Blood Moon

2. Ronan

"I swear, Ronan, if you poke me one more time, I'll break that finger."

I leaned back in my chair, covering my mouth with a hand to stop myself from laughing. I'd already gotten in trouble for goofing off in this class earlier this week. Mr. Henry would throw me out for sure if he caught me doing anything funny again.

Bryce sat just in front of me, tapping his pen against his open notebook. He was getting fed up with me.

No more poking him? Fine. Have it his way.

I reached forward and flicked the back of his head.

He spun around in his chair, and I could have sworn I saw Hell through his eyes.

Bryce was never a violent person. He got good grades, his room was always clean, and he was the kind of guy you should bring home if you're looking to please your parents. Being this, he was now left looking at me and my usual smirk, obviously unsure what to do. Nonetheless, the anger never drained from his eyes, and all he could think to do was grab my own notebook and toss it on the floor.

I broke out laughing. Every head in class turned toward us, and Bryce's expression turned cold.

"Wills and Mitchell," Mr. Henry addressed us by our last names. "I expect this behavior from you, Mr. Mitchell, but I'm surprised by you, Mr. Wills. If my class isn't interesting enough for you two, why don't you go find some motivation and come back for your exam Monday."

I tried to suppress my laughter, but that was about as effective as Bryce trying to hide his disappointment. We stood and packed our bags before stepping out of the classroom.

"Thanks a lot," Bryce mumbled, his shoulders slumped.

I clapped a hand on his back. "Oh, don't be so down. You weren't actually listening to that crap, were you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not all of us are so easygoing as you, Ronan. I'm here on scholarship. I need to get good grades."

I scoffed. "Dude, as impossible as it is with Old Man Henry for a teacher, you're already getting a ninety-eight percent in history. I'm sure you'll be fine."

He shrugged his backpack on, releasing a small sigh like he knew this was what came with being friends with me. He didn't look at me as we descended the halls of Malcolm Hill University of NYC. I could see the stress that weighed on him. His lips were pursed like they always were when he worried.

"Listen," I said, reaching into my pocket for my phone. I checked the time, seeing I still had two hours before I had to be at work. "Let me buy you lunch. I screwed up again, and I have to make it up to you somehow."

"I don't need a pity lunch," he spat. "I need you to start taking things seriously. I'm not only mad that you got me kicked out of class, but you really need to start thinking about your future. Do you plan to graduate from college? Because it's your second year, you still don't have a major, and you get kicked out of the classes you don't skip. I'm actually worried for you, Ronan."

I waved him off. "I can take care of myself. My grades are fine. But, seriously, just let me get us lunch today."

He shook his head. "No thanks. I'm just not that hungry."

"Even for Tony's?" I smirked.

He let his head hang. "Dammit. You know I can't say no to that."