The Badboy Smokes

Chapter One

After the unnecessary drama of last year, I decided that my senior year of high school would be my no nonsense year of focus. I decided that this year couldn't be a repetition of nearly losing my best friend, Jenna, over a boy I dated for a month before realizing how toxic he was.

It's only December, but I've been doing pretty good staying out of drama and relationships. My and Jenna's friendship is doing better than ever and I couldn't be more happy with my life--my abstinence takes no toll on my mental stability. Sure, people have laughed at me for doing this and people have made fun of me for doing this, but little do they know: I'm getting into a good college and they're not.

However, college is still a year away, and instead of worrying about that, I should worry about not choosing a moldy apple for breakfast and getting to school early to study with Jenna in the library. My dad is sitting on the kitchen side of the bar counter that separates my living room from my kitchen reading the newspaper with a bowl of cereal in front of him.
"Hey, honey," He says, not looking to me.
"Hey," I answer, "I gotta go, bye."
"Bye, honey," He says, not looking to me.

The drive to school is quick and quiet, although it starts snowing and I hate driving in the snow. When I get to the library, Jenna is already sitting and waiting for me, texting at a hundred miles per hour on her phone.
"Hey," I greet, setting all my stuff down on the floor.
"Ohmygod," She answers, putting her phone upside down on the table. "Did you hear we're getting a new guy?"
"So what?" I ask, "We get new guys, like, every three weeks."
"It's different," Jenna answers and picks her phone back up, "Y'know Sidney? Yeah, her cousin, Lindsey, goes to St. Benedict's--the private school--yeah, so she said that Jason Peters was expelled the other week for smoking weed in the bathroom. You'll never guess who the new guy is."
"Jason Peters?" I guess, not having it.
"Jason Peters," Lib confirms.

She types something into her phone before turning it to hold it out for me.
"That's Jason Peters," Lib informs me, referring to a picture she's pulled up on Instagram.
The person on her phone is a tall guy who looks around our age, but could be mistaken for a college student. His hair is dark, which matches the over all vibe that he gives off, posing with a motorcycle and hot girls. But his dark hair contrasts his blue blue eyes, piercing the camera with a cold look, outshining the diamond stud in his ear. His outfit consists of black, shown through his leather jacket, his jeans, and his undershirt, which only really covers his flesh, but not his god-chiseled abs. Jason Peters.
"Wow," I say and grab her phone, "I mean wow."
"Ohmygod," Jenna says, "I know, right? Imagine getting a class with him. Imagine getting to stare at him all hour. Dream come true."

I hand Jenna her phone back and chuckle, shaking my head a little, but fully agreeing with what she's saying.
"He's probably a douche," I answer, receiving a quick deadpan stare from her.
"That's true," She allows, "But if he was mute--that'd be a dream come true."

I laugh in agreement before pulling out my Psychology text book to review the terms in the lesson we're learning. Jenna follows my lead and retrieves her own--it's the only class we have together this semester.
"I pray to god I get him in a class," She says with a laugh, then flips to the beginning of the lesson.
"Don't jinx it," I answer, laughing.

My first class of the day is English. My English class is dedicated to learning about the literary heroes of the past--Shakespeare, Dickens, Christie, Austen. It's not too stressful of a class, but more of a relaxing one. All we do is read famous works and reflect on how we interpreted it.

Mrs. Monroe walks in a few minutes after the bell rings, returning from her station at the corner of the hall, where she's required to watch us all and make sure we're all in line. Despite seeming like an unnecessary duty, we're normally our of line and Mrs. Monroe is utilized frequently. However, at the young ages of fourteen and fifteen we learned that they don't monitor the bathrooms. Therefore, if there were a fight it'd be in a bathroom or in the parking lot of the sandwich shop across the street.