I Still Need ✓

2. I'm a gossip girl and, apparently, an advisor

"Hey, Floyd, wanna hear something crazy?"

"Let's hear it," he said, an excited grin on his face. He knew there was a rumor coming. Every time I heard something about the students or teachers at our school, I immediately told Floyd. Merely because he always seemed intent on proving them right or wrong, no matter how ridiculous the statement. I might have made some up too...

"I heard Olivia is hooking up with Mr. Rosenberg."

His eyes went as round as saucers, before he abruptly burst out in a fit of giggles, covering his mouth with his hands, as if he needed to be quiet in his own bedroom. And damnit, he looked freaking adorable. Stop being adorable, Floyd!

"No, you're joking!" he whispered. "She can't— Rosenberg?!"

"Hey, if you look past the glasses and nerdy outfits, he's really hot."

"True," he said.

That made my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Did it occur to him that we were talking about the attractiveness of a man while we were both—as far as we knew of each other—straight? I mean, I wasn't hiding my sexuality, but I wasn't broadcasting it either. Floyd, on the other hand... Did it mean anything or was he just acknowledging? And was I overanalyzing?

Yes.

"But why would he hook up with a student?" he asked, staring ahead thoughtfully. "He's such a goody-two-shoes."

"Well, it is just a rumor," I reminded him.

"I ship it," he announced smugly, making me roll my eyes with a sigh.

"You ship everything, Floyd," Dylan spoke up for the first time in minutes. He sat on the couch on the other side of Floyd's bedroom, slumped into a fold, his phone lighting up his face. I wondered why he was here. I wondered why Floyd kept inviting the both of us, when it was obvious we didn't like each other.

"If it's cute, yes," Floyd stated, rolling around on the bed to reach for his phone on the floor. His fingers grazed the glass screen, but he needed to reach just a little bit farther to actually be able to take hold of the phone. Unsurprisingly, he fell off the bed.

"It's illegal, though," Dylan continued, ignoring Floyd's pained groan. "If it's true, Mr. Rosenberg could be fired."

"I doubt it's true," I murmured, pushing my foot into Floyd's back to prevent him from getting back up, because bullying the person you liked was part of the deal, right? He rolled onto his back instead, holding his phone up in the air in front of his face. "I'm still asking Olive about it. I wouldn't put it past her."

"Oh, it's not that part of the rumor we're doubting."

When Floyd saw Olivia in the hallway the next day, he yelled her name and instantly sprinted up to her, ignoring a boy's protests as he bumped into him and made him drop his books all over the floor. She looked amused at Floyd's rushed, messy entrance, placing her hand on her hip with a curious smirk.

The moment Floyd had asked her his question, I was close enough to hear the answer and I wasn't surprised when she burst out in laughter. She flipped her perfectly curled golden hair over her shoulder and chuckled, "Oh, mon Dieu, Floyd, what kind of a question is that? I wish that was true."

Laughing unnecessarily hard. Check. Nervously touching the hair. Check. Floyd even managed to pull French out of her. Oh, she was lying her ass off. Big time.

Not that Floyd noticed. He laughed along and stuttered, "Oh, s-sorry. Silly rumors, huh?"

"Silly rumors," she agreed, then cleared her throat, flipped her hair to the other side, and quickly took out her phone to start tapping on it with her professionally manicured nails. I didn't need to see the screen to know whom she was texting. Mr. Rosenberg.