Don't Touch My Hair

Byron's P.O.V

Band was boring, actually no, band was fun. But it was the lame songs we played. My friends kept me entertained by flipping off the teacher, talking, and just randomly laughing, which sent me into a fit of hysterics. It was like a chain reaction.

I walked out of the band room, saying goodbye to my friends. They unfortunately were not in any of my classes.

My teeth clenched tight as those “Gangster” people criticized me about my blue hair. I felt like putting a bullet though all there heads. I chuckled lightly at this awesome thought.

A scream almost escaped my thought as an arm gabbed me and pulled me into the boys bathroom. A hand clasped my mouth tightly. I squirmed and kicked. Panic rushed through me.

“Jesus Christ Byron , calm down!” A familiar voice whispered harshly at me.

The hand slowly slid down my lips. Almost too slow, as if wanting to have his hand just lingering there. I turned and saw Jorge, a mixture of horror and relief rushed through me.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Jorge was the first to talk.

“Listen, I’m sorry okay! I was stupid. I shouldn’t have been an ass and said that I wanted to break the fortune cookie! I shouldn’t have! I’ve been overreacting when those girls follow me, I mean, why wouldn’t I? One of them has some locks of my hair for Christ’s sake! But still, if it amuses you, then so be it. I shouldn’t have gotten mad!”

By the time Jorge was done, he had tears steaming down cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot” He mumbled

My voice finally decided to work, but I didn’t know what to say. I wanted say “Its okay I forgive you”, but then I wanted too say “I’m sorry”. I felt bad for making his suffer, I felt horrible for making him cry. It was a sad sight to see Jorge cry.

My voice decided to not work. I mentally cursed at my voice. All I could do was hug him. It was my way of saying “It’s okay”.

“You may be an idiot, but you’re my idiot.” I dug my face into the crook of his neck and smiled. I felt him squeeze back, I loved his hugs, and they’re nice, tight, and warm.

“I’m sorry for us fighting over something small” Jorge muttered

“Me too”

I loved being in his embrace. We had forgiven each other, and everything was perfect.

We jut stood there, enjoying our bodies in contact with each other.

It was too late then, our bodies were locked with each other and even if we could’ve, it would’ve been too late; they would see us no matter what. The door burst open.