The Easy Way Out [Book 1]

Chapter 8 - Nice

***Next Day
***Harry's POV

I got to school, on time for some reason. I opened my English textbook to do a quick review for the quiz when something else caught my attention.

Bea walked down the row holding a plastic bag with O'Riley's logo on it. She sat down and turned around in her desk.

"Here are your pants, Harry," she smiled. "Thank you again. And don't worry, I washed them as soon as I got home."

"Thanks," I stuffed the bag in my backpack.

A woosh of the laundry soap fanned across my face. It smelled fresh and clean.

"I like your detergent."

What the fuck did I just say?

Bea turned back around with a questioning look.

"Oh. The pants. Yeah. It's called 'Fresh Breeze.' I hope it's not too girly."

"No. Smells good."

She smiled then faced the front, ending what was an awkward couple of seconds, thanks to my stupidity.

I sat behind Bea and a war raged in my brain whether or not I should tap her shoulder. I wanted to keep talking, no matter how awkward it was.

The bell rang, acting as a cease fire on my internal war.

I huffed a short, irritated breath when that goddamned ache formed in my stomach again. I might as well not have been in class. Gun pointed to my head, I couldn't say if Workman even taught.

The bell rang.

"Hey, Bea!" I quickly stood from my desk.

"Yes, Harry?" Bea turned to face me as she got her backpack.

"So, um," I shifted my weight on my feet, "Chem time, huh?"

She smiled and nodded then we walked out of class together.

"So did you do any gardening yet?" Bea bumped into my shoulder.

"Oh, yeah," I smirked. "Stayed up way past midnight to plant, erm, flowers and shit."

"O-okay, well good luck with that."

We both laughed at the absurdity and the bell rang just as we walked to our assigned stools.

Young yammered on about the Arrhenius Theory. I leaned over the desk and held my head in my hands. It was all so fascinating I could barely contain myself.

Please, God. Make it stop.

Young got my attention, however, when he called on Bea. With my feet easily touching the ground while sitting on the stool, my heels jostled up and down.

Bloody hell? Why am I nervous?

Bea lowered her hand after she gave the answer, correct of course.

She was so smart, somehow managing to remember all that useless shit.

I felt a smile creep on my face but quickly pursed my lips back together when she caught my eye.

Dammit, Harold.

The bell rang and it snapped me out of that crazy shit. So I thought.

I found myself admiring the stitching on my backpack, waiting for Bea to make her way to the door.