Seriously, I'm Not a Bad Boy

[4. Serious Lunch Chats]

"Are you a certified stalker?" Joshua asked, his eyes narrowing into slits when he saw me walk to his table at the end of the room, "Or are you going to persuade me with that ability of yours to dissolve my bad boy career that has been up and running successfully for two years?"

I raised my hand up while slowly progressing towards the table, "Whoa, slow down, cowboy. Don't call the cops, I'm not going to try anything."

Arms crossed over his chest, he continued to stare at me as I sat down in front of him. I laid down my bag on the table, making a barrier between us.

After my genius plan surfaced that Tuesday afternoon, I couldn't stop nagging him to agree with my plan. Sure, my intention was good. But in retrospect, Joshua seem to grow more and more annoyed by my presence with each passing day.

To put the cherry on top of it all, I hadn't even known him for more than a week. Thus, I decided to shut up and get to know him first before I do anything stupid (i.e. Sign a contract for anger management classes) without his permission.

Besides, two years is a long time to be a lone wolf, so I could imagine what he felt when I suddenly barged into his life and said, "Hey, I'll make you have friends that would constantly nag you after two years of having close to none friends!" It wasn't that blunt, but it must've felt that way to him.

Yes, I feel like a douchepants now.

Feeling his eyes shooting daggers at me, I shifted uncomfortably on my seat, opening my bag to grab my lunch.

We were the only ones who were in the cafeteria apart from a few lunch ladies. Usually, cafeterias in movies are depicted as a loud and lively place. It's a place where the whole drama starts, even. But here, albeit their surprisingly delicious lunches courtesy of the (sad) lunch ladies, the place was deserted as my grandma's coffin (deserted because both of my grandmas hadn't died yet).

I didn't know how the trend started, but most of us just blended in and ate homemade lunches in class. Save for a few who ran away from school to buy McDonald's only to come back a few minutes later, handful with burgers and fries. While those who wanted peace and quiet took refugee in front of the library where they set up a few desks. So you could imagine how empty and sad the cafeteria was. The silence, especially, was excruciatingly unbearable.

I cleared my throat to push away the lump forming in it, as well as to clear the deafening silence. "So," I began, trying not to shrink down under his scrutinizing looks, "Are you hungry?"

"What makes you think I'm hungry?" He replied sharply, not looking at my eyes at all.

Well, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that you're clutching a cooled water bottle onto your flushed face, suggesting that you've been running for Mr. Tim's class. Oh, and that grey P.E. shirt that's desperately clinging onto your body. But I didn't say any of that, making a wild guess that was bound to happen instead. "That growl of yours doesn't convince me too much."

"What growl-" His words faltered with every syllable when a loud grumble echoed throughout the cafeteria. Crimson red started to form on his cheeks.

I immediately unzipped my backpack and took out the brown paper bag that held my lunch, handing it to him.

"I'm not trying to poison you, if that's what you're implying." I assured him when I saw the skeptical look he was giving me.

He hesitated slightly, "Are you sure? Do you have something to eat?"

"Yeah, you can have it." I smiled, "Besides, I'm not hungry yet."

That day, I woke up earlier than usual. I decided that an hour was perfect to make a decent breakfast for myself, and by decent, I mean two portions of instant udon. Thus making me full by the time I got to school, and it lasted for another four hours.

He reached for it, taking out the contents of the bag. His eyes widen when he unwrapped the green paper enveloping the mystery meal. "Is this the infamous McDonald's breakfast snack wrap?"

I gave him a light grin, "Close enough,"

He raised a brow, inspecting the meal closely, "What do you mean by 'close enough'?"

"Take a bite."

In hindsight, I probably sounded like Snow White's evil stepmother who made her eat the poisonous apple. But of course, he's Joshua and not my pretty stepdaughter. Albeit the fact that after closer inspection, I realized that he had one hell of a jawline, crimson red cheeks that Victorian girls from the 1830s would pinch theirs for, and a slightly pale skin (sadly, his bones were not fragile).

When I saw that he was still raising his brow, I held up my index and middle finger to make a peace sign, "I didn't spike it, I swear."

In response, Joshua pressed his lips into a thin line, arching his eyebrows. Minutes passed as he stared at the meal on his hands before he took a leap of faith by taking a bite. His face was unreadable for a few minutes as he munched.

I mentally hoped and prayed that he wouldn't die of food poisoning or something, because that would totally suck. Especially since it was my first try on making a culinary decent breakfast wrap.

Yes, Olivia did cook, one of the odds.

I didn't even realize I was sweating that hard until I swiped my clammy palms on my grey-striped skirt. Words were whispered to my head, some were inspirational, some were downright horrible, but most of them were questions.

Does he like it?

Is it too spicy?

Too salty?

Too sweet?

Wait, is it supposed to be sweet?

I pushed my thoughts aside, deciding that it was better to ask from the person than to think of the worst. I might still have a chance at this. He hadn't died of food poisoning yet, so it was good.

"So," I drawled, fidgeting my fingers under the table, "What's the verdict, Jury Flynn?"

"Huh?" He looked up. His eyes were disoriented, as if he just woke up from a daydream.

"What do you think about my sand-I mean, the sandwich?" I hastily corrected myself. I cursed under my breath, hoping silently that he didn't quite catch what I was about to say. But alas, he didn't.

His lips formed a teasing smile, "I did not expect the Olivia Swift to be a wannabe Chef."

"I didn't expect the Joshua Flynn to be a Swiftie," I leaned back on the chair, smiling smugly, "or a Directioner."

He immediately put down the empty sandwich wrapper, "Oh, come on, that's totally uncalled for."

"You asked for it," I shrugged, "I was merely stating the fact."

He rolled his eyes, "Oh yeah? Then what are those facts?"

I bit my lip and recoiled slightly. What are those facts?

Other than the fact that his cheeks blush almost every time, and a few other facts he shouted over the course of a week, I barely scratched the surface of Joshua Flynn.

If I wanted to change his image in front of everyone, he had to show his true colors first (which was red, blue, and pink, by the way). But how could he show it when I knew next to nothing about him?

"That's for me to tell you some other time."

And for me to find out before that time comes.

A/n

*sigh* sorry for the crappy chapter, guys. Writer's block loves me too much.

On a lighter note, 2.8k reads and 283 votes (!!!) that is such a huge number and i love you guys so much for it (!!!) thank you for all the support you have given me, i really appreciate it :)