Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary's Rebels 4)

And he didn’t even have the decency to tell me to my face, no.

He sent Mo as always, to break the news.

To tell me that I was being shipped off to a reform school come that fall because I was being stupid. Because I was chasing after a guy who wasn’t good enough for me. A guy who was too old for my fifteen-year-old self and who was a high school dropout with no future for whom I was throwing away my own future by breaking all the rules, crapping on my grades, breaking curfews, missing classes.

So maybe I missed a few classes and got a few bad grades, so what?

That doesn’t warrant sending me to a reform school.

Jimmy made me feel good. Jimmy made me feel happy. Jimmy made everything bearable.

Not to mention, I’m still not sure how my devil guardian knew about Jimmy. Yes, I was missing school and breaking curfews and all that but I’m not sure how he found out that I was doing it over a boy. Because I’d been very careful to cover my tracks.

But I never got a chance to ask him.

Because when I demanded to see him — so I could tell him to his face what a fucking asshole he was and that I wouldn’t let him tear me apart from the love of my life — Mo told me that he was gone.

Yes.

He was gone.

He’d left for Italy.

For his stupid fucking archeological dig.

Where he remained for the next three years.

Only coming back a couple of months ago as the stupid fucking principal of this stupid fucking school.

And of course now that he’s back, he’s messing with me again.

Because again, I had made all the plans.

For this summer. For my life after graduation. For me and yes, for Jimmy.

If he thought that locking me up in a reform school would keep me away from Jimmy, then he was wrong.

He was dead wrong.

Nothing would keep me away from Jimmy.

So here I am.

Standing in the crowd, watching Jimmy like a distant but familiar dream. Because he looks exactly the same today as he did the day I met him. He holds his guitar the same way. He sings the same way. His voice makes me feel the same way.

The only difference is that he’s bigger and more muscular three years later, and right now, he’s shining and shimmering like a mirage, as all these bright lights fall on him.

As they highlight his sweaty blond hair and his gorgeous face.

His singing lips.

God.

I love him.

I love him. I love him. I love him so so much.

Other people love him too, obviously, and I’m happy to share him in this way. They’re dancing and writhing and waving their arms in the air. They’re singing along with him and I grin and sway like the rest of them until he finishes the set and is rewarded by a loud cheer and a thunder of claps.

And then I wait, biting my lip, my eyes tracking his movements as he thanks everyone in the mic; high fives and hugs the rest of his bandmates. When he’s done all of that, he looks at the dispersing crowd. His blue eyes run through the space until they land on me.

And then that smile.

The one he gave me the first day we saw each other.

Actually it’s a little brighter than the first time. A lot brighter, and more animated, as he abandons his bandmates and jumps down from the stage, cuts through the crowd to come see me.

“Poe,” he exclaims, stumbling slightly.

I catch him though. I grasp his biceps and steady him. He gets this way after shows. All hyper and dizzy. All that adrenaline rushing through your system would do that to you.

And well, I’m pretty sure there are other things in his system too.

I mean, he’s a musician. Of course he has things and substances running in his system.

“Hey,” I say breathlessly, my eyes wide as I look into his shiny ones.

Which I’m pretty sure is because of those substances, but I like them nonetheless.

“You came,” he says in a loud voice.

I try not to flinch.

Even though the bar is crowded and noisy, his voice is a little too loud.

But it’s okay. I love his voice. I love his shiny eyes. I love him.

“Of course I came.”

Why wouldn’t I?

It’s his show. I never miss a chance to catch his show.

Needless to say that the whole point of him sending me to St. Mary’s was that I’d have to cut ties with Jimmy. Mostly because I wouldn’t be able to see Jimmy, given the strict rules of St. Mary’s.

But of course, I’ve improvised.

Of course, I’ve found ways and loopholes to go see Jimmy.

Not as often as I would’ve liked, because in addition to me being locked up in St. Mary’s, Jimmy now lives in New York. He moved a couple of months after I was banished, to live with a bunch of his friends and make it big in his career.