Boys Like Him

Like an idi*t

"Late again, Miss Briggs."

Mr. Hart's voice cut cleanly across the classroom the second I pushed the door open.

Every head turned.

My hand froze on the doorknob.

I hadn't even fully stepped inside yet.

"And not only that," he continued dryly, glancing down at his watch, "the class will be ending in less than..." He paused, tapping the face of it with exaggerated patience. "...one minute."

A ripple of quiet snickers spread through the room.

Heat climbed straight up my neck.

I stood there like an i***t in the doorway, my bag hanging awkwardly off one shoulder, suddenly very aware of thirty pairs of eyes watching me get publicly roasted.

I looked down at the floor instead of at him.

Even I knew how badly I'd been slacking lately. The missed lectures. The late arrivals. The half-finished assignments.

And the look on Mr. Hart's face wasn't angry.

It was worse.

Disappointed.

That made the knot in my stomach tighten.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hart," I muttered, barely loud enough to carry across the room.

Another soft round of whispers stirred through the class behind me.

I kept my eyes glued to the floor tiles, counting the cracks between them instead of turning around and facing the smirking faces I could practically feel behind my back.

Mr. Hart sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as I'd just added ten years to his life.

"I want to see you after class."

My stomach dropped.

Almost on cue, the bell rang.

The sharp sound exploded through the room, and the entire class instantly sprang to life. Chairs scraped across the floor as everyone grabbed their bags, conversations erupting as they rushed for the door.

Within seconds, the room began to empty.

Students brushed past me on their way out, some of them throwing curious glances my way, others barely trying to hide their amusement.

I stepped further into the classroom, the weight of the moment settling heavier in my chest as the last few people trickled out.

This was going to be a long conversation.

I groaned internally.

Honestly, I should've just stayed home for the rest of the day.

The classroom door clicked shut behind the last student, leaving the room painfully quiet. Mr. Hart set his notebook down on the desk and looked at me over the rim of his glasses, folding his arms.

That was never a good sign.

"Nyelle Jade Briggs," he began slowly.

My stomach sank.

"One of my stellar students. Perfect GPA. Focused. Determined."

Each word landed heavier than the last.

He leaned back against the edge of his desk, studying me in a way that made me suddenly very interested in the pattern of the floor tiles again.

"Is something wrong, dear?" he asked, his voice softening.

That caught me off guard.

I looked up.

"Do you need help?" he continued gently. "Personal issues? Family trouble? Because that's the only explanation I can come up with for why you've suddenly started slacking off like this."

The disappointment in his voice stung worse than if he'd yelled.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.

"I want you to know," he added, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "that if you're going through a rough patch, you don't have to deal with it alone. You can talk to the school counselor."

He paused.

"Or even me... if you'd find me trustworthy enough."

The offer hung in the air between us.

And suddenly I felt even worse.

Because the truth wasn't some tragic family situation.

It wasn't grief.

It wasn't stress.

It was Lloyd.

A relationship I couldn't quite explain to anyone, even myself.

I swallowed hard and forced a small, tight smile.

"I'm fine, Mr. Hart," I answered quietly.

But even to my own ears, it didn't sound very convincing.

I kept my gaze lowered, staring at the scuffed edge of one of the desks.

I couldn't look up.

Because how was I supposed to explain this?

It wasn't like I'd suddenly discovered hardship. Family problems had always existed in the background of my life like static you eventually learn to ignore. But they had never touched my grades. Never interfered with my focus.

School had always been the one thing I controlled.

Until Lloyd Luxen.

The thought of him alone was enough to make something restless stir in my chest.

He took up space in my head the way nothing else ever had. Every spare thought, every quiet moment, every plan for the day somehow bent in his direction. I wanted to be around him constantly. If I weren't with him, I found myself thinking about when I would be next.

It was ridiculous.

Embarrassing.

And terrifyingly addictive.

Like some kind of drug, I couldn't stop chasing.

And I was the i***t addict already craving the next hit.

"I..." The word slipped out, but that was as far as I got.

What was I supposed to say?

Sorry, sir, I'm not failing because of tragedy. I'm failing because a boy has completely hijacked my brain.

"I..." I tried again.

Nothing came.

My throat tightened.

Finally, I forced the only words I could manage.

"I'll do better."

I lifted my head then, meeting his eyes.

And that's when I noticed his expression had changed.

The frustration was gone.

Now he just looked... worried.

Mr. Hart sighed softly and shook his head.

"I know things can get overwhelming sometimes," he said gently. "There are plenty of things in life that are far beyond our control."

His tone softened even more.

"But I want you to hang in there, champ."

The nickname almost made my chest ache.

"It's your final semester. Push through this. You've worked too hard to lose your momentum now."

He gave me a small, encouraging smile.

"You have a bright future ahead of you, Nyelle."

For some reason, that made the guilt twist even tighter in my stomach.

"Thank you, Mr. Hart," I said quietly.

He gave me one last searching look before waving me toward the door.

"Just... don't disappear on me again, Miss Briggs."

I managed a small smile and slipped out into the hallway.

The corridor was almost empty now, the earlier rush of students gone. My footsteps echoed faintly as I walked toward the stairs.

But my mind wasn't on finals.

Or my GPA.

Or my "bright future."

It was on Lloyd.

And that stupid message still burning a hole in my phone.

My fingers slipped into my pocket, pulling the phone out again before I could stop myself.

The picture of him and that girl stared back at me.

Run while you still can.

I scoffed quietly under my breath.

"Yeah, right."

Like that was even an option anymore.