After flying overseas to enroll in a prestigious boarding school, Blake Graham assumes that she can finally catch a break.
Instead, she encounters the boy who she fought with almost every day as a child.
After moving back to England, then over to...
Before continuing on with the update, I feel it is important and necessary for me to address you all. Given the state of the world currently, I want to voice my support and solidarity towards the Black community and the BLM movement. No human deserves to be taken from this world, and time and time again this has unjustly happened. I offer my unwavering support, empathy, and prayers to all who have been affected by these events. I want everyone to know that if you need someone to talk to, I am always here. Stay strong and stay safe. - Cade
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Apparently 'he was talking shit about you' is enough of an excuse to go off and fight someone.
While I didn't seem fazed by the whole idea of being talked bad about, Clark was more or less enraged.
"What do you mean, you don't care? He was saying all this stuff about you! Behind your back!" Clark pulled at the roots of his hair in frustration.
It had been three days since my birthday and Clark's brawl with Max Whittaker- Clark was still furious.
"I don't care because people have been saying stuff behind my back my whole life." I simply stated with a shrug. "I'm pretty sure magazines have said worse than what Max probably said."
"But you don't understand what he was saying!" Clark sighed exasperatedly, continuing on with his pacing.
You could tell he was frustrated, due to his continuous pacing whilst pulling at his hair every time I tried to reason with him. He wasn't very reasonable at the moment.
I sighed deeply, leaning against the counter in my dorm's kitchenette, observing Ellington with narrowed eyes. "Then help me understand. What did he say?"
Clark had been annoyingly tight lipped about what Max had said, he could go on an hours long rant about him, but every time I asked what were the words bad enough to make Clark throw a punch- he wouldn't answer.
"It doesn't matter." Clark muttered evasively. That asshole.
"You just contradicted yourself!" I pointed an accusing finger at him. "It matters enough that you threw a punch at him, you fought him, and now you've gotten a weeks worth of detention! And it matters enough that you're ranting about it instead of helping me with these goddamn cookies!"
Clark frowned at the bowl of cookie dough in front of me. It didn't really look like cookie dough. More like soup.
"How much flour did you add?"
"One cup..." I trailed off, trying to recall the recipe. It called for one cup, right?
"Graham, it's two and a half cups of flour. That's why it looks like shite."
