When popular high school senior Beau Huntley caught himself in a mess with Pascal Griffin, a college student, he tried to work things out and make amends.
Much to Beau's dismay, Pascal proposed another way to repay him: by tasking Beau to take his y...
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I only have thirty people or less in my phone contacts, and I have never been bombarded with so many calls and texts in my lifetime. Majority of them were coming from Beau, all of which I left unanswered. I wasn't planning on replying or calling back on that night either.
Yes, I've read them all. "Where are you?", "I'm sorry", "Hear me out please," were just some of his redundant texts, and he rang my number quite a handful of times. What was I even going to say if I answered his calls? What would he say if he heard me crying on the other end of the line if I picked up?
The other person who couldn't stop flooding my phone with messages was my brother, who was supposed to be in class over Cambridge, or in a football game, or in some photo shoot for Gap, so I was surprised that he was outside my bedroom, annoyingly rapping my door again and again.
At least he didn't barge in.
"Piper! Open the door! Piper Valentine Gri—"
"Stop yelling," I interrupted. I reached for my throw pillow and covered my ears. Why did Pascal have to yell? I planned on staying at home for some peace and quiet. I wanted my time undisturbed.
"Come on, Pipes. Just let me in," he insisted.
"Whatever," I answered back. As I didn't hear any response for a second back there, I assumed he took my answer as a yes. Pascal slowly opened the door and let himself in. I felt the side of my bed sank.
As my face was buried underneath my pillows, I spoke in a muffled tone. "Didn't you read my text? I said I was fine."
"I did read your text, and I know you're not fine because you don't text like that," I heard him replied.
Not a fan of the deafening silence, Pascal swiped my pillow off from my face. I turned around and my eyes shot up, seeing my brother casually sitting beside me. I gave him a mean look—well, tried to, at least.
"So, how was your day? Are you sick? What happened to you, huh?" He interrogated. I got up from my bed and sat upright, crossing my legs. I just let out a big huff, which made Pascal even more confused.
He rolled his eyes, as if he had already given up on what to react with my unsure actions. "C'mon, just tell me, you know you can trust me."
"Trust you? That's funny."
He was suddenly taken aback by my remark. I was surprised as well at what I just said, but I couldn't help it, it just rolled out of my mouth. I rarely see Pascal in a terrible mood—and when I do, it wasn't even about me—but boy was I witnessing it right now, and he looked scary. A deep frown was evident on his face.
"Excuse me? Something is definitely up. What's with the attitude?"
