LOVE IS FAKE Club

❤️Chapter 3- Love's Proposal💔

Davina- ish ;)

     Today was going to be a long day. Not only did Ms. Samba want a project proposal by the end of the day, it was also Tuesday which meant I still had to sit through four more days of lectures before the weekend. Not that I looked forward to weekends, but at least it was a couple days I didn't have to worry about academics or getting to class on time before the bell rang. That bell hated me.

I was walking around the hallways, though I was technically supposed to be in calculus. It wasn't often I raised my hand to leave the classroom, but Finley had texted in the group chat- which went on a hiatus every three months. I made my way to the bathrooms, seeing Finley and Cody talking beside them. Finley saw me and waved, a nervous smile on his face. He was worried about Ms. Samba's project. Cody turned around with a grim smile, a pronounced black bruise resting comfortably on his jaw. I wanted to kill that man. Cody was tough, debatably the toughest person I had ever met, but his dad knew how to swing and the bastard- even drunk- hardly missed.

He rolled his eyes at my glare, "I know what you're going to say and the answer is no. I'm fine, Nash, really." I scoffed, like I cared about his rehearsed speech, "why won't you come live with me?" Cody looked down at his brand new Air Force 1's, a heaviness in his eyes. He didn't want to be a burden, and as many times as I've told him he wouldn't be one, he refused to believe me. Cody's parents had a nasty divorce only a week after his eleventh birthday; they hated each other and both wanted to forget the existence of that time period of their lives. Unfortunately, for Cody, he was a constant reminder of their failed marriage. It was the main reason his mom wanted nothing to do with him, he was a burden and a product of her marriage to Christopher (Cody's dad). It was the same for Christopher, it didn't help how much Cody resembled his mother, part of the reason why Christopher didn't mind messing up his face every now and then.

It didn't matter who Cody was with, everywhere he went he was a burden, and so, he believed himself to be one no matter who tried to tell him otherwise. "I'm okay, it's not bad. Just one hit really." I narrowed my eyes, not missing how his hand nonchalantly grabbed his shoulder. I pushed at his hand, and he hissed in pain, stepping away from me. "Shove off!" I rolled my eyes, "save the attitude from someone who doesn't care." "Stop it!" Finley shouted, catching the two of us off guard right as Cody was about to advance on me.

Finley's eyes were glassy, his bottom lip quivered subtly, He hated fighting, he had to hear enough of it from his parents much less to hear it from us, the closest thing he had to family. We mumbled a sorry, glancing around the hallway awkwardly. Cody pointed at a pamphlet behind Finley's head stapled to the wall. Finley carefully pried it off, reading over it with a curious look. He held it up to show us, it was a pamphlet about joining a club.

"No way. I'm not joining some weird nerdy club who's idea of a fun night is a boxing chess marathon." I had to agree with Cody on this one, clubs were boring, especially the ones at Whitley. If they weren't about bettering your studying skills, helping clean up an orphanage, or volunteering for a rich snobby neighborhood- then it wasn't approved. "No, no, I'm not saying we join one. I'm saying we should create one." The idea was ridiculous, we had far too much going on in our personal lives and trying to keep up with this hell hole to run a club. "Fin-" "Hear me out!" We both raised our hands, giving him the floor to speak.

"I've been thinking about the project for a few weeks now. Ms. Samba's hot topic in class, as we know, revolves around love. Every book we read, every short story we write, every homework assignment we're given is all about love and the importance of it. But, what if we combat this idea?" He was smiling, the kind of smile that led somewhere. Cody smirked, "you mean like speaking out against love?" "Think deeper." My eyes widened as a sinister smile stretched my lips, "beating Ms. Samba at her own game, right where it hurts. Proving love is fake." He beamed at me, shaking the brochure passionately, "If Ms. Samba is so sure love is real, then she'll be ready to defend and prove her standing. She'll have to let us do this project, to prove her faith to herself and the student body."