Rock, Paper, Scissors

14: Bye-bye Boo

II looked at my reflection, studying the bruises Manson's fingers had left on my skin. There were still there and the more I stared at them, how deeply they cut my heart. How could I have been so wrong about him? How could he manage to keep his nice image when in reality he was awful?

I wanted to wear a turtleneck shirt to hide it, but I didn't have any so I went on with the next best thing: a light magenta scarf my mother had bought me for autumn. I paired it with a simple loose long-sleeve white shirt, jeans, and brown boots. It was probably the first time I had put so much effort into choosing an outfit. I let my hair down in case the scarf was not enough to hide the damage received the day before.

The first thing Noah and I did when we got to school was to pay a visit to Mr. Ferguson.

His face was drained of all colors as he watched the video. Just to make sure he admitted we had enough 'proof' I also played the voice recording I got from the device I had hidden in my locker.

His eyes almost bulged out of his head as he was desperately thinking of a solution.

"No need to panic Mr. Ferguson. It's all very simple, we've got proof, you either expel Manson or we will put this on the internet which would be a scandal for you, for the school, and the mayor. Your choice."

He cleared his throat, recovering to his professional look. "As I said before, I will not admit such insinuations. I told you I could not do anything without solid proof and now I have it. I guarantee you that Mr. Wilde will only put a foot in this school to clear his belongings. I assure you he will no longer torment you or your friends."

"That's all I wanted. Thank you, sir. Have a great day."

We left the office with a full grin plastered on our faces. As soon as the door closed behind us, we high-fived each other, proud of everything going according to plan.

Not long after, we saw an upset Manson, angrily shoving in his bag all the belongings he had stored in his locker. As if he had sensed me, he turned to give me a hatred look which I replied with a smirk and a 'toodle-oo'.

My lips were the only ones smiling. Inside I was hurting. I thought getting back at him would have made the pain go away but it didn't. It wasn't that simple, but that feeling would pass with time.

The more I thought about it the more I realized that what hurt wasn't the heartbreak but my pride and ego. I trusted him against my better judgment, and he treated me as nothing more than a tool. I guess shit happens.

Apparently, Micah got attached to Nick and Tyler and vice-versa, so I had to have lunch with them, again. Although Micah went back to his normal self and treated me like he always did, I couldn't say the same for Nick.

We had just met and yet it felt as if something had shifted between us since yesterday's incident with Manson. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I sensed it. It was as if when before he would avoid me, or say the bare minimum, now he was treating me as if I didn't even exist.

He wouldn't speak to me or even look at me, and when he did the only thing, I could read from his eyes was disapproval and disappointment.

I didn't think I deserved it though. I hadn't done anything wrong. Hell, he didn't even know me, he had no right to have that reaction and put me aside at a table he joined me and my friends. I hated it.

"How are you, Jules?" Micah's voice interrupted my attempt to explode Nick's head with the power of my mind. "I just... I get it, if you don't want to talk about it, but I'm here if you need."

"Yeah, you had us too, but decided to go to them."

"I told you I'm sorry! How many times will I have to apologize?"

"You don't. Sorry. I'm just... Never mind. I'm fine, don't worry." I forced a smile, but he only looked at me in pity. Huh, I hated that too.

I worked so hard for them to accept me as one of the bros, treat me as an equal, and not a 'girl'. All of it went down the drain. If I were a boy, they wouldn't ask me if I was okay, they wouldn't offer their shoulder to cry. They would take me out, make jokes, trying to distract me, and make the situation lighter.

I let the boys do all the talk during lunch. I didn't feel like talking and the few times I did I could swear Nick groaned in irritation. I didn't feel like dealing with that.

Not at the moment at least, so when we were done, I darted to class leaving them behind, not bothered to wait for Nick, who shared that same class with me.

I took my place and decided to focus on the lesson, trying my best to ignore the constant clicking of a pen next to me. Clicking in. Clicking out. Clicking in, clicking out. Click, click, click, click... Click.

I turned to glare at Nick, but his eyes were focused on Mrs. Sanders only his mind was somewhere else, miles away from this class. I could see it by the void in them.

I almost snapped the pen out of his grip but decided against it, knowing it wouldn't change a thing, so I simply went back to concentrating on the teacher's voice.

Once the bell rang, I took my time to clear my space. The room was empty when I finished. I allowed myself to take in a deep breath, readjusting my scarf, only to be stopped by a firm hand.

I turned to find Nick was still there. My lips parted, but no words came out of them. I didn't know what to say, stunned by his sudden approach. I didn't understand what was happening until I felt cold brushing my neck.

He stared at it while his fingers, traced the soon-to-be faded marks Manson had left on me, a blank expression on his face.

"It should be gone by tomorrow," he stated, after a long silence. "You won't need that anymore."

"This?" I managed to ask, pointing at my scarf in his other hand. "I like this style." I scoffed. I looked at him but averted my eyes, suddenly feeling awkward.

"I have to go." It came out more as a question than a statement. He carefully placed the scarf over my neck and left, leaving me to arrange it in a stylish way that could conceal my bruises.

I don't think I'll ever understand him. Were my 'injuries' what bothered him all this time? The entire aura that surrounded him at lunch and during class had completely changed. Was he mad at me because I let it happen? If so, why?

Who cares if I had some bruises that would fade soon? Why did it seem to affect him so much? And so, I went on, the rest of the day thinking of the possible explanations, wondering what triggered him the day before and today. Naturally giving in to my curiosity.