The Bad Boy's Good Girl

5. "Your Boyfriend's 'Bestie' is Getting On My Nerves."

"Let's roll," Noel and I say at the same time. We smile at each other as we walk into Hawk's Cafe.

I order two coffees and pay for them both, since Noel forgot her wallet in the car, and, I quote, "It's too fa - a - a - a - ar."

Twenty damn feet.

As I wait for our order, I tap my foot on the ground. To the beat of some song, actually. Something called ... Th-

"Dylan," the person at the counter says. I stand up, smiling at the boy around my age as I reach for my drinks. I notice a small slip of paper.

"Call me," he mouths. I raise an eyebrow, my smile falling. I walk over to our booth and sit down with Noel.

"That guy was hitting on me," I state as I sit down. I look at my drink. The paper is slipped under the thingy that goes around the cup.

Call me, is written in sloppy handwriting. Gunther. 

"Are you going to call him?" Noel asks as she takes a sip from her coffee. 

"Nope," I say, but shove the note into my pocket anyway. 

"Jokes on him," she mutters.

I take a sip of my coffee. "Shit!" I gasp. "It burns ... like my soul." 

"That makes you sound demonic," Noel notes.

I just give her a creepy stare.

***

Calculus.

Someone kill me.

Because the boy sitting next to me will not shut the hell up. And his name is Andrew Steele. A - K - A, Drew Steele.

Also the dumb ass that stole my camera.

"So, are you going to that party?"

"That party sounds pretty fun, eh?"

"How about that party?"

Are the only things he's said since I sat down in my seat. What makes it worse is that my stupid teacher isn't here yet.

"You going to-"

"Dammit, Drew, shut up before I bitch slap you," I sigh, irritated.

"Whoa, feisty girl," he winks.

I groan in defeat, putting my head down on the table.

"Don't worry, Dylan," Oliver says. "He's always like that."

"Ugh," is my oh - so intelligent reply. 

"Okay, class," Mr. Clears says suddenly. I lift my head. "I don't really feel like teaching today, so go do pages 345 to 347, all. Any extra shall be homework."

"But mister," Edgar Thomas, the teacher's pet, pipes up. "The home work-"

"Not now, Mr. Thomas. Get to work."

I sigh, flipping the pages of my Calculus book to page 345. I open my notebook to a clean page and write at the top in clear print, Calculus - Period 1 - Pg.s 345 - 347, all. 

'Cause I'm just that organized.

After doing a couple of problems, I zone out. I literally just stare at my pencil, not moving. Whatever, I'll just do the rest tonight. Or tomorrow morning.

Procrastination at its best.

After forty - five more minutes, the bell rings. I sigh, packing away my books and standing up. I look at one of the large windows in the classroom. Rain is pattering on the glass, creating a musty illusion on the room.