Don't Bring Home a White Boy

Chapter Two: Bradley

The girl that asked for my name at the bus stop keeps looking back at me. She does it when she thinks I'm looking out of the window or when I'm not paying attention. I notice, though. And I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't taking my fair share of glances myself. She's got some nice features. Gorgeous face, beautiful hair, lovely lips. But what got me the most were her eyes. Just...wow. The first time I looked into them, I instantly felt captivated. And guilty. Guilty for raising my voice at her earlier. If I knew she looked like that before I got all defensive, I would have seized the time to take in every aspect of her body and maybe even flirted her up. She's more stunning than any girl I've ever been with in Columbia. And admittedly so, she's the first black girl I've ever felt this way about.

Don't get me wrong, I've liked black girls before. I've never dated one, though. None of the ones back home seemed too interested in white boys.

The only reason I was so uptight earlier is because I just don't want to be here. Like, at all. I'd rather be back in Columbia than trying to live some cushy life in Charleston. But my aunt and uncle thought that my life would be better if we no longer lived in the run down sorry excuse for a nice town. I mean, I thought it was nice. But I guess they want to move up in life. Or maybe it's just that they don't want to be in the same town where my mother died and my father was arrested for her murder.

They think I don't know, but I know that they feel like it's a burden on my shoulder, a loss like that. But it happened seven months ago. I'm over it. They aren't, though. Aunt Charlie lost her little sister, so of course she's still grieving. I mean, I miss my mom, but...I'm fine. But now they've got me out in this big town where there are a lot of haughty, conceited people who are quick to look down upon someone. Kids don't have to worry about anything but not getting caught with their grades below a B+. I don't fit in here.

The guy who that girl's sitting by must be her boyfriend. They seem really close. But I've got a feeling that she might be having second thoughts by the ways she's been looking at me. Or maybe I'm just a little too confident about myself. I mean, I don't mean to brag, but I know that I'm definitely not a bad looking person. Girls like the way I look. So maybe this girl likes the way I look, too. But either way, I shouldn't be thinking about getting a girl so soon. I have bigger things to worry about. Like getting through my first day of high school.

When the bus gets to school, all of the kids file off like a row of ants. I mostly just follow them since I don't really know where I'm going. Once inside the school, I'm swept into the hustle and bustle of kids trying to get to their classes. I walk in harmony with all of them down the hall as I pull my schedule out of my back pocket to look at it. "First period, Mr. Ramirez's Spanish III, Room 2104," I say aloud to myself. I keep walking, looking at each number over the doors, not being anywhere near 2104. I keep searching, though, because what else am I going to do? It's not like I can just stop and just stand here. No one's helping me, nor did I really expect someone to.

After about five minutes of looking for this class, I give up. I know that it must almost be time for the bell to ring. I legit stop in the middle of the hallway, not knowing what else to do. Unfortunately, that brings some attention to myself; kids start looking at me, girls giggling over God knows what. Shit, it can't be this freaking hard. I look around, then end up just staring at the ground. Then I feel someone lightly tap me on my back.

I turn to see who it is, and it's a girl. She's short, maybe 5'4" inches tall. She has silky black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She has on these really thick, ugly glasses that make her green eyes as huge as tennis balls. Her eyes seem to ogle me intensely. "Are you a new student?" she asks me.

"Um, yeah," I answer her.

"You must be lost," she tells me.

"Yeah, pretty much," I say.