Seriously, I'm Not a Bad Boy

[3. Serious Almost Bets]

There was a (not-agreeable and a very random) resolve when I opened my eyes after half an hour of good nap. Although my back ached and my butt felt like cramping up, I couldn't care less when I shot my head out of my sleeping position and said, "Dude, I'm going to unknot your bad boy reputation."

This statement startled the brown haired boy that sat beside me, who had the said reputation. He flinched, making the pen he was holding flew out of his grasp. Gingerly picking up the pen that fell on the linoleum floor, he muttered a few curse words before turning to look at me, "Damn, Liv, put a bell around your neck, will you?"

He certainly was not accustomed to my tendency of spontaneously saying weird shit. "How dare you," I put a hand over my mouth, feigning a gasp, "What do you think I am? A cat?"

"To Taylor Swift, you are." He smirked.

"I knew it!" I grinned triumphantly, pointing at him, "You are a Swiftie!"

"What?"

"How else would you know that if you're not a Swiftie?"

"It's not my fault my sister blasts 1989 24/7." He replied defensively, face burning crimson red, arms crossed over his chest.

Looking at his cute response, I decided to push his buttons a little more. We went on a friendly banter before he went back to his homework.

"So," I said to break the silence, "Do want to do it or not?"

"Do what?" He looked up from his paper, tilting his head in confusion. I mentally recalled that half of him was in his mind palace when I decided to crash the party. And by party I meant totally boring math equations on his head.

"Me helping you unknot this whole tough bad boy thing." I motioned at him. Even though now that I know his secrets, his bruised eye didn't bother me as much as it did before. And to those people who thought he smelled like booze and a pack of cigarette, I tell you this: you have smelling problems. If this was going out the way a teen fiction would usually go, I'd say that he smelled like the wonderful smell of aftershave (even though I didn't know how aftershave smells like or what an aftershave was). But in all honesty, he smelled like a mix of baby oil and powder. If I didn't know him any better, I might confuse him as baby cupid.

His eyes narrowed for a moment, as if deciding whether I was joking or not. After a while, he let out a chuckle, "That's rich, coming from a girl with the same reputation."

"So?" I chuckled, straightening my back, "That doesn't mean I can't request for back-up."

"You? Back-up?" He laughed as if it was the most ridiculous thought in the world. Olivia Swift had a friend? The thought would never cross someone's mind when they see the glare in my blue eyes.

He stopped laughing when he caught my steely gaze. A frown etched his face, "You're joking, right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" I deadpanned.

"You always look like you're joking."

"Well, I'm not joking right now, kid." I placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the buffiness of it all, but I shrugged the thought off, "And I'm going to show the world that despite the rude remarks that tumbles down like a downpour out of your mouth, you are still a baby with a face of a gangster."

"Gee, thanks." He replied, sarcasm lacing his voice, "Wouldn't know what I'd do without you."

"My pleasure, Mr. Flynn." I tipped my imaginary top hat with a cheshire cat-like grin.

There was a cough coming from the front of the room and we both looked at the source. I was momentarily confused by the fact that Mr. Lugner was sitting there, looking rather uncomfortable and remembered that he was supposed to watch over us (read more: babysit).