Billie Jo

"You'd look great with highlights," Aubrey said. "My mom does hair. She'll do yours free. And we should go shopping. Where do you get your clothes? You should wear jeans more. Why do you always wear skirts? You have killer legs though."

Aubrey's voice faded into the background as Billie Jo saw Mike. She smirked, making sure he saw it, before turning back to Aubrey. "Thanks. I've got to get my books. I'll see you guys at lunch."

"Can I talk to you?" Mike asked Billie as she opened her locker.

"You are," she said indifferently.

Mike sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I was a dick yesterday. And there's a great band at the club tonight and I thought you might want to go."

"Why don't you take one of your sluts?" Billie asked in the nastiest tone Mike had ever heard her use.

"B-Because I . . ." Mike's voice wavered under her glare. "I want you to go."

Billie knew what her mother had told her to do. 'Pretend like you're going somewhere to meet another guy.' But it all flew from her mind. "A-All right."

"Come over after school?" Mike asked, closing his locker.

"Okay. I'll call my mom during lunch." Billie Jo said, ignoring the fact that she had already made lunch plans. "Am I dressed all right?"

Mike took the question as an invitation to scan his eyes over Billie's body, curled hair to black heels. His eyes lingered on the way her red skirt clung to her barely prominent hips and the way he could see the outline of her bra though the black shirt.

"Mike?" Billie asked quietly, her face a light shade of pink. Her heavily shadowed eyes met his.

"You look good," Mike mumbled, turning and walking away, leaving Billie even more confused than before.

* * *

"I'm going to study with Mike," Billie told the phone. She knew her mother wouldn't buy it, but she also knew her mother wouldn't call her on it. Lying and doing stupid things were what typical teenager did, and all Ollie Armstrong wanted was for her daughter to lead a typical teenage life.

"All right, sweetie. What time will you be home?"

"Late," Billie Jo said, looking at Mike who was staring at the ground and smoking.

"Nice try. Give me a time," Ollie was playing dumb, but not that dumb.

"Three?" Billie tried, her voice raising an octave as it normally did when she was pleading.

"Two," Ollie said in a no-nonsense voice that her daughter knew not to argue you with.

Billie hung up the phone after a moment. Her eyes flicked to Mike whose eyes were still fixed solidly on the ground. "We should go in," she said finally.

Mike looked up, as if he were surprised to see her there. "Yeah. Sure." He nodded vacantly, following Billie Jo across the grass and into their school. He was halfway up the stairs when he realized he still had a cigarette in his hand. He put it out quickly, then hurried to catch up with the raven-haired girl. "Billie?" he asked as they walked toward their lockers.

"Yeah?" She looked at him. "What's up?"

Mike's mouth opened, then closed. "I . . . never mind." He turned away from her, scuffing his foot on the floor and nearly tripping in the process.

". . . Mike?" Billie asked, touching her friend's arm lightly. The boy turned to look at her, almost eagerly. Billie hesitated. She'd been friends with Mike long enough to know he hated apologies—even if Billie Jo should have apologized. The girl knew she was treading on dangerous ground. "Did I . . . do something?" Mike stared at her without blinking. "I mean, you've just been weird today. With me," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"No," Mike said after a pause. His blue eyes almost looked worried. They had reached their lockers. He looked at Billie from the corner of his eye as she got her History book. "You know, the show starts at eight. We could, uh, get something to eat before it."

Billie's eyes widened slightly, but when she looked at Mike her face was calm. "Yeah, sure."

Mike smiled a bit bigger than normal. Temporarily forgetting his hand was in his locker, he slammed the door enthusiastically. "Fuck!" His smile quickly dissipated and was replaced with a face of pain as he stared at his red hand.

Billie reached over and gently took it in hers. Soft fingertips ran over the bones in Mike's hand. He winced slight as her touch skimmed over his fingers. "Nothing's broken." she said softly, as though a raised voice might hurt Mike's hand more. "I've had my fingers broken. I mean . . . I mean, they broke. Just . . . broke. No one broke them."

Her eyes stared directly at Mike's hand, but he knew she was lying despite. "Billie—"

"We should get some ice on that. Look, your fingers are already starting to bruise." She raised her head, green eyes defiant. Her message was clear. 'Your-fingers-are-going-to-be-broken-if-you-don't-shut-the-fuck-up.'

