The Bad Boy's Accomplice | ✓

Ch. 9 - Crazy Excuses for a Crazy Boy

^More Visuals of David^

Deja's POV

~~~
(Next Day)

Today is the day that I've been dreading. Not only do I have the program, but I have to stay after for Tiara too. She better give me more than just 20 dollars and a card when my birthday comes.

I walk into the school, dreading every step. I didn't hate school that much pre-Cameron, but now I absolutely hate it. I hate the stares that I get when I walk up and down the hallways, I hate the snickers, and most importantly, I hate the whispers. I don't know if they mean to be that loud when they try to whisper or what, but they definitely need some lessons on how to whisper.

I begin the walk to Trigonometry, a class that's starting to seem more tolerable than it was before. Right now, I'm pretty early. Class doesn't start for another 10 or 15 minutes. Around this time, I would either be roaming the halls or hiding in the bathroom.

The hallways aren't welcoming like that anymore. The bathroom isn't great either with Cynthia and her crew always doing their makeup in there. I don't know why they even spend so much time in there. It's not like the makeup is going to do anything to their ugly personalities.

I hate to say it, but I think I'm starting to like class. I think I'm starting to like not skipping. Did I really just think that?

Deja, what are you thinking?

I walk inside of the classroom and I walk past Mr. Smith's desk like always.

"Good morning, Deja," He says, sipping out of a Starbucks reusable mug.

"Hi, Mr. Smith. I'm early again. I should get a cookie, right?"

"No, Deja, but you can get an A if you keep your attendance and work up."

"No thanks, I still want a cookie."

Midway through our conversation, I can sense that David just walked in. He has a signature smell due to his cologne that he always uses.

"Hi, Deja," He says while I'm still at Mr. Smith's desk.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Mr. Smith asks.

"Obviously not if I got you that mug," David says, causing me to feel offended.

I walk back to my seat and David sits back in his.

"So, you got Mr. Smith a mug from Starbucks, but you didn't let me get a discount a day ago?"

"I'm sorry, but you're worth more than just a Starbucks mug or a discount. You'll see tomorrow."

"I'm really excited about the date. What are we doing?"

"You'll like it, but I can't tell you what it is yet."

"C'mon, David, just tell me. It's probably just cliché so, you should tell me."

"It is cliché, but you don't know which cliché it is."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top."

"No, just wait until tomorrow," He angrily says, almost as if a switch was turned on or something.

I back off and simply stop talking to him. I hate how he can be so nice and enticing one second then mean in another second.

My eyes start to heat up because I'm angry and confused at the same time. I don't let the tears fall out because I'm definitely not going to become vulnerable to David.

"So, you didn't tell me where you worked at. Obviously, you know where I work," David says.

"I work at Papaya in the mall. I mainly just fold clothes, but when the usual cashiers don't come in, I'm a cashier," I say, holding back all my tears. All of my effort goes into making sure that my voice doesn't waver or crack.

Hopefully, my cheeks aren't flushing or anything.

"That's cool. I rotate like that too at my job."

"Yeah, so why'd you want to know?"

"I wanted to make sure that you weren't lying to me about having a job. It's crazy how many excuses I've gotten from girls in the past regarding their jobs."

"What do you mean, like what did they lie about regarding their jobs?"

"They lied about having jobs. They used all these excuses just to not see me."

What girl wouldn't want to talk to David? He literally looks like a model.

"Why would they do that?"

"I don't know, but it hurts like hell to be betrayed by someone you trust. That's why I kind of make a big deal out of people not replying to my texts. Whenever that happens, I go back to the times when my girlfriends ignored me and everything," He confesses.

If I knew all of that stuff about David before I didn't text him, I would've texted him sooner. But, at the same time, you can't expect someone to read your mind.

"Do you think that they were cheating on you?"

"All of my high school relationships have involved cheating in some way shape or form."

"Why don't you just say that the girl cheated? Why did you say that the relationship involved cheating?"

"Because it takes two to tango."

"What?" I ask, kind of loudly.

David opens his mouth, but Mr. Smith starts the lesson, causing him to shut it. I hadn't noticed through this whole conversation that the previously seldom, kind of quaint classroom is now full of clamoring seniors.

Is it just me, or did David just confess something? Has he cheated?

"Did you cheat in your relationships?" I whisper.

"You'll get mad if I tell you."

"I don't care."

"Okay, fine; I cheated, but-"

I cut him off. "I don't care. Cheating is cheating. Cheating is wrong, so obviously, something is wrong in this situation."

"But, Deja."

"Don't 'but, Deja' me. You should really pay attention to the lesson," I whisper.

Once again, David growls and licks his lips.

"Just listen to me, Deja."

I start to think and contemplate whether I should let him talk. Maybe I should let him tell me about his cheating. David and I need to make it to tomorrow.

"I'm listening," I whisper, crossing my legs and folding my hands.

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