Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

33 | Road Signs Support

VIERNES
8:42 AM

Reid Harlow

I slip into the seat beside Dahlia.

She sits to the left of me, having an inconsistent routine of switching our seats, with her earbuds plugged in. She sports a white tank top with butterfly embroidery, light-washed jeans and a cardigan. She was also completely unaware of her fucking surroundings.

I tap her on the shoulder, causing her eyes to go wide and turn to me. Her doe eyes meet mine, pulling out one of the earbuds and offering it up to me, "you want to listen?"

I stiffen a smile and shake my head, a somber expression overtakes my features. "I didn't get you into too much trouble, did I?" I ask, my voice intertwined with a trace of panic. I hope to fucking God I hid it well from her.

Dahlia's brows crinkle together, taking a second before the recognition dawns on her. She shakes her head. The weight off my shoulders lifted and I could finally fucking breathe. "No," she answers, pulling both earbuds out and wrapping it around her phone. "But, you're not invited over without my mom's knowledge."

I scoff, "isn't that the entire fucking point?"

"No." She answers slowly. "My mom doesn't...hate you? But she's like...like...what's that English word?" She snaps her fingers.

"Strict?" I offer.

"No," she shakes her head, her brows pulling together. "She is strict—she's Latina, and plus, she's from Venezuela—but like...she's not...totally against the idea of a boy coming over? I don't know if that's the right way to describe it, but like, she wants me to be safe?"

Safe?

"She thinks I'm going to fucking kill you or something?"

"No!" Dahlia exclaims, a little bit louder than she intended. A couple of students turn their attention to us, but with one glare, they look away. Dahlia sinks into her seat. "I hate English."

"What's the Spanish word for it then?" I ask, hoping it would help her better. I know for a fucking fact I wouldn't be able to understand it, because never in my four years of high school have I taken a foreign language course—but who the fuck knows?

She sighs. "Mi mami cree en mí. Ella sabe que sé lo que estoy haciendo y no debería estar haciendo, y si se trata de algo, mi mami quiere que esté a salvo. Ella confía en mí."

"I have no clue what the fuck you just said," I said, causing her to frown. She shakes her head, her shoulders slouching.

"Never mind." Dahlia declares, sucking in a deep breath. "Let's just get ready for class. I'm tired of explaining it."

I open my mouth, wanting to object—but what the fuck can I say to her? I can't read her mind, and I don't know what she's saying in Spanish, even if she knows the word. It's stupid to be so fixated over a simple phrase, but it's more than that.

The bell rings and Calloway closes the door, locking it due to protocol. He walks over to the front of the board and begins his lesson, abiding all attention to him.

I take one last glance at Dahlia.

━━━━━

VIERNES
2:01 PM

Reid Harlow

Dahlia always leaves around two.

She has a four-to-eight shift on weekdays, and she would cut her last period to get ready to go to work.