She looked at me in surprise. I was sure that was the last thing she expected to hear. She motioned for me to continue.

"We lived together for five years from when we were five to when we were ten and then my family and I moved to America." I paused, thinking back to ten year old Tom's expression when my mum had told him we were moving. His eyes had flicked straight to me as if begging me to tell him it wasn't true.

"He never returned any of my letters, e-mails or calls," I continued, my voice slightly hoarse. "I sent him an e-mail a day for six months, not to mention all the letters I sent on top of that."

I realised that we had stopped in a little alcove in the corridor and Jenny was looking at me with sympathy. "He never replied," I finalised. "So I stopped writing."

The day went past pretty quickly after that. School was fun; the great teaching was another upside of going to a private school. Although I tried not to talk to too many people, I still found myself becoming acquainted with various people in my year.

I had never completely lost my English accent, even for all the years I had spent in the US. I found that the familiar accent came back to me much faster than I would have expected. I guessed that I had spent the first ten years of my life in London and that did account for something.

The school day finished and I grudgingly made my way to the thing I'd been dreading all day. Detention. My house mistress had told me what time and room the detention was to be in, having just had an e-mail from the head that morning. Apparently this wasn't just a one off detention, no. This detention was to be daily for a whole flipping week and then weekly for a month after that! I was becoming increasingly annoyed with the blonde head that had pushed me up onto that table. What a jerk.

I arrived at the library, hanging up my bag on a peg before heading into the reception area or foyer as I'd heard students call it. For a bunch of delinquents, everyone here was rather posh.