Kitten (Brian&Leah,1)

4. Charity Case

My eyes are still on them as I flop down onto a chair next to my boyfriend.

"What took you so long?" he asks.

"A guy was mean to me, and Annie defended me."

"You should ignore the stupid immature kids, Leah."

I nod. Arguing with Gavin won't change a thing. He believes in solving everything without using his fists, and his friends are like him. They can talk about science and school stuff for hours, but they'd never threaten a guy and tell him they'll feed his balls to the dogs.

My eyes dart over to Annie. She turns and smiles at me. I smile back, hoping we can talk after class.

"Was she the one you were talking about?" Gavin asks.

When I say yes, he purses his lips. "She's not a good influence, Leah. That girl barely passed last year, and you're an excellent student."

"Annie's brave," I say. "And friendly."

Nobody has been nice to me in my new school. No one but Gavin approached me to say hi; they did it only to insult me and comment on the old-fashioned clothes I wore. They must've thought it was by choice.

Gavin scoffs, opening his textbook. "I thought you were better than that."

"Better than what?" I ask.

"Better than wanting to fit in. You're different, and that's okay."

The teacher enters the classroom, shutting everyone up. I try to pay attention and fail.

Gavin's right; I don't fit in with the rest of my classmates, but it's the same with his buddies, whose only focus is on studies and science clubs they belong to. They spend all their free time in the library or at someone's place, studying.

It's hard to be an intellectual on an empty stomach or I'd join them.

Of course, I'm different, but as I look at Annie, who's whispering something in her friend's ear, I wonder if not fitting in is a good thing.

***

When classes are over, I take a long walk home, shivering in my thin jacket. Gavin had to go to his friend's house to get ready for debates the following week. He drove away, and Annie hopped on the bike of the heavily tattooed, muscular guy who, I assumed, was her boyfriend. Mom would have something to say about Annie's bright pink strands and Mac's ink.

A giggle escapes my mouth as I imagine Gavin with his ironed pants and polos talking to someone like Mac. What would they talk about? I have nothing to say to Gavin if we don't talk about school or his parents.

Relief washes over me when I reach my house. Mom must've gone to look for a job—her old truck's missing.

I unlock the door and drag my feet to my bedroom. Maybe a nap will help me forget I haven't eaten since yesterday.

My plans are ruined as soon as my head touches the pillow. The loud music in O'Brien's house pours into my room, making the paper-thin walls vibrate.

I hate that jerk. It's been a couple of days since our first meeting, and he's done nothing more than annoy me, smoking his stupid cigarettes and yelling Kitten every time his eyes landed on me.

After the shitty day I've had, I refuse to put up with him. I roll out of bed and walk up to the window. As I draw the curtains, my suspicions are confirmed — the asshole is there, in his bedroom, smoking shirtless with his elbows propped on the windowsill. It's cold outside, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Yo, Kitten!"

"Go to hell, O'Brien!"

The jerk laughs. "Been there, Princess. Didn't like it. Too damn hot."

"Look at how much I care," I yell and roll my eyes. "I'm only talking to you because I want you to turn the music down. Some of us are tired."

The volume of the rock song drops. "What are you tired of, Kitten?"

Saying I'm tired of everything will give O'Brien more ammo to annoy me. I cross my arms. "You!"

He laughs. "Why, Princess? Don't you see I'm a bad boy? Hell, Kitten, I'm in a gang. I have a gun. I bang chicks for pleasure, but you ain't fun."

The asshat sings the last part, shaking his stupid head and letting his stupid hair fall over his stupid eyes.

"You're an idiot," I huff.

"Whoa, you do have claws, Kitten. So, would you like me to bang you? I can."

"I have a boyfriend, O'Brien. Back off."

O'Brien's brows shoot up to his hairline. "You? A boyfriend? Whoa, Kitten. Wait, is he the pressed pants-wearing dude who left your house barely at eight yesterday? I bet his momma was waiting for him at home with a glass of milk and cookies. He can't fall asleep without his bedtime story. Does she tuck him in and sing him lullabies?"

"Grow up, O'Brien, or does your momma still take you to kindergarten?"

"Love me some claws. Tell me, Kitten, what's your boyfriend's name?"

I shouldn't answer, but my stupid mouth thinks otherwise. "Gavin."

O'Brien tuts, "Nah, he looked like Ferdinand to me. Ferdinand and Kitten, a fucking epic romance. Shakespeare would sob."

"You don't even know who Shakespeare is." I roll my eyes.

"So judgmental, Kitten. Maybe hot guys can also be smart."

Not giving me time to reply, O'Brien stretches and glances at his wrist. "Sorry, Princess. I loved the little chat, but I gotta run. I'm getting laid tonight. Nothing like good head. By the way, what's your favorite position?"

I draw the curtains to the sound of O'Brien's stupid chuckle.

"Leah?" Mom calls.

I press my palms to my flushed cheeks and go downstairs.

Exhaustion clouds Mom's face as she sits at the table.

"No luck?" I ask.

She shakes her head, and I sigh, taking a seat opposite hers. "I'm going to look for a job," I say.

Mom's expression turns stern. "No. The Martins said they'd lend us a hand when you and Gavin go to college. I only ask you to study so you can get a grant. If you work, you won't have time for school."

"Being hungry isn't nice, either," I bite out.

Mom glares at me and balls her hands into fists. "They're good to you, and their son's smarter than the jerks this town's full of. "

"Maybe not all people are jerks and sluts, Mom. If you hate it here so much, why did we move? Gavin isn't perfect; he's just like any guy."

Mom edges forward and grips my chin with one hand. "Listen to me. There are worse things than dating a smart, respectful boy. Do you wanna end up like me? Be good to Gavin and his family because he's your chance to leave this town and become someone. The Martins have money and class. Their son could've chosen anyone, but he chose you. Be grateful."

I want to object and say that despite my shitty clothes and shyness, I'm pretty.

I want to say money isn't everything, but my stomach grumbles painfully, and I nod.