The Return of the Bad boy

Chapter 4: Summer

Cameron hated me.

I wasn't sure at first, but all the signs are pointing toward that spectacular news.

I tried not to get all mopey about it. I tried giving myself a pep talk and convincing myself that I was better off. None of that was working out for me.

Like the year before, Cam and I had multiple classes together. All of which, he sauntered right by my seat with little to no acknowledgment what's so ever.

He kept grabbing one of the seats in the back, except for AP English Lit, where the only available seat was right behind me.

I couldn't tell you how self-conscious it made me. I kept feeling like he was burning a hole into the back of my head. I kept squirming in my seat, not being able to focus on the teacher and the boring assignments we had coming up. Twenty minutes of that torture, and I told myself to stop being ridiculous and do a quick glance over my shoulder. No biggie. I'd be casual about it.

I twisted my upper body as if I was going to reach for something in my backpack next to my leg then I peeped over my shoulder. Cam caught me instantly, and he quirked a brow. If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn I saw a spark of amusement dancing behind his eyes. Dang, it.

I straightened in my seat and promised myself I wouldn't try that again.

And here was the best part, the seats we chose today will be our seats for the rest of the year. Great, right?

Now fast forward to my elective, Minorities in history, the class I shared with one of my best friends, Kendra. We did that thing where we spotted each other, and both our jaws dramatically dropped.

She skipped over to me. We've barely seen each other all day.

"Hey girl, hey!" Kenny said with a wave. She pulled down the hem of her jean skirt before sliding into the desk adjacent to mine.

That skirt wasn't indecently short, and it stopped mid-thigh, stuck within dress code guidelines. But the thing was, Kenny would have never worn that skirt if she hadn't lost a bet against Rosie last weekend.

Rosie was our other best friend that completed the three musketeer vibes that we had going on.

Kenny was forced to strut around, showing off those track star legs of hers. I thought she looked hot, but she would absolutely disagree. She'd rather be in joggers, a tank top with a cropped tee, and running sneakers. She was the sporty one out of the three of us, but today, even her hair was perfectly styled.

Kenny had ditched her messy bun for long barrel curls cascading down her back. With her hair parted down the middle, she had two black crystal clips by her ears, and the contrast against her tawny-colored hair made them pop even more.

I was one of those rare people who couldn't pull off a messy bun. My thick head of curls would probably need to be tamed with some gel and or mousse before attempting to put my hair up like that, which was why I didn't bother trying half of the time. I either let my curls be free, and I resembled some sort of a tumbleweed. Or I did the Ariana Grande look with it half up, half down, and a side bang that I had to occasionally pin to my head or tuck behind my ear because, for the life of me, I couldn't get it to stay in place.

I smiled, happy to see Kenny's face. "Hi," I tried to put a little pep behind it, but I was annoyed and hungry. I hated having a late lunch period. If it weren't for my besties, sharing the same lunch period, it would completely suck.

"What's up with you?" she picked up on my mood instantly through my tone. "Have you seen Cam..." her words trailed off, and I already knew why.

As I suspected, Cameron St. James was hanging out by the door frame, double-checking his schedule.