I'm snapped out my daydream with a startle, after hearing the spine-tingling shriek of a chair scrapping against the floor, and I have to blink the present back into focus before glancing around for the source of my break in concentration. And then my mouth drops open, for I'm staring straight into the blue eyes of Garrett Reyes.

He smiles at me, but I'm nervous because I can see the annoyance in his face. My mind beings to race with questions, like: What is he doing here, he has Language Arts this hour? and Is he mad at me for earlier? Will he say we need to break up?

Seconds, possibly even minutes, stretch out between us without a single word being uttered. I can't bring my tongue to work and form syllabus into words; I'm too afraid to be the first one to break the silence.

Garrett glances down at my painting and picks up one of my paint brushes as he hushedly mutters, "So a little Kat talked to me today . . ."

I internally cringe, and I can only imagine what she could have said. She's too protective and although I love her dearly, I really wish she would stay out of this fight. I bite my bottom lip, my gaze on my fingers as I play with my paint brush, and timidly mutter, "What did she say?"

Garrett smiles at my question, and like a mighty lion stacking his prey he slowly rises from his chair and walks around the table. I feel his chest brush against my shoulder as he leans down close to my ear, and my breath catches in my throat. I can't move; I can't speak. He leans closer, and his lips brush my ear when he whispers, "She said I'm using you. Do you think she's right, am I using you, Beau?"

I imagine all the color draining from my cheeks as I shakily reply, "N-No."

Yes.

"Then why did she seem so convinced that I am?"

I gulp and nervously fiddle with my fingers. I'm not a good liar, so how can I answer him and make it sound like the truth? I wish I had superpowers, then I could just turn invisible and run away. But this isn't some fantasy with superheroes and villains, this is my life and I need to be my own hero. I need to take control, and mustering up every ounce of courage I possess, I turn around to face Garrett.

"I'm not like you, I don't ooze self-confidence. Kat probably only said something because she doesn't want to see me get hurt, and —- and someone like you can easily hurt me," I mutter before I once again drop my gaze, and tentatively peer up at him from under my lashes.

Garrett sighs, and for a split second I think I see pity in his eyes, but the emotion vanishes too quickly for me to be sure. "You're not like me," he agrees. "Which is why, I like you. It's boring for me dating someone like me because they're so easy to predict, but you always surprise me, and I like the challenge."

I frown, and my bravo is still working when I reply, "So if I wasn't such a challenge for you, I'd be nothing to you?"

Garrett nervously laughs and rubs the nape of his neck as he mutters, "That's not what I said, I—-"

"That's exactly what you said," I say, cutting him off. He blinks in surprise at my sudden backtalk, and he seems speechless. I purse my lip and stand up, causing him to have to step back too. I gather together my canvas and paints and brushes before muttering, "I'll talk to you later, Garrett." And then I hurriedly leave the room, knowing with a pang in my heart that he won't follow me because who would ever care enough to mend me?

The hallways are silent beside the echo of teacher's voices spilling out from beneath the closed classroom doors. I sigh to myself, finding the silence and bodiless hallways peaceful, without the need to duck beneath arms and dart out of people's way. Although I'm on the taller side and stick out because of my reddish brown hair, people still seem to run into me and never bother to offer a hand when I fall. But I've grown use to the rudeness of my fellow classmates, and don't try to let it bother me as much anymore.

Whenever I have a particular bad day at school, there's this corridor on the west side of the second floor stairwell that no one uses except my friends and I. I like to go there to escape the world and everyone in it, and as I'm rounding the last bend in the stairwell, I see someone is already occupying our little hiding hole. I bite my bottom lip and quietly edge closer down the stairs, curious who it could be. Their back is facing me, and their features are hidden in the shadows beneath the stairs, but oddly I feel like I know them. They aren't any of my friends though, but the feeling of familiarity stays with me.

I creep even closer, and because I'm naturally uncoordinated my shoe slips off one of the bottom steps, and to prevent myself from falling down I drop all of my things so I can quickly grab the handrail. I watch horrified as all my expense art supplies tumble down the last two steps before scrattering across the floor, and I silently curse myself for being so clumsy. Once I've regained my footing, I quickly chase after everything and make sure nothing is broken. I count my paint brushes and pencils, since the little box I keep them in broke open with the fall, and realize with horror that I'm missing one of them. I quickly pile everything together and jump to my feet, my movements are wild and frantic, so when I spin around to begin my search I smack into someone.

In the chaos of dropping all my art supplies, I completely forgot about the person sitting under the stairs, and being the klutz that everyone knows me to be, I smack straight into them.

I let out a soft groan when my forehead connects with their chin, and squeeze my eyes closed against the aching throb. I try rubbing away the pain as I peek one eye open and glance up at them.

Oh my gosh, Christian! I think horrifically. I feel my cheeks immediately begin to burn as he cringes and rubs his jaw. I can't believe my awkward ass just hurt him! Can this day get any worse?

"I'm-I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean to—-"

"It okay," Christian says, cutting me off as he sighs and drops his hand to his side. He smiles thinly down at me as I stare up at him shocked, surprised he isn't mad at me for hurting him. "I think you dropped something," he mutters as he holds up my missing paint brush.

My mouth gapes open in surprise at his unexpectedly calm and easy attitude and non-hurtful words, probably making me look like one of the most unattractive fish.

I reach out hesitately, even more surprised when he doesn't tease me by jerking it away. I take it carefully to avoid touching his skin, and mumble, "Th-Thank you."

Christian nods with another smile and replies, "You're welcome, Beau, and next time be carefully. I won't always be here to pick up your paint brush . . ." Christian says before, with another ghost of a smile, he steps around me and jogs up the staircase, the distance bang of the door closing behind him echos throughout the stairwell.

Why was he so kind to me? I wonder as I carefully turn my paint brush over in my hand. Maybe it's because he's in our circle of friends now? Or maybe . . . maybe he's just a nice guy?

But he's so confusing. He hardly talked at the church, and he never talked at lunch except to communicate with me through a note. He's too difficult for me to read, and oddly I find myself wanting to know more . . .

Why must I complicate my life? I wonder exasperatedly.

Sighing, I gather together my things and tuck myself away underneath the stairs, and pull out one of my notebooks as I begin to aimlessly doodle while thoughts fill my head.

I wonder how Christian discovered this spot? I think as my hand sketches out an oval, that the longer I lose myself in my silent musings begins to take on the form of an eye. I place my fingertip under the eye and drag it across the textured paper to make a shadow, and I purse my lips as I slowly study it. The eyes aren't random, they belong to someone I know who carries around an air of mystery mingled with kindness.

Why am I so caught up on him? I wonder as I continue to draw the strong arch of his eyebrows, followed by the gentle lines of his nose and the natural curve of his lips. He's a stranger to me, and yet, out of everything I'm capable of drawing I chose Christian . . . The desire is an enigma to me, one I've never had the pleasure of knowing until now. So the question rests, should I pursue this new feeling or fear it?

Word count: 1,585

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A/N: Hello, lovelies! So I've changed the update days to Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday.

What do you think Beau will do next? Will he break up with Garrett like everyone is so set on trying to convince him to do, or will Garrett do something to win Beau over for good?

Question: Who's your favorite character and why? Who's your least favorite character and why?

Thank you, lovelies, I hope you enjoyed the update and I appreciate you taking your time to read this. I wish you all an amazing day/night!

Love from,
BunnyBaekkiee ❤️