Page 48 of Broken Pieces
The sharp tang of burnt oil from the cafeteria clings to everything. Bodies press past one another in slow waves, the scent of cheap deodorant choking out whatever oxygen’s left.
The fluorescent lights hum above, too bright, too unforgiving.
Then I see him.
Zane.
He leans against the lockers with that lazy kind of confidence that dares you to look twice.
Loose black hoodie, hood half-up, shadows falling across his jaw and throat. That mouth pulls into a slow smirk while he talks to some girl I don’t recognize. Every movement is practiced, effortless, but there’s still this tension under it, the kind that says he could explode at any moment.
Behind me, two girls dissolve into breathless giggles, voices syrup-thick with want.
“If he so much as blinked in my direction, I’d crawl into his lap and beg him to wreck me.”
“He could spit in my mouth and I’d moan a thank you.”
They laugh louder, drunk on the idea of him.
I hear it all the time.
The bad boy fantasy they all worship, sold on the smirk and the hoodie without ever seeing the person underneath.
My fingers tighten around the straps of my bag. Nails dig into the fabric. I keep my eyes forward and pretend my chest isn’t already burning.
Cassie steps in beside me, shoulder brushing mine. She nudges my ribs, her voice low and teasing. “Jealous?”
I scoff, way too fast.
“He can fuck whoever he wants. I don’t give a shit.”
Cassie snorts. “Please. You care so loud I could hear it from the science block. You’re one eye twitch away from ripping her extensions out.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s not done.
“Honestly, if looks could kill, that girl would be ashes and Zane would already be shirtless in front of your locker.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. It catches me off guard.
“That’s not even funny,” I mutter, trying to bite down the smile.
Cassie grins. “It’s hilarious. You’re acting all cool while your soul is trying to crawl out of your body and mount him.”
I smack her arm, but the smile won’t leave my face.
That’s the thing about Cassie. She always knows where to press, always finds the one thread that unravels the tension just enough to make me laugh.
But the second the laughter fades, it’s there again.
The truth.
Ugly. Unavoidable.
I don’t want to laugh or joke. I just want him to want me.
The rest of the day crawls by.
Teachers drone on, and every tick of the clock sounds louder than the last. My notes are a mess and my head is somewhere else entirely.
