The Bad Boy and the Other Bad Boy

Chapter 21

ROCCO:

I felt Wilson's shoulder thump against mine as he stormed past. 

I spun around, glaring at his back. What the fuck was his problem?

Scoffing in disgust, I turned back around to the corridor. Everyone had been staring after him, whispering to each other. 

The janitor's closet door was open, and after a moment, Sirena came out slowly. Her face was a mix of confusion and hurt, and she was blinking back tears hard. I avoided her eyes, wanting to give her some privacy but not sure exactly what she was doing in the janitor's closet.

Then something clicked, and I turned back slowly to look down the other corridor, which was now empty of Wilson. 

Sirena was staring that way too. 

How did they even know each other? Did - did they just like breakup or something? It was literally her first day at school. 

I felt like what losers must feel like. Out of the loop. Out of the circles. 

My body prickled over with anger. 

Anger?

Why was I angry? 

Jax and Sirena deserved each other - clearly they had already "broken up" or whatever - their overblown egos couldn't exist together. 

I felt a sharp punch on my arm, and turned to see Rio and a bunch of other guys. 

"Wuss good, my man, " he dapped me up, then leaned in close. "You going to Devin's tonight?" 

"Who the fuck is Devin, " I muttered, still looking distractedly at Sirena. 

"Poppy's boyfriend. He's loaded, man. He threw a rager a few months ago. He has a pool. "

"Who the fuck is Poppy."

Rio sighed and slapped me on the shoulder. "Never mind. You're coming though right?"

He looked around me to see what I was looking at. "Oh yeah, that Sirena girl. I saw Wilson and her making out. Ugh. " He shivered in disgust at the thought of Wilson. 

"Hm?" I said. "Oh shit - yeah I'm coming. My last party before tourney. " 

"That's my boy. " Rio and I fist-bumped and he pointed at my face as he walked away, the rest of the guys following him like a pack of dogs. "Bye, baby. " 

I watched them go, then mentally face-palmed. I didn't feel like getting shit-faced this week, or hooking up with girls (wow, I wonder why), or any of the shit I usually did. 

I sighed, and felt the exhaustion I had been fighting for a while - over my parents, over my sexuality, over having to be around people settle heavily on my shoulders.

I rubbed a hand over my face hard and started back down the corridor.

My steps were loud - the halls were empty now. 

I was walking past an open classroom when I looked inside. My eyes widened and I doubled back. 

It was an art classroom, and inside easels were set up at art stations. All the easels were empty, apart from one, to the left. The lights were off, and the room was lit by only a long slim window near the roof. 

It was a charcoal drawing on a tan piece of paper, a large one. It was of a girl, her face upturned, her lips parted. Her hair was wild, as if she was standing in the middle of a storm. Her eyes had been scribbled out violently, as if by an angry child. The corners of her mouth drooped in despair. She wasn't pretty - she was very plain, with thin lips and a large forehead, but somehow she was almost - beautiful. The artist had rendered her beautiful and alluring in her mysteriousness. The angles and shading were harsh and sharp, formed with almost uncontrolled lines that seemed to form an image of their own accord. Like the artist had just randomly slashed at the paper with a piece of charcoal, and the girl had just accidentally appeared from the wilderness of the lines.