IVY'S  P.O.V

I'm done for the day at five fifteen and most of my classmates are thinking of filing a complaint against our Environmental Science teacher, who assumes way too much.

The class was supposed to start by sharp three fifteen, and Mrs. Johansson ended up arriving by three thirty.

Instead of apologizing for coming late, she had the audacity to put the blame on us, lecturing us on how we are all wasting our parents' money and how the youth of the current generation are rotten and spoiled based on the way we have been brought up, with no sense of work ethics.

I order a simple glass of tonic water and there's a cover band playing in here at Lester's, doing some covers of songs that were popular in the eighties.

Chace and I agreed to meet up after four-thirty A.K.A the time my stupid class was supposed to end.

Speaking of which, I might need to stop by at Starbucks since sleep is totally out of the equation. I had managed to give Chace a call in between classes, but it went straight to voicemail. I decided to text him via Instagram, informing him I won't be able to make it on time. I didn't receive any response after that, just the seen appearing on my screen.

I order another glass of Tonic water to cool down the volcano exploding in my stomach. Why does it matter to me? It's not like we are on a date, after establishing the whole "we are better off as friends and nothing more" cliche.

Still, timing does hold a hell lot of importance to me since I am sacrificing my sleep and even if we are hanging out as friends and we made plans to meet up, it is crucial that we respect each other by not showing up an hour late.

At least he could've had the decency to give a response, acknowledging he has received my message and fix up a different timing. A simple alright, give me a call once you are done would have been highly appreciated.

The cover band that is now singing the opening lines of Guns and Roses's Paradise City is so painfully insulting, I wish if Axl Rose was somewhere here in the crowd and flips his finger at the band, like he did while performing in Australia.

I was about to get up and leave when Chace walks in, heading towards where I am seated. He is wearing a navy blue shirt and ripped denims with superstars , making him look even more attractive than he appears to be. I catch sight of the tribal wolf tattoo on his arm, which I strangely haven't noticed before.

"Sorry I'm late," he says, pulling a stool and sitting next to me. That's it ? I don't get an explanation? "

"You are kidding, right?" Chace raises a confused brow. "I said ... I'm sorry...What more do I have to tell you?"

"You can tell me what took you so long and why you seenzoned me. Oh and by the way, just so you know? I won't be getting any sleep tonight."

"Seenzoned you? W"-

"Save it. Mrs. Johansson's assignments are literally waiting to screw me sideways. If you must know, I have an education to take care off and I like it when my valuing my time is taken into consideration."

The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement as he struggles to contain his laughter. Chace's hair as usual is tousled, and if I look at him closely, he looks a little tired.

"What happened to the no crossing the boundaries agreement, we had this morning?"

I swallow, taking a sip of my water only to find it empty. I order for another round. "Does this mean you have changed your mind?" He mockingly comments, looking at me with refined interest bringing his chair closer.

"It's about the timing," I snap, shifting my focus at the cover band, trying to comprehend what is so special about them that everyone in here are starting to clap for their joke of a performance. Or it could be due to courtesy.
"I don't know what went into the person's head who hired them to play."

"Forget about their performance, you won't believe what the name of the band is," I turn my head curiously.

"Why what are they called?"

"Shiz Nits Douchebags."

I snort and break into a rolling on the floor laughter, I almost feel my bladder losing its control, after the amount of water I had consumed. I need to pee. Bending down, I rub my calf two times, a technique mom had taught me to control my bladder.

I laugh again, the name that is forever going to be imprinted in my head. I suddenly forget all that I wanted to say to him, the fear of how awkward it would be hanging out as friends and what topics I need to come up with to keep the conversation between us going smoothly.

If it hadn't been for the cover band, we probably wouldn't be laughing and making complete fools of ourselves as most people turn their attention to us, thinking we both are under the influence of crack. I don't really give a shit anymore.

"Who names their band, shiz nits douchebags? It's worse than naming yourselves "Trippin Bogus" or "Spaceball Dweebs." 

Chace grins, his laugh reverberating through my skin as he sips his beer. I smile nervously taking a bite of my Onion ring. I can feel his gaze lingering on me, causing my heart to skip a beat. What would it be like to actually be like to date him?

Before I could say anything to him, a woman shouts across from the restaurant, a small boy at her side cowering in a corner. It looks as if the boy is trying his best not to cry, and the expression on his face is so terrifying, I feel sorry for him.

No one seems to be worried about what is going on, but to them it is a problem if two teenagers are laughing and who surprisingly happen to have a good time.

Chace's eyes turn steely and cold, a muscle tensing his jaw. He closes his eyes and turns to look away from the woman and the child, hearing his knuckles snap. "Are you ok?" I ask cautiously.

"Yeah." He mutters, his Adam's apple moving as he spoke.

"I wish I never had you!"

The woman across abruptly catches us off guard, her voice rising with every passing minute. At this, Chace angrily gets up and storms towards the dining area where the woman is seated with her child, grabbing hold of her arm.

"What sort of a mother are you to speak to your child like that?!" He booms with fury.

"Who the hell are you t"- 

"Then what was your fucking purpose of giving birth to him?! You were about to bloody hit him for something he wasn't responsible for, but your bloody own!"

The restaurant goes silent. I get off my stool and walk towards where Chace is standing, staring down at the woman like a rabid Rottweiler.

"You have no idea how hard it is to be a par"-

"If you want to correct him then give him the fucking love that he deserves, you inconsiderate bitch," Chace spits.

"What if he grows up to be an adult one day, has kids of his own and ends up doing the same thing to your future grandkids, whether you want them or not?"

The woman goes silent, still with shock.

Chace then turns to look at everyone watching, raising a frustrated hand in the hair. "Is there anyone else in here who fucking thinks we are all bloody mistakes?!" He bellows. "Anyone?!"

This is the first time I'm seeing him go ballistic like this, I'm pretty sure it's not only me but everyone here in Lester's might have felt the words penetrate through their skins, sinking deep.

"None of you should ever consider yourselves as parents if you don't know a goddamn thing on how to raise your kids, looking at them like they are a pice of garbage!"

Chace sweeps his hands  across a table, glasses and cutlery dropping to the floor. He then proceeds to kick a pile of chairs, tears sting my eyes.

No one dares to stop him. No one questions his wrath. I even hear a few people look on with sympathy, some sniffing and some wondering if they should call it an early night.

"I'm out of here," his voice shakes, whizzing past me violently swinging the door open. I run behind him.