Rowdy Boy

“Don’t you understand? This is bigger than you. Bigger than that fucking joint,” I say. “You’re risking our whole fucking band. What if we get caught completely stoned?”

“Relax, it’s just some weed.” He leans back in his chair and sticks both hands in his pocket as if it’s nothing.

“Doesn’t matter what it is. Drugs are off the table. When you joined this band, you fucking agreed.”

He raises a brow. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I wanna be fucking rich and famous without the added stigma, that’s why. And your bullshit is getting in the way,” I retort, cocking my head. “Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you’re not the right fit for our band.”

“Cole, simmer down a little,” Tristan intervenes.

“No,” I say, folding my arms.

“People are looking,” he adds.

“So? Let them look,” I say, shrugging while focusing my attention solely on Michael. “Do it, or I’ll do it.”

We stare each other down. I’m not lying. I don’t make empty threats. I’ll come over there and snatch them from his pocket and throw them in the garbage myself if I have to. I’m willing to do whatever it takes, and if I have to sacrifice a friendship over it, fine with me.

“Fine,” he growls after a while, and he scoots his chair back and stomps toward the bin, where he chucks them away in full view of every girl watching both him and me. He doesn’t seem to give two shits, though. Neither do I. The point was made. And I’d rather have them see him throw them out than smoke a blunt in school.

I fucking hate drugs. No matter how small the amount or how insignificant the type. Thanks to my dad, I’ve seen what they can do to people. No fucking way am I letting that shit anywhere near my band or me.

Michael plops down on his seat again and crosses his arms while leaning away from the table, still glaring incessantly at me. “Happy now?”

I look up at him from my tray. Fuck this. I’m not hungry anymore.

I pick up my tray and get up from my seat.

However, right as I turn around, someone bumps into me.

“WATCH IT!” I yell as two trays bump, and the contents splatter all over us both, then tumble to the floor.

But as I stare with rage at the person in front of me, that anger dissipates as quickly as it appeared.

Fucking Monica Romero.

Monica

My new school clothes are completely covered in chocolate milk. And everyone around us laughing.

I’m humiliated and downright angry that this would happen to me so soon, when I’m just getting used to this school and getting to know my new classmates. I wasn’t planning on making a fool out of myself, but here I am, thanks to this dude.

When I look up, my eyes widen, and my heart sinks into my shoes.

Cole motherfucking Travis.

I’ve been deliberately avoiding him for days, and even then, I still bump into him without wanting to. And with a tray chock-full, no less. Both my clothes as well as his are covered in food.

I’m not sure which one of us is more upset.

“Bumping into people, is that your thing or something?” he jokes, throwing the tray on the table he just got up from.

“It was an accident,” I growl back.

I’m really not up for his silly games right now. That kiss he gave me is still at the forefront of my mind, hot and center. In fact, I think about it every single minute of the day, but that doesn’t mean it still wasn’t wrong of him, or that I forgot how much of an asshole he really is.

“You could’ve watched where you were going,” he says. “Look at my shirt.”

“You could’ve seen me coming if you’d looked before getting up,” I retort. “I mean, look at my dress.”

He cocks his head. “Really, Mo?”

My jaw drops. “You did not just call me that.”

“What, Mo?” A devious smirk spreads on his lips. “Angry now? Good. You should be. You wasted both our food and our clothes.”

“You were getting up to throw it away!” I reply in shock that he’d go this far for attention.

Everyone’s looking at us like we’re a giant spectacle. Even Mel, who I was on my way to before all this went down.

“Doesn’t matter,” he spits back. “These are school uniforms. They’re expensive.”

Oh, now he’s pretending to care about the school uniform? I don’t believe it one bit.

“Fuck the clothes,” I growl back, anger taking over. “And fuck you too, asshole.”

His nostrils flare, and everyone’s looking at us. Or more specifically, they’re angrily staring at me, as I was the one at fault. And it makes me question my sanity because I could’ve sworn he was just doing this to intimidate me, to make me feel small, insignificant. To remind me who’s in charge … who could crush my chances at this school in an instant.