It Was Only a Kiss; Boyf Riends

My Whole Face Goes Red

A/N: He(e)re we are, half a month later. I'm trying to update more often, I swear! I'll work on it. Pinkie promise.

Jeremy's POV
"No, like...a do-over date!" I overhear Christine say excitedly from my spot behind my open locker.

"Oh! That sounds awesome!" Rich responds, finally understanding.

I peer through the slits, trying to comprehend their whispers.

"Hey, Jer!" My boyfriend shouts from behind me, startling me and causing me to fall forward.

I hit my head lightly on the metal, tumble downwards, and land on the ground. Rich and Christine stare at me, and Christine rolls her eyes.

"Really, Jer? Eavesdropping?"

Sheepishly, I gather my things with Michael's help. We both grab the same book, and stand up. Holding onto the cover, my eyes wander to Michael's. Overwhelmed by the moment, I begin to lean in for a quick kiss. My eyelids are almost shut when I spot Madeline over Michael's shoulder.

I pull back quickly, causing Michael to drop the book. Madeline passes by, clearly not paying any attention to us.

"What was that, Jeremy?" The boy standing across from me asks confusedly, awkwardly readjusting his hoodie.

"I...I saw Madeline, and I thought that if she saw us...you know...."

"Oh," Michael says, softening. "Gotcha."

A sad smile graces the boy's lips, and I can see that he understands.

"We have five minutes until first period," Christine reminds us, breaking the silence.

I zip up my backpack and take a deep breath. Off to English class with Michael.

"So, after school?" Rich asks.

"After school," Christine confirms confidently.

Even after listening to their whispers, I still have no idea what they're planning.

I quickly wave goodbye to Rich and Chris, rapidly heading down the hallway, Michael at my side. We dodge the students easily, just like the zombies in our favorite video game.

It's been a week, and I still haven't told anyone about my mom. Late at night, I can hear my dad crying softly in the room next to mine. It makes me cry too, sometimes. It's bad enough at home. Pity and awkward condolences at school are not what I need right now.

We reach Room 204 and head inside. Routinely and quietly, my boyfriend and I find our seats in the back corner, take out our notebooks, and direct our attention towards the front of the room. When I look up, however, I don't see the shiny bald head of Mr. Fagan, but a small, dark-skinned man, frantically fiddling with some papers.

He clears his throat and surveys the room, trying to break through the chaos of the class. The majority of the kids reluctantly settle down, other than a few talkative stragglers, who continue to laugh quietly.

"Uh, my name is Avery, and I'm your substitute teacher for the next few weeks. It's, uh...Mr. Kumar to you. I'll be here until the school can find a new teacher. Unfortunately, your old teacher...uh, Mr. Fagan has left for a teaching job in California," he mumbles, nervousness creeping into his voice.