Hugs For The Bad Boy (Being Edited)

Chapter One

-Ashleyanne's  P.O.V-

The day had gone by quickly and now I found myself patiently staring at the clock of my last class. When the teacher's question rang out, I raised my hand eagerly, wanting time to go by. Just as I opened my mouth to speak after the teacher gave me an affirmative node, my voice was stolen by a barrage of nasty, profanity-laden words from an expected source, leaving our teacher with widened eyes.

I turned around in my seat to find Michelle grinning at me, her smile dripping with malice. Michelle, the head cheerleader, was.... How should I say it delicately? An embodiment of malevolence? However, there was no denying her beauty. With lustrous Hershey-colored hair, perfectly tanned almond skin, and striking blue eyes, she had all the boys at her beck and call. Her curvaceous body and the provocatively revealing clothing she wore only added to her allure. I didn't hate her; I just didn't appreciate her. She's been on my case since I transferred here in my sophomore year. Always pulling mischievous pranks.

"What did you say?" My teacher nearly screamed. I turned back to the teacher expecting him to be directing those words at Michelle, but instead I find the old, nearly bald, woman staring at me in disbelief.

See, this is why I never participate in your class.

"No, no, n-" I begin but he intrudes before I could explain myself.

"Detention!" She declared, or more accurately, she screamed. She extended a pink detention slip toward me. Mrs. Wagner was a respectable teacher, strict and old, who harbored a deep disdain for disrespectful students. I rose from my seat, enduring the silent stares from my classmates and the laughter that echoed around the room from Michelle and her minions. I took the slip and made my way out of the room.

Where on earth was the detention room anyways? It's not like I've ever been there. I scanned the hallway, searching for another student. Spotting an enigmatic figure clad in black, I called out as I dashed down the corridor to catch up with them.

"Excuse me!" I yelled and this prompted the stranger to walk faster. I shouted again as I almost caught up with them. The person halted, turned around and we collided. I stumbled backward, but their arms shot out and steadied me. I peered up, and there, before me, stood a familiar face. I panted, not just from the brief sprint, but because of the recognition dawning upon me.

This was the first person in this school who had treated me kindly, despite his reputation as the resident bad boy. He had sent a few students to the hospital, assaulted a teacher, was insolent to everyone, and habitually used profanity. He struck terror into the hearts of all, including myself to some extent. My friend Skye had shared stories about him, including his run-ins with the law and his alleged drug use, or "distribution". I suspected he had helped me only to potentially exploit me later, perhaps to trade me to some older man.

His black hair was styled messily back straight, the individual strands visible. His blue eyes bore into me with an intense gaze. Standing at a towering 6'3", he sported a black band shirt, a leather jacket, black jeans, and a pair of Jordans. My gaze was drawn to the silver ring adorning the corner of his raised eye brow. How was that even allowed in the dress code?

Andrew Anderson.

The School Bad Boy.