hostile veins (h.s)

Chapter Two

"Who was that?" Auburn asks as I take my seat at the same table as in the morning. I shrug.

"A new kid. Grade Twelve. Probably transferred from Fraine's or ATCI." The two other high schools in the area.

"He's cute," she says in awe. I shrug.

"He talks a lot." I scratch above my eyebrow.

"Is he into you?" She asks.

"How would I know?" I snap.

"I don't know, I thought maybe-"

"Who pissed in your cereal today?" A feminine voice says from behind my back. A small smile spreads across my face as someone leans their chin on my head.

"Hey Akhila," I say, happy but keeping my calm. She wraps her arms around my neck and laces them in mine, now leaning her head on my shoulder. Long black hair cascades over my shoulder.

"Hey." She releases her grip and takes a seat beside me. "How's it going?"

"Not too bad." I flash a fake smile. I know she can see through it. Her eyes flash down to my hand and back up to my eyes, then back down to examine them further. I don't hide the two new, reddened scars from the past weekend.

"Did I hear some talk about a new boy? Potential boyfriend?" She asks fake-excitedly. I roll my eyes and chuckle at her. She knows I'm not actively looking for a relationship.

"Yeah, no. There's a boy in my grade twelve Advanced Functions class who transferred over this semester, that's all. He was talking to me all morning. More like annoying me. He never stops talking."

Akhila flashes her white teeth in an 'eeks' expression.

"Oh, come on, he's fucking hot, Callie," Auburn blurts with heart eyes.

Akhila has been my best friend since fifth grade. Her family immigrated to Atlanta from Cote D'Ivoire in Africa the previous year and enrolled her in school again. She did not know very much English, but since has progressed with unbelievable luck. Other than her accent, you wouldn't be able to tell that English isn't her first language.

"Okay fine, yeah he's hot, I'm not blind," I admit. "Lanky, but hot. Like, that face was hand-sculpted by God himself. I fuck with the long, curly hair. Always have." I grin. Akhila knows of my soft spot for long hair.

"If I wasn't happy being single, I'd totally put dibs on him, but I'm not looking for a relationship," I say with another shrug. That's what I tell everyone except Akhila, so they aren't suspicious of me never dating. People really love to ask questions and stick their noses into someone else's business, so after a while I just decided to say that I'm happy being single. I'm actually not happily single, I'm not happy at all, but screaming that down the hallways isn't going to help at all. And then there's the fact that I've been told multiple times that I must be gay, (thanks for that, by the way, I appreciate being told my own sexuality) which I'm not, not that it matters. Being gay doesn't mean you're any more or less of a person. It just means you're human.

"Who is it?" A feminine voice asks. I don't bother to look up to see who spoke.

"Harry. His last name started with an S, I believe."

"Styles? From ATCI?" Ahkila asks, hazel eyes widening.

"Yeah. Why, did he do something?" I frown.

She shakes her head. "No, he just has an, uh, odd reputation. He's not a total fuck boy but he's definitely not innocent, that's all. Be careful."

"Oh, I know. He was flirting with me all morning. I barely spoke to him. As if I need more drama and pain in my life," I scoff. Reaching into my bag, I pull out an egg salad sandwich and a bottle of water.