A Bad Boy in my life

Nine

8:47 AM

Damn it!

After all these days, I had to be late today. Why couldn't it happen on any other day?

Out of all the days, I have a double responsibility of delivering two assignments, and it gets even more complicated when one of them is for someone else.

I leap out of bed, tossing the comforter in the air, and frantically start packing my things. A whirlwind of racing thoughts fills my mind.

I curse myself for staying up so late last night. If I hadn't been caught up in the "just one more episode" mentality that turned into several episodes of The Vampire Diaries, none of this would be happening.

Amidst my rush, I stub my toe on the bed and unleash a howl of pain.

Damn it!

I shower the bed with every profanity I can think of right now and limp over to the wardrobe to put on my shoes.

Then it hits me that everything I normally do in 30 minutes, I've accomplished in just five—messily, but done.

I glance at the clock before dashing out: 8:52 AM.

I need to be quick, but even if I had four legs, I wouldn't make it to school in eight minutes, despite it not being that far away.

I see the garage gate opening and spot Maxon, wearing his helmet, mounting his motorcycle.

Of course, he has to leave at the same time as me. I wonder where he goes every day at this time, but I have no intention of asking him.

Suddenly, the idea of hitching a ride with him today, instead of being absurd, feels like my only extraordinary salvation.

Well, not really, it still seems absurd and incoherent, but sometimes desperation drives us to take extreme measures and throws our judgment out the window.

If I fail to submit these assignments, it won't just screw up my grade, it will also screw up someone else's grade—a person who paid me, or rather, trusted me to complete this assignment. So that seems like more than a plausible reason for me to do what I'm about to do.

"Maxon!" I call out to him, and he looks my way.

Oh my God, am I really going to do this?

"Running late?" he asks, as if it weren't painfully obvious.

I nod, but he remains silent.

Damn it! Why doesn't he say anything? Isn't he going to offer me a damn ride today?

"Um... uh..." I stammer, not knowing what to say.

How do I ask for this?

I can't think of any way that doesn't sound ridiculous.

"You know... I would offer you a ride," he speaks, already anticipating my desire, "but... since you said you don't trust me, unfortunately, I can't do that... unless you ask me, of course," he says with a mischievous look.

Bastard.

"Maxon, give me a ride?" I blurt out, almost without thinking.

If someone had told me yesterday that one day I would ask Maxon Stirling for a ride, I would have said it was as impossible as Justin Bieber being a virgin. But here I am, surprising even myself.

"A what? Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," he pretends, in the worst way possible.

"You know what? Screw you!" I say, and storm off.

What was I thinking?

A little while later, he returns, parks the motorcycle in front of me, and hands me a helmet. I stare at the helmet for a few seconds, as if my decision depends on it.