I do know the hangover is still affecting Bee; her forehead and nose scrunches up together when the pain hammers under her skull – banging for an escape. I'm talking about the look in her typical playful, brown eyes, like she's thinking too much of something. Safe to say, I'm not the only one who bottles up my feelings. Only difference is that Bee asks about mine, I don't. I give her the decision of telling on her own time.

Or not at all.

Unless the situation varies, then maybe.

During our AP biology, when the short one came into the cla.s.sroom and was looking for a seat, Bee never once gone up to drape a shoulder or give her an onslaught of her questions. She didn't talk to her. It is unG.o.dly strange. The equivalent of a mute with a zipper keeping their lips locked and this is someone who prefers to never shut her trap.

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Speaking of locked lips – no, not happening.

Let's replace lips with eyes, shall we; Bee was staring at her throughout the entire cla.s.s. Only turning away when the girl looked toward her direction or any other's behind her. Me, being behind a couple row of seats from Bee, I couldn't say anything.

I did scribble a note on a piece of paper asking if she asked the new girl about the cheese; told the other students to pa.s.s it. Because that's where my a.s.sumptions land if Bee took the opportunity when it was just the two of them. A lame thought but a thought, nonetheless.

The only thing I got back was legitimately a 'cheese joke.'

Yep, and her snickers followed right after finis.h.i.+ng it off with a muddled groan.

The rest of the day resulted the same until my mother texts me during my last cla.s.s to stay and wait for the new girl to finish all her cla.s.ses. Just so I could accompany her and take her back to the house.

(11:49am) b.i.t.c.hgiver: Baby, stay with her until her cla.s.ses are over.

(11:51am) Me: Why me? You drove her here.

(11:54am) b.i.t.c.hgiver: Don't start.

(11:55am) b.i.t.c.hgiver: She needs someone familiar to know the way around. Stop whining, plus I got other important things to do and you can drive her home.

(11:57am) Me: Whatever.

My free period resulted to sitting on the bleachers outside while the girl takes her gym cla.s.s. Not to like, I forced Bee to stay which she reciprocated with a tight-lipped smile. Pretty obvious she didn't want to since no retort came past her lips. But she did anyways.

And now we're talking; sort of.

"You ask her," I press to Bee after explaining the conversation earlier with Rennie.

"Hey True," I perk up at the nickname, she only calls me that and one other if she's pensive.

Warily replying, "Yeah?" I look to her side carefully studying those solemn blazing brown eyes, her lids half shut – tired but forcing to stay awake. I automatically say she's alluding at this moment.

Concern lacing her tone "Did your mom say where she came from?" Keeping her head straight, Bee glances at me to the side – her bark brown orbs seemingly back to their norms.

St.i.tching my eyebrows and think back to yesterday's conversation, "Uh... only that she's from a few states over – the west. But not specifically, no." Bee doesn't respond for a few seconds then nods whilst humming.

I a.s.sume she is going to ask more until she said something else, "Your mom gave her the cheese, ran into her in the hallway before English."

"Oh, okay then..." I hesitate to ask further, then jump from Bee's abrupt sharp cackles. I follow her pointed finger, my eyes landing on the painstaking view of the new girl who seems to have tripped on the track.

With her ador normal face scrunched up, her arms struggle to push her body up for a moment. In a matter of seconds, she's up again ignoring the nasty gashes on her knees and continued to run – turbo speed – around the track.

I blink. The f.u.c.k? Doesn't that s.h.i.+t hurt? I recoil at the sight of the blood dripping down and dark rusty marks on her alabaster skin pinching my biggest organ, covering most of her clothes and legs, and the nasty scratches. I am this close to jumping in and stopping her from running before the gym teacher – Mr. Hickey – calls her off the track and to head to the nurse's office.

"Oy! Zivali, Beverly. Take-"

Name?

"-her to the nurse's office, please."

f.u.c.k!

"Meet you at shotgun!" I hear Bee whisper shout to me the run down the bleachers nearly stumbling as she make a dash towards my car.

Huh?

"What the f.u.c.k, Bee?" I shout towards her after getting over my initial shock, "I told you I-"

"Zivali! Language!" Mr. Hickey scolds before nudging the tattered new girl over to my direction.

Sneering, I forcefully apologize and head towards the nurse's office consciously hoping the girl is already following me. I really wish I wasn't going to be alone with her again after successfully avoiding her all morning.