A Bad Boy in my life

Fourty five

POV: MARGO

The days that came after were just weird between me and my mom. We barely talked, and when we did, you could practically cut the tension with a knife. It was like I was some angsty teen straight out of a movie, and it bugged me because I knew I was acting like a drama queen. I mean, I got why she was ticked off – skipping classes and all. I tried to see things from her side, you know? After all, I wasn't keen on departing with unresolved resentment toward her. But somehow, things just got worse as time passed

Two days subsequent to the confiscation of my phone, an abrupt intrusion shook the quiet of my room. My mother's voice pierced through the air in a torrent of words, decreeing that I'd be returning to my father's abode by month's end. The reason for her outburst remained a puzzle, just like the odd task she assigned me afterward - washing all the windows in the house. I was confused, but I went along with it, not really knowing what else to do.

I wanted to escape this place badly, but leaving Toronto wasn't exactly my plan. It was like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, with no say in the matter.

Maxon's number was a secret code I couldn't crack, and that bugged me big time. If I'd known it, I would've grabbed any phone and told him what's up. But I had to deal with the possibility of him thinking I'd ghosted him. Furthermore, the possibility that he had already exited Toronto preoccupied my thoughts with relentless unease.

I was getting desperate to reach out to him, but I was clueless about how to do it. Sending a letter, old-school style, even crossed my mind, but... apart from Maxon probably not bothering with old-fashioned mail, it could be risky to give away where he was staying if he didn't want anyone to know.

Every day, my curiosity gnawed at me worse than a hangnail. Not knowing how he was doing was driving me nuts. I couldn't even concentrate in school.

As days stretched into weeks, my routine became a rhythm of anticipation and longing. The school corridors echoed with footsteps, lockers slamming shut, and the chatter of classmates, yet I moved through it all like a ghost, trapped in a world without notifications and messages from Maxon. The void left by my confiscated phone was both agonizing and frustrating.

Lunchtime arrived like a small reprieve in the midst of a day that felt like a series of hurdles. The cafeteria buzzed with activity as students chatted, their voices blending into a symphony of adolescent banter. Harry and I settled into our usual corner, where the sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm patches on the worn wooden table.

I tugged at the sleeve of my sweater, a familiar gesture to ward off the chill of the air-conditioned room. Harry's blue eyes met mine, and I could sense his curiosity simmering beneath the surface.

"Hey, Margo. You've been kind of distant lately," he ventured, his voice carrying a mix of concern and intrigue.

I sighed, my fork pushing around the remnants of my salad. "Yeah, I guess things have been a bit... complicated."

Harry leaned forward. "Complicated how?"

I sighed again, pondering where to begin. Things are quite chaotic in my head, and I'm unsure if I should open up about what's happening. It's as if Harry can read my mind, and he says, "You know, sometimes keeping things to yourself can end up causing more harm.

I hesitated, the weight of my situation bearing down on me. "Remember that guy I mentioned? The one I said I had a thing with... well, it's kind of complicated."

"The troublesome one with that intense stare who nearly swallowed me whole when he caught me chatting with you? Aka the school's resident bad boy. What about him?"