Broken By The Bad Boy by Maramartha

Author:Maramartha [Maramartha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-03-04T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Two

I am barely listening to our math teacher. His lips move, but I hear nothing. Ben’s words keep echoing in my head, stabbing me in my heart, but I take comfort in the fact we didn’t break up.

Mr. Bigg throws a question to the class. Someone answers, and he nods in approval. I count the seconds until the bell rings, but a peek at my wristwatch shows I’ve been in class for less than ten minutes. A period lasts forty minutes. I doubt I will survive that long without talking to Ben.

I shoot to my feet. My books clatter to the floor, and my chair squeaks.

“Yes, Theresa?” Mr. Bigg says.

Heads turn in my direction, and my eyes locate the floor. Buying time to compose myself, I pick up my books and set them on my seat. When Mr. Bigg’s footsteps approach me, I raise my head.

“I’d like to use the bathroom.” A girl snickers behind him, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from commenting something clever. Mr. Bigg stops a row ahead of mine and crosses his arms. I force a note of desperation into my voice, pressing my knees together as I bounce. “Sir?”

One, two… five seconds later, Mr. Bigg nods. I try my hardest not to squeal and rush out of the class. Once I find the perfect hiding spot, I text Ben, my feet rapping on the floor while I impatiently await his reply. My phone pings. I smile and turn the corner leading to his class.

The hallway is quiet, and I almost reconsider my plan. I stop in front of Ben’s class. He is at the back, drumming the tip of his pencil over his note with a scowl. He looks bored out of his mind.

After a note of motivation to myself, I push the door open. For the second time today, all heads turn in my direction, and I almost misstep. I focus on the lady in front of the class. I can’t recall her name, but she taught me last year. She stops writing to appraise me, and my knees weaken.

Ben’s teacher crosses her arms on her chest. From my peripheral view, I see him do the same. He frowns, picks up his phone, and mine vibrates seconds later. I try not to look at him. Because if I do, I’ll ruin the plan.

She clears her throat. I wipe my sweaty palms on my hips. “How can I help you?”

“Benjamin Carter.” She quirks a brow, and my mind blanks. I didn’t think this through. Her brow lowers, but her frown remains. I need to say something. “The principal asked me to call him.”

I feel Ben’s piercing gaze, and my body lights up in response. My phone vibrates again, and I jump a little. A few students return to copying notes, and some continue to watch our silent exchange.

“Principal?” she says with a frown, like she doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me either. For someone in the drama club, I am a terrible liar.

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