Breaking Her Bad by Michelle Mankin

 

 

 

 

 

Kyle

Stopping outside the classroom, I peered inside through the narrow glass insert. Searching for Claire, I found her immediately, wearing her red boots and a T-shirt with birds all over it.

She was so pretty with her golden hair in a long braid, looking so studious sitting at a front-row desk beside Missy. Seeing her earlier, I couldn’t have stayed away if I wanted to, and I certainly didn’t want to. Not while I had a chance to look at her while she didn’t know, and no one could see.

My gaze burned as I stared. I didn’t even blink, fearing she might disappear.

I never thought I’d see her again, and yet here she was at Southside High in Mr. Schubert’s classroom. I could hardly believe it, and I certainly didn’t understand it. Although I’d get to the bottom of why eventually, for now I basked in the glow of her brightness, relieved to see that she seemed okay after the shit that went down with Belinda.

My vision limited by the glass, I couldn’t see Mr. Schubert, but I could hear him droning on about Shakespeare. The guy was passionate about his subject, and he was one of the nice teachers. Even if he did see me, he would probably be cool about it. He was almost as chill as my math teacher, Mr. Yurelli, who had given me a hall pass with no questions asked.

Claire’s brow furrowed above the black rims of her glasses. Her gaze was focused. Behind her lenses, her light brown eyes were as thickly lashed and stunningly beautiful as I remembered. In fact, all of her was. Her shirt and jeans clung to her smoking-hot curves.

However, she was thinner than I remembered, and she had circles underneath her eyes like she wasn’t sleeping well. While I pondered with concern why that might be, my mind whirled with additional questions.

What brought her to Southside? Why would someone from Lakeside ever come here? She was too beautiful, too uncorrupted, too bright a light for a world shrouded by darkness.

While I continued to stare and wonder, a long wisp of her blond hair escaped her braid. Floating on invisible air currents, it caressed her cheek. I suppressed a groan, wishing I could touch her creamy skin once more.

Claire. Drinking her in, I longed for her.

The boy only she saw broke the lock on the watertight box in my mind and surfaced. He gulped in needed air. He’d—I’d—been suffocating without her.

My body was too cold without her warmth. My world was darker without her light. My heart, the pieces that she’d temporarily glued back together on a hot summer night, stirred from the ground where they’d remained since their crash-landing.

I reached for the door handle before I remembered where I was. Who I was. Longing was all I had. I could no longer have her. I crumpled the paper permission slip in my grip.

Missy leaned across the aisle and whispered something to Claire. They exchanged glances. Claire’s expression was soft and so was Missy’s.

I’d never seen Missy Rivera’s features soft. She was a product of her environment, carved out of the same toxic materials as me. Hard, not soft, because she had to be. Settling for shit because shit was all she’d ever had. Yet there she was, leaning toward something better, unabashedly basking in the glow of Claire like I once had.

They were friends. When did that happen?

The question arose, another one without an answer.

It wasn’t my right to ask. I’d crossed the line to have Claire in Lakeside. I’d withheld information, then I’d left her. Finally doing the right thing. I needed to continue to do the right thing and stay away from her . . . for her sake.

I dropped my arm to my side. My fingers fisted tightly around nothing. The stirring inside me stilled. I forced it still.

Yes, Claire is here.

I didn’t know why or how that had happened, but I was Kyle the drug dealer here. I did what I did, and she would quickly discover the truth. It was only a matter of time before someone, maybe even Missy, would tell her who and what I was.

And then, any warm feelings Claire might continue to have for me—ones that kept her wearing my jacket around her waist—would grow cold. Affection would turn to disdain, maybe even hate like I’d warned her.

Maybe she already hates me.

But hate wasn’t in her eyes when she’d looked at me earlier. Only longing that seemed to equal mine.

Frustrated, I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t allow myself to imagine or speculate about Claire at all. I shouldn’t even be here.

Backing away from the door, I could barely breathe. It felt like my ribs were broken again, but I knew it was only my heart.