"Please don't say that," Bee groans, her head stuffed in the palms of her hands. She's crouching down and touching her knees in agony, moaning some more. Her brown hair is a glossy muddy puddle the way it sprawls and spreads around. "Forgot my f.u.c.king sungla.s.ses, ya happy?"

I chortle which eventually turns into laughter. It takes Bee smacking my arm endlessly until it turns into light giggles. I then fish out my black Aviator shades in my bag and hand them for Bee to borrow.

"Don't break them," I ordered.

After s.n.a.t.c.hing them out of my hand and hastily pus.h.i.+ng them over her red-doe brown eyes, a much needed groveling thanks comes out of her chapped lips.

Six-thirty in the morning isn't an easy feat nor a lover to Bee's current state. Other than being thankful for the warmth, no one is at the school right now - any whisper of noise would literally make her scream and shout. The bell would be horrible.

Bee's hangovers are usually a hundred times worse than most and lasting until the end of the day. Or until she drinks, again. My bet is the latter. Always.

We're sitting on the bleachers near the football field, all the way on the top left corner. There's about twelve rows so we're pretty high up. Often if one of us pulls an all-nighter or wake up too early, we get the other party and drive to the school before anyone else.

In this case, I pulled the all-nighter and as I got to Bee's house, all I heard was retching. Over and over and over. And from the sound, she probably went a little too far this time. But then again, Bee always goes too far.

"Did you f.u.c.king smooch or somethin' ?" Bee press. Putting my elbows on my knees, I glance over to see her smirking; mischievously.

I squint. "Jack Daniels didn't give you brain damage yet?" I question her question.

"So did you? Did you touch her t.i.t again? Was it as gratifying as last time? Did you twist her lit-" I cover her mouth with my hand, wearing the annoyance on my sleeve.

"Go major in graphic design, put your s.e.xual focus on that." I jut with a slight sneer. Bee raises her eyebrows and gives my hand a wet s...o...b..ry tongue. I recoil, wiping my hand on the risers.

Keeping the subject at hand, "Seriously, what did you guys do? Last I remember is you nearly dragging her out of the house before I got a say in anything." She scrunches her brows before continuing, "Did she not have shorts on?"

​

"Yes, she did," I hastily replied.

Bee backs away with her hands raised, then puts them down after chuckling a little, "Why so defensive?" I clench my jaw a bit; it's not that nothing happened. I personally don't see a reason for talking about it.

Bee seems to have finally gotten the hint and steered towards a different direction. "She starts today, right?" I roll my eyes.

"Yes," I mumble. "Mom wants us to show her around," grumbling on the fact I will probably have to go back to the house to pick her up.

"Is she driving her here then? Cause you're right here." I blink.

"Gee, thanks Bee," I chimed happily. Another reason to

"Oh no, you're not avoiding her." And now there goes my smile, wipes right off my face.

I give her shoulder a hard shove, "Such a f.u.c.king clam jam." Bee steadies herself, beams with radiance then laugh again, which quickly turns into groans as her palm is rested on her forehead.

Our conversation quickly diminishes into the wisps of the air that makes our hair dance around. A natural silence begins to form between the both of us, one we are all too familiar with.

Well, there was silence; when still rubbing her headache, Bee continues her onslaught of questions.

"Did you get her name? I've been waiting for you to say it."

"Yeah, it's-" I frown immediately after opening and closing my jaw. "Well..." I muster up, "there's the insignificance of how much she means to me. Does that answer your question?" I chide, voice dressing in the usual amount of sarcasm.

"Nah, you told me yesterday," Bee waves her hand before checking her phone then grabbing her checkered black Michael Kors bag. Bee stumbles to correct her posture for a few moments; I stand corrected about her hangovers.

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I take my sweet, sweet time gathering my belongings before jogging down the stands, hooping down on the last one - purposely to wind up some dust. Bee audibly coughs while waving her hand in front of her face.

"Rude," she remarks distastefully.

I smirk, "Tell me something I don't know."

"Her name," drawling out the last letter after singularly emphasizing each word as we walk towards the dreaded brick building.

"There's that bonfire tonight at Rennie's again, I bet 5 he's gonna knock up another." Internally begging for a different topic, I recall a couple days ago hearing some of the jock-like idiots hooting and whooping over the fact their captain is throwing another. Also, hearing them snicker about a possible target.

Might have the chance to expel him this time - if things go to plan.

"Five is a lot of kids, Liv," Bee jokes merrily, "Maybe too low for your taste?"

I scoff at her dry humor, "Not unless we get that f.u.c.king video. Sick n' tired of Rennie thinking he can do whatever just because his parents don't give a c.r.a.p. Seriously, how'd you like him breathing down your neck every single f.u.c.king day?"

"Come on Liv, we all know you just want to protect that new girl and your dainty little hands from possibly punching his face. Wouldn't be able to use them then, would you?" She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Bee crumbles up her face as another small moan pa.s.ses her parted lips.

"My G.o.d, just don't talk to me anymore," Bee mumbles in agony, clearly wis.h.i.+ng this headache was the least of her worries.

"I could say the same."

Little does she know I can't help but feel and hope that she would never meet Bee.