Good Guy

Part Twenty-four

Word did get passed around the following day, but Cleo couldn't care less about what other people were saying.

She was still off-kilter after Scotch's decision to break away from her, as was reflected in the dark circles underneath her eyes. Shayla had seen them when she came over to pick her up of course, and she'd patted Cleo's back to offer a little comfort. It didn't do anything to bring her and Scotch's closeness back, but at least it was something.

He'll come around, Shayla had said once they'd arrived at school. He's been through a lot, so just give him some time.

I've given him all the time in the world, Cleo had argued, her patience clearly worn thin. She'd only occasionally nudged for clues, but he was like a brick wall. And even when she'd finally decided to keep her silence, he'd pushed her away anyway. Maybe Adelih and Jackson were right. Maybe I'm just some pity project that got a little too complicated.

Shayla had snorted. Trust me, Hilard, if you were some pity project, Scotch wouldn't have done everything in his power to make sure you'd never get caught up in his past. Heck, you probably mean more to him than even I or Art do now.

Her words did somewhat make sense. Scotch himself had made it clear that he wasn't worth the trouble she would get herself into if they became involved. The bad stories that seemed to tail him and only grow in number were detrimental to whoever stayed by his side. Heck, even Shayla and Art weren't a part of many popular school circles, even though the former was rich as hell and the latter could practically knock women off of their feet with just a smile. Simply put, the two only options with regards to Scotch and his gang were either stick to them for life or cut them off for good.

But he himself had stolen one of those two options by telling her to stay away from him, and it made Cleo just a little mad.

Her grip tightened on the paper bag which dangled from her left hand. Her strides grew faster and more agitated as she made her way from her college building and to the back of the school. It didn't help that in between classes there had been a countless number of students asking if she knew anything about the incident with Scotch and Jackson. Some of her classmates had been eager to get in on the action, ready to hear whichever side of the story she had some scoop on. It only increased her annoyance as the day went by.

By the time dismissal came around, she was ready to flag down a bus, get home and finish the last few paragraphs of her freaking essay. And afterwards, she was gonna crawl into bed and get some much-needed sleep, not stay up and wait for Scotch to arrive from whichever bar Art and Shayla would be dragging him to.

But before that, she had to return something to someone.

The dressmaking rooms were just as dilapidated as before, but this time their appearance wasn't creeping her out. She was far too distracted by her mission to worry about being alone in the shabbier part of school. And it wasn't like she didn't know anyone who frequently hung out there.

This point was proven when she stepped into the first classroom and one of the four students inside immediately recognized her.

"Cleo, Honey! Long time, no see!" Mo quickly abandoned his desk and the plaid skirt he'd been working on. "How's it going, Girl? Let me introduce you to everyone."

Cleo hugged Mo back, but she didn't move further into the room. Instead, she held out the paper bag to him. "That's okay. I won't be staying long," she said. "I just came here to return this to you. I don't think I'm going to need it anymore."

Mo raised one brow, which then became two after he peeked into the bag. He pulled his pretty galaxy-style dress and the matching suit from inside. The two materials glittered in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, and it caused Cleo's chest to squeeze again. She'd been looking forward to matching with Scotch at the party, even if they were only going as close friends. But that morning she'd found his set of clothes in front of her door, folded neatly within the paper bag she'd been carrying until now.