I stood at my locker, but my focus was down the hall watching Cedar at hers. Her glasses were sliding down her nose, and she kept blowing her hair out of her face. I swear she was talking to herself. Pulling shit from her locker, only to put it back in again. She closed it, turned, froze then turned back to her locker, opening it again. She grabbed a notebook that looked like a Furby vomited; the notebook was wrapped in hot pink fur, but it was the pen she pulled from her locker, one that had a middle finger on the top of it, that had me stifling a laugh. She jotted something down before closing up the notebook and tossing it and the pen back in her locker. Cedar wouldn’t use that pen in class. It was so tempting to dare her to do just that, but then thinking about what she’d have to do if she didn’t follow through on the dare had the crotch of my jeans growing tight.
She closed up her locker again and started back down the hall. I’d been so focused on what she was doing that I hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. Black jeans, that seemed tame for her, but then I saw the one leg was covered in patches, asymmetrical patterns, colors and shapes. Her white fitted tee had a dipping neckline, which wasn’t helping the tightness in my jeans, and edging the neckline were little rose buds. Ones I just knew she’d done herself. She wore Doc Martens on her feet, but not black like most people wore. Hers were covered in flowers and had hot pink laces.
It was tempting to follow her, to push her up against the locker and kiss her. Instead, I turned and headed in the other direction.
“Hey, are we going drinking again tonight?” Declan asked, as he appeared at my side.
He was a functioning alcoholic at eighteen. His dad owned a fortune five hundred company in Manhattan, like my dad. Our families ran in the same circle, a privileged and pretentious circle, where only the elite of the elite were given an invitation. I wanted out of the circle, and for a time, I had gotten out, but I was pulled back in. Declan enjoyed the benefits that came with being in the circle. He was self-absorbed and partied too much, but he was also only eighteen. Sowing his wild oats before he took over for his father, because that was how it worked in our circle…the son followed in their father’s footsteps…always. He didn’t wait for me to answer his first question before he threw out another one. “What was up with picking that chick yesterday?” He lifted his hands to his head. “The one with all that hair.”
One of the reasons we’d never really be friends was because, when it came to chicks, he was like a little kid with a new toy, he wanted his own, but he wanted yours too. I downplayed my interest when I said, “Just keeping things interesting.”
He studied me for a second before he asked, “You tap that?” I fisted my hands. I wasn’t surprised I’d tripped his competitive nature, but I fucking didn’t like that I put Cedar on his radar. “She’s kind of hot. Odd, but hot.”
Before I rammed one of my fists in his face, I changed the subject. “You finally tap Layla?” I knew he had, but there was nothing that Declan liked more than talking about his conquests.
“Fuck, yeah I did. She does this thing, clenching her hips while she’s riding your cock and her tits. Fuck man, the way they bounce around…” He grabbed his junk. “She told me I could fuck her in the ass.” He adjusted his cock. “I might just have to marry the girl.”
The bell rang saving me from having to answer.
Later in the day, I walked into independent study. Cedar was in my class. She had another notebook opened as she chewed on the tip of her pencil. The class had separated into cliques, likes with likes, but not Cedar. She sat in the front row by herself. When I entered the room, eyes turned to me. Sarah pulled out a chair in invitation; the smile that curved her red painted lips suggested the invite wasn’t just for the seat. I took the spot behind Cedar. She didn’t notice me, too distracted with what she was working on. I heard the whispers, the talk, and then I heard the snickering. I knew it was Sarah, feeling slighted, she tried to turn the focus from her by directing attention elsewhere. And that elsewhere was Cedar.
“Why don’t you just cut it?” Sarah shouted then laughed, when her friends giggled.
Cedar didn’t acknowledge her. Sarah wasn’t having that. She stood, walked across the room, running her finger along my desk, giving me that invitation again, before she stopped in front of Cedar.
“Hello!” she said, her focus going to Cedar’s notebook. “What’s this?” she asked and snatched it from her desk. Cedar’s head snapped up.
“What is that? A shoe?” Sarah held it up. “She thinks that we would wear the shit she does.”
Cedar said nothing. I couldn’t see her face. I thought the silence was because she was upset. The idea of it had my hands fisting. She then stood and, effortlessly, took her notebook back. Sarah stopped laughing, her eyes narrowed. Before she could make a biting comment, Cedar said, “I’m not designing for people like you.”
She sat back down, her pencil moving over the page. Sarah dropped her hands on Cedar’s