Mike knew the look. He'd seen it only three times before, but it was harsh enough to remember. Thus far, he'd only pushed it once before. He'd been stupid enough to call Billie a 'whoring bitch'. The girl had slapped him so hard across the face he had fallen to the sidewalk.

Mike didn't push his luck this time, lowering his eyes to his bruising hand. Billie let out a barely audible sigh of relief. "So let's get you some ice."

"Aw, c'mon Billie. I don't need ice," Mike said, making the girl smile.

"Is this the macho man bullshit kicking in?" she teased. "Your hand's going to be fucked for at least a week, Mike. Won't that interfere with your jacking off?" When Mike glared at her, Billie giggled. As she did, her grip on Mike's hand slightly increased.

"Shit," The boy pulled it away from her quickly. Billie Jo looked about ready to cry. Mike gave a small smile, then leaned in and gently brushed his lips against her forehead. "Don't worry about it, cutie. I'll be fine."

Billie's face turned pink and she hurried down the nearly empty hallway, her high heels clicking and her locker door still open.

Mike closed it, his forehead feeling cool as he rested it against locker 147.

* * *

The two teenagers walked to Mike's house in relative silence. Billie's high heels sounded on the sidewalk, Mike's breathing audible as he continued to chain smoke. "How's your hand?" Billie asked suddenly. Mike's head jerked surprised at the sound, but he held his hand out wordlessly for Billie's inspection. The boy hadn't gotten ice for his hand and it was apparent by the bruises and swelling.

"Stubborn idiot," Billie said, smiling. "You couldn't just listen to me."

"Of course not," Mike said back. "That would have been too easy."

"Of course."

By the time they arrived at Mike's house, Billie Jo was holding Mike's unbruised hand and the boy had stopped smoking.

* * *

"So, when do you want to go?" Mike asked Billie, pulling a Clash shirt over his head.

"Michael," Billie said sternly, "you're going to kill your hand." The boy shrugged and Billie huffed. "It's going to fall off," she threatened.

"I'm not five," Mike informed her, grinning when Billie stuck her tongue out. "So what does Princess Billie need to do before we leave?"

"Let me touch up," the girl said, gracefully accepting her defeat. She walked out of the room and set her purse on the bathroom counter. She unzipped it, fishing out a tube of lipstick.

Mike looked up from picking at his fraying jeans as Billie Jo walked in, looking exactly like she did when she went it. Mike fought with his tongue to stay quiet. "You look great."

Billie smiled, a barely there tinge of lighting on her cheeks, but camouflaged by cosmetics. "You ready to go?" Mike slipped on a pair of beat-up Vans and wordlessly followed her out of the house. "So, where we going?" the girl asked.

"Couple blocks to eat. Then a friend's going to pick us up for the gig," Mike grabbed Billie around the waist, pulling her out of the path of an extremely low tree branch. He released her quickly, not noticing Billie Jo's expression. Hints of confusion flecking her emerald eyes, an almost pout adoring her full, painted lips.

They ate in relative silence until the check came. Billie reached for her purse to pull out her credit card. "No!" Mike said, loudly enough that the people at the next table turned to look. "No," he said in a softer tone. "I'll get it." He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet.

"But I always g—"

"I've got it," Mike said, a bit more forcefully. Thoroughly confused, Billie zipped her purse closed. She'd always pulled her credit card out their eighth grade year. Movie tickets, dinner, and any other thing they decided to do. It was a joke between them, Mike being Billie's 'kept man'. She couldn't understand why he was so desperate to pay now.

"Hey, you son of a bitch." Billie Jo turned in her seat to a see a guy in a worn leather jacket walked toward her and Mike's table. He had a cheeky grin on his face as he punched Mike in the arm, ignoring the glares from most of the people in the restaurant.

The loud boy caught Billie's green eyes with his piercing blue ones. He let out a low whistle and Billie blushed. "He told me you were hot, but damn . . ."

Billie's blush was nothing compared to Mike's. "God, Tre," Mike rested his forehead against his hand. "Shut the fuck up, man."