Good Guy

Part Six

Scotch was walking on cloud nine.

None of the professors had picked him to answer the more difficult questions during all three lectures that morning. He'd gotten a higher than usual test score in Comparative Anatomy. He was early to class for the first time in a long while. And to top it all off, he'd gotten the chance to show off in front of a freshman. Scotch was sure that nothing and nobody was going to ruin his day.

Until Shayla pulled him into the seat next to hers at the end of lunch hour.

"I know what you did this morning," the grinning girl said, her checkered sneakers tapping on the tile floor in excitement.

"I don't think that's the correct title," Scotch raised an eyebrow. He had the distinct feeling that this conversation with Shayla wasn't going to move in the direction he wanted. For starters, her fingers were drumming impatiently on top of her desk.

"Very funny, Butterscotch, but I know you're trying to avoid the issue," she said, calling him out. Then she leaned forward, like a detective determined to make some hardened criminal confess his crimes. At that moment, Scotch knew he was in for another excruciating chitchat. "What were you doing with a girl on your bike this morning? Was she that Chloe freshman you were talking about?"

Scotch rolled his eyes. He should've expected this conversation. After all, Shayla was never one to pass up any scintillating piece of gossip, especially when she could verify the truth of said gossip by talking to the primary source himself. "Her name is Cleo, and I was just giving her a ride."

Shayla blinked, not daring to speak as she absorbed his words. But when the words finally sank in, it was all Scotch could do not to let out a groan. Shayla looked like she was about to burst in excitement.

"No," she replied, dramatically exaggerating the word to convey her disbelief. "No. Way. She lives close to your apartment?"

"Kinda like that," Scotch replied as cautiously as he could. He wasn't sure Shayla would be able to handle the truth. She'd most probably flip, then demand every teensy weensy detail, even though there really was nothing going on between him and Cleo. They were just two schoolmates who coincidentally lived in the same apartment building. But if ever their acquaintance did change into something different, it wasn't really any of Shayla's business.

"Lucky you," she carried on, giddy with this new tidbit of information. "Let me know when the wedding's gonna be."

Scotch groaned, resisting the urge to crumple a sheet of notebook paper and chuck it at her face. Fortunately, before he could act on his childish impulse, Art strutted through the center aisle and plopped himself on the seat in front of Shayla. His best friend's own brows were raised.

"I heard that," he said, stretching his legs beneath the desk. Scotch vaguely noticed the checkered sneakers that were on his friend's two feet. The lovebirds were definitely getting mushier by the day. "Whose wedding are we talking about?"

"Ours, of course, you silly nugget," Shayla said devotedly, turning in her seat and reaching out for Art's cheek. Art deftly caught her hand before she could do too much damage by pinching his face, and blew a raspberry into her palm. Scotch groaned again, just barely tolerating the childish antics of his friends. He wondered how his other classmates were able to stomach such high levels of public affection. If it were him and Cleo—

What? Scotch paused. Him and Cleo?!

Just what idea he had been about to come up with, he wasn't sure. But his thoughts would have surely crossed some sort of line if he'd let them run wild. There was no 'him and Cleo.' Never has been and never will be. Most probably it was just some hypothetical comparison, and Cleo's name was incidentally the first that had come to mind.