Chapter Twelve
You're My Flavor
You know things are clearly not right, when you feel bad for being harsh to Dylan Miller. I didn’t mean it, maybe a part of my subconscious did but not me. What could he expect? After a night with no sleep, and the prospect of double math to start the morning, anyone could see the Back Off sign written on my forehead.
Anyone, but Dylan.
“Morning Foster,” he grinned.
I ignored him, aware of how close his body was pressed against mine. I didn’t like it, not one single bit. Because deep inside of me, I knew that any apparent friendship with this boy could not be good.
“Have I ever told you how absolutely delicious you smell?” his nose travelled down the crook of my neck, making the air in my lungs escape with an audible gasp.
Control yourself Chloe! I urged myself.
I slammed the locker door closed, feeling him breath against my neck.
“Dylan.”
“Hmm?”
“Stop it.”
He laughed, finally moving back a step, yet still too close for my liking.
“What class-”
I turned around to face him, “Bye Dylan.” I walked to class, and left him standing in the hall way, and prayed to God I hadn’t drawn any attention.
It turns out it wasn’t Math I had missed. But Chemistry, which made Mr. Arkwood give me a stern glare as I slowly made my way towards my seat in the lab.
“Nice of you to join us Miss. Foster, do you have any explanation as to why you’re late again?”
Technically it had been the first time I was late to his class this week, but not wanting to argue with the old man, I gave him my most charming smile and decided to ignore him.
Leela beside me was biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing while Ethan just across from her, was looking at me while shaking his head.
“You disrespectful girl,” he tsk-ed.
I shrugged my shoulders, dumped my bag under the table and watched as my friends expertly poured chemicals from one test-tube into another.
“That’s too much Leela,” Ethan made a motion to grabbed her hand, but she jerked away sloshing the substance onto the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning in search of a cloth.
“I take things are still… weird between you both?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“But didn’t you guys fix things? After your argument I mean?”
Leela didn’t answer, the truth blatantly obvious.
“You’re not mad at him Leela, I know you’re not. You just don’t like what you’re feeling towards him…”
Her head snapped in my direction, “Oh, and what do I exactly feel towards him?!”
“I’m still waiting for you to tell me.”
And then her whole expression softened, as she sniffed, leaving the test tubes on the rack and turned to face me, “I’m sorry, I just-” she gulped, “I’ve wished for a while now to be thought as something other than the best friend,” her gaze fell to her hands, avoiding my eyes, “I know him, I know how he is, and what he is, and it shits me that I can’t seem to get over what I feel!”
YOU ARE READING
Eight Letters. Three Words.
Ficção Adolescente"I don't feel anything towards Dylan Miller." Leela nodded, combing through the messy knots in my hair. "Whatever you say." "I'm serious!" "Look, just try not to move so much this time," she said, making me feel happy as she dropped the subject. "...
