The Badboy Delirium

Jail!?

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. It’s the kind of quiet that only happens when a predator walks into a room full of prey.

A boy walks in. His shoes are sparkling clean and his school trousers are ironed to perfection, but from the top up, I can tell he is nothing but trouble. His shirt is dishevelled, his tie hangs loosely around his neck, and his buttons are undone, mocking the dress code we’re all forced to follow. His neck bears a tattoo I can’t quite make out from this distance—a dark ink stain against his skin. His lips are pink, almost feminine, but his jaw is chiselled like stone. His eyes are a whirlpool of golden-brown, framed by thick, dark eyebrows.

And his hair. It’s a bleached blonde buzz cut. It’s loud, it’s defiant, and it’s definitely against the school rules. Then again, isn’t everything he’s doing against the rules? He carries himself with a swagger that says he knows exactly what the handbook says, and he simply doesn’t care.

"He's so f*****g hot!" Tiff whispers, leaning in close to my ear. Her eyes are wide, her "protective friend" mask momentarily slipping as she stares at him.

I’m not going to lie; he’s attractive. He could definitely give a boy band member a run for their money. But he’s not like Caleb. Caleb has soft edges and practised smiles. This guy is sharp lines and jagged energy.

The cafeteria is a sea of murmurs now, a frantic hum. “Isn’t that Jax?” “When did he get back?”

He doesn’t head for the lunch line. He doesn’t even look at the teachers standing by the doors. He walks straight down the centre aisle, his eyes scanning the room until they land on... Caleb.

They stare at each other, no expression evident on their faces. For a long, heavy moment, they look like they are having a serious discussion telepathically. The air between them feels charged, like a storm about to break. I look back at Caleb. He’s staring at the back of the blonde boy’s head, his face a mask of pure, concentrated hate. This isn't just a "new kid" arrival. This is the return of a ghost.

The whispers grow louder now. Restless.

“Is he the transfer kid?”

“Jesus Christ, he's hot.”

“Do you think he's into men?”

But the whispers don't seem to affect them. The boy scoffs, breaking eye contact with Caleb, and walks over to the lunch lady. Without a word, he grabs a plate that clearly doesn't belong to him. He scans the room for an empty table. His eyes briefly land on ours, a flicker of gold passing over me, but he zooms past us and onto the empty table at the far corner.

He takes a seat, grabs an apple from his tray, and takes a bite. He looks around at the sea of staring faces with a smug, untouchable confidence.

"Well, I could use the company," he says. His voice is deep, inviting, and carries a distinct English lilt that makes him sound even more out of place.

The response is instantaneous. Several girls squeal, dragging their trays and rushing toward his table like he’s a celebrity. He doesn't look overwhelmed; he just smirks, taking another slow bite of his apple as they surround him. I look at the boy in the corner, laughing with a group of girls who didn't even know he existed five minutes ago.

Yup, he's definitely a manwhore.

"Sicilia!" shouts Tiff.

And she comes running. In seconds, she’s seated next to Tiff, out of breath and dishevelled; her brown wavy hair is quite eager to greet us as well.

"Hi, guys. Hey, May," she says, looking at me pitifully. I roll my eyes and greet her. The pity is the worst part. I’d almost prefer the insults; at least those I can fight.

She chuckles nervously, pushing her glasses back, and looks at Tiff.

"Who’s that boy?" Tiff asks her, glaring at him.

"Oh, that's Jace Beckham. Lived here during our preteens," she says.

I begin eating my food. I should exploit this opportunity; everyone is focused on this guy, and I can finally eat in peace without feeling like a specimen under a microscope.

"He's hot, right!" Sicilia squeals, her face flushing. "I had the privilege of dealing with his papers. Ms October says my input—"

Tiff gives her a bored face, and she immediately stops talking. I chuckle; they have the weirdest relationship for cousins. I wonder why Sicilia is so eager to please Tiff, but whatever it is, Tiff doesn't mind taking advantage of it.

"Is he a transfer student?" Tiff asks.

"Yup."

"Mmm," says Tiff.

And I follow with another "Mmm," participating in any way I can while keeping my head down. I couldn't care less about this Jace guy. My life is already a dumpster fire; I don’t need to add a blonde pyromaniac to the mix.

"He said he prefers being called Jax," says Sicilia in a sing-song voice.

I take a sip from my juice. I’ve gotta slow down before I choke, but I’ve gotta eat fast so I can get out of this room.

"He’s a transfer student from where?" asks Tiff.

"Oh... from jail," says Sicilia.

And I begin choking on my food. My coughs are loud and uncontrolled. Tiff comes running to me and starts patting me on my back, but I can hardly feel it. The liquid is burning my throat, and my eyes are watering.

A few eyes land on me, but I try to hide under the table, my face burning with embarrassment. My mind is screaming.

Jesus Christ, he's from jail!

I look back toward the corner table. Jax is sitting there, leaning back as if he hasn't just dropped a metaphorical bomb into our school’s social ecosystem. He catches my eye through the crowd of girls. He doesn't look away. He just raises his apple in a silent, mocking toast.