My Girlfriend Bites (Young Adult Paranormal Werewolf Romance)

Chapter 3

Aiden

On the morning route I’m the first stop, so I always get my choice of seats on the empty bus. Plus as one of the few juniors still riding, none of the younger kids give me any crap since I’m older. It’s like the only time during the day I get any respect.

The orange sun burns my side of the bus as we make the turn into Issy’s subdivision. Fresh air sweeps into the open windows as I grip the ripped-leather backing of the seat in front of mine, wondering what my friend will say. I haven’t talked to him since yesterday. Maybe I should have sent him a text, but Issy didn’t text me about it so — I don’t know. Maybe he’s pissed. Well, I’m not the one who kicked him or the one who pissed Kirk off. I wanted to leave, but no, Issy had to piss off three guys who could kick our butts blindfolded. It was stupid. So in a way, Issy deserved it. Right?

After we make stop after stop, the bus fills up with kids and gets noisy as we reach Issy’s stop.

The bus groans to a halt. The doors flip open. Issy mopes up the stairs, his face tired and weak, like he hasn’t slept. Issy’s one of those annoying people who once they’re awake, BOOM, they’re up. Believe it or not, he never looks this groggy in the morning.

Issy makes his way up the aisle. I notice a sling on his right arm. Is it broken? He hesitates.

What’s Issy doing? Looking for a seat? Every day I save him a seat. So what’s this? We’re not friends now?

The bus moves forward. Issy has to choose. There’s never any seats available by the time he gets on the bus. That’s why I save him one. Realizing this, Issy surrenders and plops right beside me like he always does.

The bus accelerates as the automatic transmission shifts gears. Issy says nothing. Doesn’t even look over or acknowledge that I exist. Should I bring it up? Should I wait for him to bring it up? Should I shut up? Damn. Should I, like, apologize?

But I didn’t do anything wrong.

“How could you do that?” His words drip with acid.

I don’t know. Call it my survival instinct? I avoid the question.

“Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay, asshole?” His eyes glare.

“I thought about calling 911.”

“But?”

I hesitate. “He had two guys there. What was I gonna do against them?”

“Stick up for your best friend?” Issy’s words kick me in the stomach. Or is that guilt?

“Did you go to the doctor?”

“My parents went mental. I told them somebody jumped me and took my wallet. They called the cops, and I had to fill out a report.”

“Did you snitch on Kirk again?”

Issy laughs, not because he thinks it’s funny. It’s more of a nervous type of laugh. “No,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Guess who came over to take the report? Kirk’s dad. You do know he’s a cop, right?”

“Dude, that sucks.”

“No. Do you know what sucks? Getting the stuffing kicked out of your intestines while watching your best friend scrambling away on his bicycle, leaving his wingman on the ground like a used jock strap. Now THAT sucks.”

Issy doesn’t have to act like that. I know I suck. I know I ran. I was scared, damn it. Did Issy want me to get beat up just so I could prove that I’m his friend? His eyes say yes. That’s exactly what he expected from me.