Is he breaking up with me? Is he leaving me for some whore he slept with on tour? We've never had sex, so it would make sense to sleep with some other female while on tour. What is he going to say? How is he going to do it? Over dinner? With an expensive present? After a heated make out session? I'm not sure I can do this much longer.
"Darby! Pay attention! How many times do I have to tell you to stop day dreaming in my class?!" My math teacher yells at me.
"What the hell, coach? I am! I just didn't hear you calling my name over fucking Anne over there having an orgasm under her desk! Get the hell off my back!" I say hearing the gasps from my classmates and watching the surprise, disappointment, and anger crossing one of my most trusted teacher's face.
"Darby! You are to be in my room immediately after school until a responsible adult comes to get you and I don't ever, EVER, want to hear those words come out of your mouth in my classroom again. Do you understand me? Ms. Reynolds, do you understand?" He says. My teacher doesn't throw me out of the classroom, call the office to come down the hall, or yell for the whole school to hear. My classmates scoff in distaste as they hear his response, but they don't know what is going on behind the closed math room door.
"Yes, sir, I understand." I say looking down at my desk in shame.
"Alright. Homework is the afterward of Chapter 6. Due on Thursday!" The teacher says as the bell rings. "Darby, can I talk to you please?" He says as my class files out of the classroom. "What happened today? You have never acted like that before." My trusty math teacher asks me pulling a chair over to his desk.
"I have a lot of things going on right now, and I know I shouldn't have acted out like that." I say putting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.
"Tell me, please." He asks gently.
"My mom is up and down, which is really difficult… It is extremely difficult for me and my family. I don't exactly know how I feel about that one and the boyfriend that has been holding me together is possibly breaking up with me after school today. I have been barely holding on without him here and my mom being in the condition she's in. I just need to figure out how I feel about this." I say looking from him to my hands to the whiteboard and back.
"Look, we know how you feel about your mom. You're frustrated about how you never know how she is going to be feeling in one day. This boyfriend though… I don't think I know who he is. Unless he is really good at lying low, and you are really good at not showing affection. Who is it?" My math teacher asks me.
"You wouldn't know him. He's in a boy band… Big Time Rush, and I'm dating James Maslow. You can't tell anyone! My parents know, but no one else can know. It's sort of illegal in government eyes, but not in my mental health eyes. If I didn't have him I don't know where I would be right now." I say this time looking directly into my math teacher and track coach's eyes.
"What did your parents say when they found out you were dating a…"
"20 year old at the time. We didn't start out dating. I just ran into him and told him I was a fan and then he met my family. It went on from there. When we first got together, he didn't know all of my family problems and my parents weren't big supporters, but the fact that I've been taking the mom situation better with him around they aren't going to protest."
"Alright, I won't tell anyone, but what if breaks up with you what happens?" My coach asks.
I stand up and say, "I don't know, but I'm late for band and I have to go." I grab my things and walk to the door, but as I open the door I say, "Thank you for everything, but who is supposed to sign me out this afternoon, my parents are out of town and James is going to pick me up?"
"We'll figure it out. Don't worry. Ask James to sign you out, he'll be allowed to this once." He says grabbing papers to grade. I nod and put my stuff away to run off to the band room.
After band, I stand at my locker and text James.
'Hey… I'm sorry for this, but my parents are out of town and I got in trouble with my math teacher today. I need you to come sign me out. I'm so sorry about this."
'Don't be! I don't mind helping you out. What do I pass myself off as? XO'
'My boyfriend… I've told him, but he is completely trustworthy. I promise.'
'Okay. I'm in the parking lot. Love you!'
I smile and head into the math room and take a seat. Five minutes, later I hear the door open, and I look up to see his face. James's beautiful brown eyes are happy, but tired. His smile lit up the room when he smiles at me. I try to return the smile, but the reason why we are here came back to my mind and I just looked down at the desk. James just brushes it off and walks over my teacher's desk. I hear quiet talking. I just sit with my bag on my shoulder and my jacket on my lap.
All of a sudden I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump. "Let's ditch, babe." James whispers in my ear while holding back a laugh at my reaction. "We have some things to talk about." I freeze.
Is he talking about what my teacher told him, or about the need to break up with me?
I nod and stand up. I look back, smile, and wave at my teacher who returns the gesture. I smile up at James, who gladly returns it. I take his hand, intertwine my fingers with his and proudly walk out of the school with my wonderful boyfriend. He walks with me to his relatively new car. He got it three weeks before the new tour, but it hasn't really been broken in. The inside still smelled like new leather seats, the buttons unworn from no use, the crisp opening of the doors as you pull the door handle.
"So before we go anywhere, can I tell you how much I miss you?" He says smiling at me, grabbing at the back of my head. "Kiss me, please." James says leaning in and brushing his lips on mine.
"Hell yeah." I sigh crashing my lips into his with the passion that has been eating me from the inside out. I open my mouth at the feel of James's tongue begging for entrance on my bottom lip. He moans slightly as he breaks free of the awfully heated kiss. We both sit in our seats and pant for a minute.