Not All Blondes Are Dumb [EDITING]

Chapter 31: It's Called Sobbing For A Reason, Branders

(:)(:)(:)

I hum to myself as I watch the clock go tick tock, tapping my pencil on my desk to a rhythm. 30 more seconds and school is out for the day, I think happily.

I tap my foot on the ground, annoying the teacher as he tries to silence me. I ignore him, pretending that he's not paying attention to me. He clears his throat loudly, peering at me in disapproval over his glasses. "Ms. Leith, I'd appreciate if you–"

The bell rings, interrupting his words before he can say anything else. I jump out of my seat, grabbing my bag and throwing a fist in the air. "WHOO! SUCK IT OLD MAN, WE'RE OUT!"

–Is what I would have said if it was the end of the school year and there was no risk of getting detention or something worse. Instead, I say:

"BYE, BYE, TEACH!" I yell, "SEE YOU TOMORROW!" And with that, I run out of the door before he can say anything else.

Lame, I know.

Grinning as I begin to blend into the crowd of teenagers, I chant inside my head that there's only one more day of school before Thanksgiving break . Loud and excited chatter tune out my thoughts as I squeeze through people, speeding up my pace to get out of the building. I don't really like it when people invade my personal place unless I want them to.

"YO, LEITH! WAIT UP!"

I turn around in curiosity, wondering where the loud voice is coming from only to make out a tall guy staring at me as he continues to get closer. Squinting, I try to make out his features to see if I know him but he gets lost in the crowd. Before he had gotten lost in it though, he had made hand motions in my direction to stay where I am. I stand awkwardly, unsure if he was talking to me. For the sake of me not getting humiliated, I hope so.

You know those awkward moments where you think that person is talking to you but turns out it's the person behind you. #FirstHandEmbrassment #ICanStandByThat

But I mean, he did call me "Leith" and I don't know anyone besides me in this school with that name or surname. I stand to the side, to not get in anyone's way as I place my hands inside my hoodie's pockets. Fingering the silver bracelet, which reminds me that I have to fix it during the holidays. I don't have the heart to tell Trevor that it's broken. I cringe at the idea.

"Hey," a deep voice calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I look up from the floor. Immediately, I notice that the guy is definitely not bad-looking, up-close. By his features and skin color, he looks like a mixture between Mestizo and African American. I scan his appearance and wonder if he was specifically hand-crafted by the gods.

Dark alluring eyes, sharp features, full lips that twitches into a dimply smile, a very nice attire and body. That freaking earring in his ear and those perfect features.

Mother of all that's holy.

"Dang, you're good-looking," I mutter, openly checking him out, resisting the urge to touch his face and see if it's real. To say that I'm awestruck is a huge understatement of the century.

This city and the people, I swear.

This specimen can not be human like what even.