Backstreet Boy

|Chapter 21: Sneaking Out|

Isabella

Monday rolled around now, and with only the odd text from Jason here or there (when he wasn't lapsing in his professionalism and presumably just ignoring my texts for hours on end), there wasn't much news to broadcast to Lizzie except for notifying her of everything that happened when Jason was taken.

She was aghast throughout the whole story with interjecting gasps.

Things with Miles, however, after being so serene had taken a turn for the worse. He cornered me at my locker at the end of school whilst everyone was rushing out from the dreaded day in the opposite direction. He stood next to me and leaned against the adjoining locker.

"How's everything?" he asked.

Stuck in somewhat of a perplexed state of mind, I said, "Life is good?" as more of a rhetorical question than a statement.

"I meant with Jason," he clarified.

"It's fine," I said bluntly. "But I fail to see how it is any of your concern, however." My tone was awfully dry whilst I was talking to Miles, but it did validate the whole arguing situation that went on for too long before we ended.

"He's bad news," he said.

Having completed my objective of exchanging my Math book for my Textiles textbook – a recent addition to my assets from Mrs Philip at the end of last week – I slammed the locker shut and joined the current of surging students to the end of the corridor, out the double doors and down the few steps to the parking lot. Some teachers were already driving home, but the majority were seniors and juniors. Abigail was getting better with her driving and she was taking her tests shortly with Father's motivation to do so.

"He's no worse than you are," I replied.

Miles was trotting slightly to stay by my side considering I was doing extra long strides and weaving in and out of people, overlapping them. He was lagging behind a little, but consistently managed to keep up and get back to my side.

"He lives in The District for starters," Miles objectified.

"Just because he lives there, doesn't make him a bad person, Miles."

We made it to the doors when Miles replied with, "No, but it doesn't make him as good as I am. You shouldn't be with him."

"What?" I said, barely concentrating on Miles' conjectures as I was observing the cars that were about to run us over. Then I jogged across the parking lot to my own car; that's when what Miles said clicked in my head and I tuned around sharply. "Jason and I are just friends."

"You want to be friends with some guy who smokes and drinks frequently? Someone who races cars for money? Someone who lapses into his criminality side sometimes and breaks the law in the dead of night? That's who you want to be friends with?"

Unlocking my car, lividness was boiling inside of me. "Just because he smokes and likes to drink alcohol doesn't make him a bad person. Can you remember your experiences of alcohol, Miles? What happened to you when you went to high school parties and drank until you were vomiting over the toilet?"

Miles' face paled slightly. "They were mistakes."

"Yeah, we all make mistakes, don't we? No one is perfect. But just because Jason drinks, he doesn't strike me as the type to get into fights for no reason at parties and "protect" other girls."

"You shouldn't be defending him."

Having enough of the conversation, I opened the door to my Aston Martin and got in. Chucking my designer bag to the passenger seat, I turned back to close my door to see Miles had stepped forward so he was blocking the door from my grasp. Groaning, I ran a hand through my wavy hair, ruffling the ends.