Mickey's Lessons on Bad

Chapter Two

Michelle's hands were trembling, her breathing was shaky and shallow, and her head was ducked down. She stared blankly at the McChicken sandwich in her hands, unable to feel remotely hungry.

Tap. Tap.

She violently flinched at the taps on her shoulder and snapped her head up to look across the table. The person sitting there was none other than Mickey Varsity, the town's bad boy, dressed in leather and munching on a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese. His amber eyes bore into her as his eyebrows scrunched together.

With a mouthful, he inquired, "Not hungry?"

She cringed a little at the unsightly crunched food in his mouth before glancing down at her sandwich and defeatedly shaking her head.

The sound of him slurping on his medium-sized soda filled the air. It wasn't long before he started talking again, "Look at you––all bones and no meat. Plus, I paid for your food, so be grateful and eat it."

She flinched at the harshness in his voice, but nevertheless obeyed his demand and took a bite out of the sandwich. There was no flavor to it––in part because she asked for the McChicken without mayonnaise, but in another part because she had been numb to food for the past few weeks and forcing it down her throat was a difficult task. Throughout eating, she kept mentally reminding herself, 'Mickey Varsity bought you this. You better be grateful like he said, otherwise he'll probably butcher your family...'

Okay, perhaps she was exaggerating, but she finished her lunch with the help of her "self-motivation." With a sigh, Michelle leaned back and dropped her wrapper onto the tray. Her eyes snapped up to the town's bad boy when he suddenly stood up.

"I'll throw this out," he grumbled, picking up their tray and swiftly walking away to throw the garbage away––much to Michelle's surprise.

Her eyes quickly glanced down at the empty table. She murmured her thanks when he returned but didn't sit back down.

"C'mon. I'll take you back to school."

She nodded, her eyes still glued to the table. An awkward tension filled the air as they walked side-by-side and jumped into Mickey's bright red Jeep Wrangler. Michelle couldn't tear her eyes away from the ground––or, well, anywhere that wasn't occupied by Mickey Varsity. She listened to the roar of the engine before the car backed up and was heading down the streets back to school.

The silence between them was slowly itching and clawing at Michelle. Although she didn't expect Mickey––the town's bad ass––to start an in-depth conversation with her, she also didn't expect utter silence. Maybe she should thank him for lunch. Maybe she should ask him why lunch, more importantly. He could've completely disregarded her when she ran into him; maybe even could've made a snide about her break-up with Logan, but... he didn't.

Michelle lifted her head, pushing blonde curly locks of hair out of her light blue eyes, to steal quick glances at Mickey. He was entirely relaxed, leaning back in the driver's seat with one hand draped over the top of the steering wheel and the other draped over the gear shift. She didn't notice until now he slipped on a pair of aviators, which matched with his leather jacket and made him look more so like a bad boy, to block the sunlight. Since when were bad boys so thoughtful?

"As much as I appreciate being checked out, it's also making me uncomfortable," Mickey said right as she opened her mouth to thank and then question him.

Michelle immediately zipped her lips and snapped her head away, her cheeks burning. She was not checking him out... Ah... Okay, maybe a little. Unable to look at him again, she mumbled, "Thank you for lunch."