Bad Boy Judah

n i n e

"He said he'll be gone for a few days?"

Mara never learned how to whisper. We sit in the food court, chowing down on sushi rolls. I lift my eyes from my textbook. I might as well put my energy in explaining things to Mara. I rather do that than study macroeconomics.

"That's what he texted me yesterday morning. I don't know how many days. With him... you can't really know anything."

Her brows wriggle, and she dips her chopsticks in the black soy sauce. I'm not sure why he informed me of his departure to I-don't-know-where, nor do I care. At least I can now have time to myself and get back to my usual routine. I watch Mara's face churn as though she's bit into some ginger.

"And you're positive he's part of a gang?" she then asks.

I nod my head, wanting to end the conversation for safety reasons.

"So what are you going to do?" Mara interviews me.

I shrug my shoulders, "Nothing."

"But he's so hot!" she sings.

I roll my eyes, poking my food.

"Is that all that matters to you?" I frown condescendingly.

"Yes."

"Oh, he could be a cold blooded killer, but since he's got abs—it's okay," I raise my voice and my level of sarcasm.

"Don't be so judge-y," Mara rocks her head to the side, "You don't know his story."

I cut her off, "I know it's a bad one. And that's enough for me to keep my distance."

With that, I stack my books together, getting ready to walk to my next class.

Mara laughs at my fed up look.

"If you don't want that Judah, I'll take him!"

"You'll just die faster," I snort.

"Then make sure that my tombstone says 'I was touched by the sexiest, most dangerous man alive'—"

"Mara!" I fume.

♠♠♠

"I've got your grades back from the midterm," says professor Gus, "The TA will pass them to you on your way out. Have a swell day."

Once his white moustache ceased moving, I figured he was done talking. I scurry in line next to my best friend. We exit into the hallway, where other students huddle to reveal their grades to each other. I pull Mara outside, while she scans over her paper.

"What did you get?" I ask, taking my time to find the red marker on my own work.

"86," she answers.

I pout, "I got a 72."

"That's not that bad."

"It's terrible!" I cry out, about to crush my paper, "I feel so hopeless."

Mara tries to cheer me up, "Let's celebrate with some frozen yogurt."

"Celebrate what?" I oppose, "I handed two essays late this week—which I'll automatically lose 10% on. I lost 20% in humanities for never handing it at all. I have to ace the final, otherwise I'll fail the course... And now I got a low mark on my midterm. I never get low marks."

"You're still above average. So nothing really matters after that," she heightens.

"I should have done better," I beat myself up mentally, "Besides, it's too cold for frozen yogurt."