Caught in Us (Lost 3)

"Oh, I’m dying to know."

"This whole arrogant, bad-boy image, always dressing in black and rebelling against your father is very passé."

He drops his arms, his eyes growing cold. "You know nothing about me."

"Oh, the misunderstood bad boy. You’re turning into a walking cliché by the second."

"So are you. The rich girl who thinks she's better than everyone else. Someone dressing like you has no business giving fashion advice," he says. His comment stings, but I don't let it show.

"I think I'm better than everyone else? You look at everyone around here like they're scum, you frustrated moron."

"Frustrated?" There is a hint of surprise behind the coldness in his tone.

"Yeah. Only frustrated people enjoy taking their feelings out by being rude to others like—”

"Oh, not this again. Go bore someone else with your defense of spineless teachers. Why don't you go hang out with the principal since you both seem to enjoy the subject so much?"

I purse my lips. "If you hate it so much here, why don't you leave?"

"I can't." He fixes his backpack on his shoulder, his hands twitching along the strap. "If I had a choice, I would be out of California in a second." He shakes his head. "Have you ever felt so trapped in your skin you were sure you’d asphyxiate?"

The desperation in his question catches me off-guard. His bright green eyes bore into mine, demanding honesty, so that's what I give him.

"Yes. It's a feeling I wake up to most days."

I'm expecting him to mock me, but he just says, "For your information, I’m not wearing black to make any statement. I'm mourning someone."

"That just makes half of the things I said to you awful," I babble. "I'm sorry."

"You think just half of the things you said to me were awful? In this case, you're awful," he says, but with a smile. Then he bursts out laughing. Not in a mocking way; in a heartfelt, cheerful way.

I still hear his laugh echo in the corridor as I make my way to the rooftop.

***

As usual, I get too engrossed in my reading and am almost late for class. Sitting next to Hazel, I take out my books when Damon appears in front of our desk.

"You dropped your phone in the hallway," he says politely.

"No, I didn't." I look in bewilderment as he drops my smartphone in my hand. Damon smiles mischievously, walking over to his desk as Ms. Evans enters the class. Wouldn't I have noticed if my phone had fallen on the corridor during our altercation? Not really...I was too preoccupied with him to notice anything else. My skin heats up at the memory of his closeness. I swivel to ask Hazel something and find her staring at me with curious eyes.

"Do you have anything to share about your morning?"

"I read a book," I mumble.

Ms. Evans starts talking about the Bronte novel we had to read when I receive a text.

You should take better care of your things.

The sender appears only by number, not name, but I know who it is. Sure enough, one glance in Damon's direction confirms my suspicion. He's not looking at me or his phone, but lifts the corner of his lips. It dawns on me that I might not have dropped my phone at all. He must have taken it from my pocket.

And you shouldn't steal other people's things, I reply.

Hey, you were eavesdropping, so don't go all saint on me. You were the first offender.

I smile, overcome by a strange giddiness. I can't believe he stole my phone, or that he got my number, or that he's texting me right now. I'm grinning like an idiot. It's the first time a guy has written to me and not asked for my notes or something similar. Given our less-than-friendly interactions yesterday and this morning, this is a surprise. Sometimes it takes a healthy fight and a familiar pain to gain a friend.

"After the battle of stares yesterday follows the battle of messages?" Hazel murmurs, smiling. "Bad boy is showing quite an interest in you."