The Boy In Handcuffs || [n.h.] *discontinued*

Chapter One

*1 year later*

"Fayth, would you please come up and explain the quadratic equation?"

Everyone around me groaned as I proudly walked toward the smartboard, a smile spread across my face. Grabbing a smartboard pen, I began explaining the equation.

I could tell nobody was paying attention. While my math teacher was too busy fiddling with who knows what, my eyes bounced around the room quickly, but long enough to notice the actions of my classmates.

A few kids dozed off already, while others were probably on their phone. Even though I couldn't see the electronics through the wooden desks, I knew that people don't usually look at their glowing crotch while smiling.

The rest of the period went by really fast. Before I knew it, lunch came rolling around the corner.

I speed walked to my locker, pounded in my combo, then nabbed a Gatorade and two granola bars.

Good enough.

I found a stranded lunch table in the cafeteria and pulled my phone out of my booty pocket as I sat down. My thumb found the familiar spot where Malaysia's contact was on my iPhone.

Me: bruh

Me: where r u

Me: i'm lonely

Me: HALP

Me: IM DYING

Me: of loneliness

Me: cum here

Me: wait

Me: ew

Me: don't do that

Buttcheek: ew no

Buttcheek: I'm coming

Buttcheek: I was doing something yeezuz

Buttcheek: oh I see you

I looked up just in time to see my best friend strutting over to the table I was sitting at.

She slid right next to me. "You know, I think the lunch ladies have been giving us mercy lately." Malaysia dropped her lunch tray onto the table, pieces of lettuce from her Caesar salad spilling out of the bowl.

I just laughed in response, taking a bite out of my granola bar.

Malaysia has been my best friend since day one. We met in preschool, and neither of us liked the other at the time. For some reason, we couldn't be together without arguing about pointless things. The memory's hazy, but I remember we used to pull each others hair just for a pink crayon. Years and years after that, we stuck together through school, having most of our classes together. Plus, we don't fight much anymore.

"Can I come over today?" she murmured through her salad.

I shook my head. "Nah. My mom needs my help at the Cells." The 'Cells' is what we call the juvenile detention my mother works at.

"Oh well. See you in fifth period."

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