Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

THE BOARDERS: 23

Sam

Calculus marks my last class of the day, and I say a silent prayer that it goes quickly. Since lunch, I've been itching to get the hell out of school and head to the gym to blow off a little steam

When I enter the room, Jared's already there, sitting in the last row. Desks are taken on either side of him—(I'm secretly relieved by this)—so I settle into the seat diagonally in front, jutting my chin his way in greeting. I'm digging in my bag for a pen when Weaver says, "Hey, Lo," in his friendliest good-guy voice. My head snaps up so fast I almost knock myself out of my seat, and there's a half-second where I wonder if he's just fucking around to see if I react, but Somers really has entered the classroom. Or, to be more precise, she's standing in the doorway, looking confused and annoyed. It only takes me a second to figure out why: all the seats in the small classroom are taken, except for the one directly in front of Jared...and beside me.

She turns, as if she's about to book it out of there, but the bell rings and Mrs. Alvarez glances at her attendance sheet before saying, "Logan Somers? There's still a seat left for you." She grins kindly and directs Somers toward the empty seat beside me. Mrs. Alvarez is the best.

Somers swallows and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling before muttering a low "thanks" and trudging in my direction. She ignores me completely as she slides into her seat, digging into her backpack and pulling out a pen and notebook. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jared leaning forward, whispering something in her ear. She waves him off like he's an annoying bug, and I can't help the grunt of laughter that escapes me. Somers' shoulders straighten but she doesn't acknowledge me otherwise.

I glance her way continually throughout class, hoping to catch her looking my way too, but she stares resolutely ahead. Jared, behind her, is scribbling madly—way more than is required for a first day of class, even if it is Calc. Just before the bell rings, he tears a sheet of paper from his notebook and folds it up before tapping Somers on the shoulder. I try to be discreet as I watch this, but my blood is suddenly boiling. What the fuck is Weaver doing? Is he seriously writing a letter to this chick?

She ignores him, twice. When he taps her a third time, Somers spins, snapping, "Can I help you?"

Weaver holds up his hands in a 'whoa' motion. "Sorry, Lo," he says, grinning apologetically. "I just wanted to give you this." He holds out the paper. She looks from it to him and back again.

"No thanks," she says after a second, reaching for her backpack and slipping out of her seat, swinging the bag over her shoulder as she stands.

"Lo, please."

"Not. Interested." She shoots him a disgusted look and storms out of the room. The interaction is quick, but it appears the rest of the class was itching to get out of school too. Everyone is gone; it's just Weaver and me left.

"What're you still doing here?" Weaver asks as Somers disappears out the door.

"Waiting on you, man. Making sure you didn't need backup."

"Seriously? Backup?" Weaver gives me a strange look before picking up the folded paper he had tried to pass off to Somers and sliding his bag over his shoulder.

"You know I'm headed to cross-country now, right?" He asks as I trail him into the hall. Not for the first time, I wonder what the hell I'm doing. I've never been the type of guy to follow. And while Ott has had plenty of influence over me in the past few years, it's not been without reason. My waiting on Weaver and chasing him down the hall like a puppy? Not cool.

"I know," I snap, taking my annoyance out on him. "Like I said, I was just sticking it out in case you wanted support with Somers. That chick'll take your head off if you're not careful." (Just saying it, I think of her parked in front of Admissions saying, "I'd listen to him, Lip Ring. She bites too," and suddenly I need a cold shower.)

We're in the hall now, and up ahead, Somers' dark hair turns a corner into a classroom. Weaver curses to himself. "Damn," he mutters. "Forgot she has detention today."

I can't help myself. "Detention? Why?"

Weaver gives me an amused grin. "She was late to practice on Saturday. Ott accused her of sleeping with you. Basically," he adds as I balk. "Glosterman tried to call her out for being late and she made some big speech about slut-shaming and tardiness. Anyway, Glosterman threw her in detention. Sucks, though. I was hoping I could catch her at practice." Jared looks wistfully into the room where Logan is sat between two underclassmen. It's a tough call who looks most pissed to be landed in detention on day one, but Somers might just be winning.

I can't help the flare of guilt that rises in me at Weaver's story. It's getting worse, the fucking unrelenting want. And I didn't help anyone—least of all myself—by playing into Ott's stupid-ass game during lunch today. "Have fun at practice," I say, slapping Weaver's hand and heading right—toward the dorms—as he heads left toward the fieldhouse. The gym's heaviest punching bag is screaming my name.