Neighbors with the Bad Boy (In Editing And Reconstruction)

Surprise

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Hope you guys enjoy!

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Chapter 8               

I hated it when people were mad at me; it made me feel like a horrible person. It was almost like a phobia—I couldn’t have people being angry with me. To me, it felt like watching someone die—and that was a scary and horrifying feeling.

I glanced over at Kayden every now and then, trying to get his attention—but he would ignore me and keep his eyes steadied on Mrs. Doss.

Why wouldn’t he look at me? Why wouldn’t he tell me what I did? Why was he angry with me? All these questions were popping into my mind and I had no idea what the answers were to any of them.

Why do I care? I thought. Mike told me to stay away from Kayden, and that’s what I should do. Right?

I looked over at Kayden; he was still focused on what Mrs. Doss was talking about. I sighed and stared down at my desk. I guess I should just give up. There really was no reason for me to know why…or to care. I wasn’t a friend—I probably wasn’t even an acquaintance. I was nothing—jus the girl who accidently smashed lips with him.

And, in truth, knowing didn’t really hurt…realizing did. (Does that make since to you guys? I was trying to be deep. Lol.)

Second period bell rung and I quickly gathered up my things and held them to my chest. I walked out of the classroom without glancing over at Kayden or talking to him; I was done feeling sorry for whatever I had to him. There really was no use; he wouldn’t even tell me why he was mad at me, or what I did to upset him. So there was no point in caring.

I stared at my feet as I walked along the hallway, bypassing others who thought they were cooler than me and bumping into people who thought they were so bad, they could rule the school; but none of that really mattered. Why was popularity so important here, at Jefferson? It was stupid and had no use what-so-ever. But it was the only thing that people cared about now-and-days.

They didn’t think or care about the people in Africa and Afghanistan who were drowned in poverty, or the beautiful whales that were dying at this moment, or the hobos on the streets that were digging in trashcans just to find food, or the orphans who had no parents and practically had to fend for themselves, or the cancer patients that were battling for their life, or the military men and woman in Iraq who were fighting for our country—no one cared about any of these things; they only cared about money, what they looked like, and how popular they were. Nothing else mattered to them.

And I hated that more than anything else, but I was only person; I couldn’t do anything about it.

I snapped my gaze up and gasped once feeling my body collide with another: It was Mike. He quickly reached out and wrapped his hand around my forearms, stabilizing me. “Are you okay?” he asked in a soft and harmony-like voice.

“I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Just thinking.”

He scrutinized me from head to toe, which caused a blush to form on my cheeks. And suddenly his warm, yet slightly rough hand was up against my forehead. “You’re warm,” he finally said.

“But I feel fine,” I said truthfully as I pushed his hand away from me. “Maybe I just need to stop thinking.” I laughed slightly.

“Are you sure, Elyse? Your fine? Nothing hurts?”