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Chapter 7 (Lou-Lou)
My head hits my desk with a clunk and I wake with a jolt.
Of course, that's when I hear a few snickers behind me.
I sit up straight and stretch my sweatshirt over my hand and proceed to wipe up the small puddle of drool I've left behind.
Looks like I gave these people one more reason to laugh behind my back in addition to the strange attire that I'm currently wearing during a summer in Alabama.
They'd talk more if they saw what was underneath my sweatshirt, I remind myself.
I've been pulling doubles almost every night at the club this week since Momma's not around to scold me for it.
I'd never admit it to her because I don't want her to feel guilty about visiting her own son—but I secretly kind of hate when she's gone, and working until the sun comes up, or even later; helps to keep the nightmares at bay.
It also makes me extremely tired.
Something the teacher chooses this exact moment to acknowledge. Shit.
His face twists into a scowl and he huffs, “I'm sorry, Ms—” He pauses, appearing confused. “What is your name?”
That only earns another round of snickers from the jerks behind me.
“Sindile,” I whisper while seriously debating whether or not I should flip the hood to my sweatshirt up and shrink down.
I thought attending night school would grant me the high school education minus all the bullshit. But seeing as the classroom is filled with what appears to be just shy of 18-year-old boys whose parents are most likely forcing them to attend since they were probably kicked out of their own school for being such little assholes—and girls who look even younger than me and were most likely knocked up by these punks...evidently I was wrong.
I'd assumed I'd be put into an adult class...but it turns out that most adults have made it further than 10th grade before dropping out.
Jesus, I really am a special brand of loser. And everyone here knows it.
Including the teacher who's currently glaring daggers at me. “Well, I'm so sorry to have interrupted your nap, Sindile,” he starts. “But my classroom isn't a place to sleep off and recover from your latest excursion.” He jabs his pencil into the air. “You teenagers always think there will be a second chance. Well, news flash...this is your second chance.”
“I'm not a teenager,” I mumble and the room grows silent. Either everyone assumed I was around their age because of my small stature, or no one expected me to talk back.
Me and my stupid mouth.
The teacher appears both uncomfortable and flustered now. “I'm sorry, I just assumed—” His face grows red with embarrassment and he clears his throat.
I can feel everyone's eyes on me, so I slap my desk and laugh in an attempt to hide my indignity. “Let that be a lesson, kids. Don't assume.” I sigh and pull on my bottom lip. “And don't fall asleep in class, either.”
“How old are you?” some guy beside me inquires with a stupid grin on his face. “I mean, are we talking hot college girl...or hot cougar?”
A few of his buddies start whistling and give him a high-five.
“Alright, that's enough. Eyes up here,” the teacher yells in an agitated tone.
“But for real,” the guy whispers so that only I can hear him this time. “How old are you?”
I'm about to answer in order to shut him up for good when he adds, “Old enough to score me some beer after class?”
I don't know whether to laugh or roll my eyes...that is until I glance at the date on the board and my stomach sinks.
“I'm 25,” I gasp, some weird combination of both sadness and awareness hitting me full force. “I'm 25 today.”
“Sweet, that's definitely old enough to—”
I don't hear the rest of his statement because I'm already on my feet and dashing out the door.
It's not the fact that I forgot my own birthday that's upsetting me...it's that I don't have a single person to spend it with that hurts the most.
Bruno always made a big deal out of my birthday.
The thought causes bile to crawl up my throat, because it's the first and only positive thought I've had about him since the day I blew his brains out.
And just like that the next thought hits me.
Bruno might have made a big deal out of my birthdays—my mind reminds me tauntingly—but Ricardo gave me the most special birthday I've ever had.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe. I don't know why my mind is taking the opportunity to play a cruel game of one-up right now.
Especially when the latter thought only makes my chest cave in and brings me back to the night we were under the stars and surrounded by dandelions.
A night that, I of course; ended up ruining because of DeLuca, my flashbacks, and my past.
Jesus, Christian Grey has nothing on all my shades of fucked up.
I check my watch and sprint for my car, my shift starts in twenty minutes, but if I'm quick I can be there in fifteen.
“Whoa, where's the fire?” a masculine voice with a hint of a southern twang calls out behind me just as I reach my car.
“Atticus?” I breathe out, stopping to turn and face him.
What in the world is he doing here?
He takes a step forward but I halt him. “Look, you seem like a nice enough guy...I'd really hate to have to take out a restraining order on you.”
He looks horrified and I can't help but feel a slight twinge of remorse.
I open my mouth but he tilts his head in the direction of the campus, and says, “I—uh. I work here actually.”
He shuffles his feet and pulls a toothpick out of his pocket. “I'm currently a TA , but I only have one more semester left before I graduate.”
“Shit,” I mutter and his lips quirk up.
“I'll take that as your apology.”
“Yes,” is all I can reply because not only am I embarrassed, I'm ru
“Well maybe you can make it up to me by joining me for a drink?”
“I can't. I'm late for my shift.”
I tug the zipper to my sweatshirt down and shuffle out of it before throwing it in my backseat.
“Well maybe I can grab a table and you can spend your break with me?” he offers, taking a step closer to me, appearing like he's fighting to focus on my eyes and not my skimpy work uniform.
To my surprise and I'm sure his, I laugh. “You can't. You're ba
“Call in sick,” he suggests, his tone taking on a more desperate one. “Those jerks at the club will be fine without you for one night. Come and hang out with me.”
Before I can remind him that I'm not looking for a boyfriend again, he holds up his hand and says, “As friends. That's all I'm asking for right now.”
“You're not going to give up, are you?”
“I'm extremely persistent.” He bites down on his toothpick and shifts so he's directly in front of me. “It's my second best quality.”
“What's your first?”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “I'm hoping you figure that out on your own.”
“Wow, Atticus...that was really cheesy.”
“I meant, dancing.” He rubs his forehead and I swear he blushes. “I mean, not only dancing,” he amends quickly. “I mean—I'm good at that too.”
When I cross my arms over my chest he glances down at the ground, and mumbles. “Shit, I'm really screwing this up.”
“I'll take that as your apology.”
He grins from ear to ear. “My sincerest apologies.” He licks his lips and moves closer. “And I wasn't kidding about that drink. There's a bar not too far from here...granted it's a bit of a honky tonk but—“