"Where are we going?" I'd asked Oliver as he pulled me out of the back cafeteria door that led outside. The only thing back there was a parking lot and some portable classrooms. Tugging me by the hand, he stopped; my gaze was set on our intertwined fingers as he tried to calm down.

I admired his pale hand and bruised knuckles, shivers running up my spine as I remembered what the cause of it was. His knuckles were slightly swollen but nothing too bad and I found myself rubbing my thumb over them.

He turned to look at me, his short sleeve shirt, showing off his tattoo and even though I didn't particularly like All Time Low, I had to admit that was a good lyric.

Oliver furrowed his eyebrows, looking over at me and biting his plush bottom lip, "I hadn't really thought that far."

"Wow, Oliver," I chuckled, shaking my head at him.

And for the rest of lunch, we sat in isolation, under a tree.

Now, that would be the extremely adorable, cliché moment in a movie where Oliver would look over at me and admit that I was the only one to make him feel okay... But this wasn't a movie and this tree was barely a tree.

And if we were being honest, Oliver barely knew me.

"So do we just lay here?"

Oliver chuckled, "my parole officer says to remove myself from triggering situations so I don't nearly kill anyone."

We were both lazily laid out in the grass and I thanked my lucky stars that I wasn't allergic to grass like Jackson. Realizing exactly what Oliver had said, I laughed, "Too late for that."

"Right?" He yawned, locking his hands behind his head. He didn't seem to have gotten enough sleep which was reasonable considering we were up until three A.M. and had to wake up for school at roughly seven.

Technically, we should've gotten up at six but that wasn't really a possibility.

I found myself smiling, recapping the night before; Oliver had not only beaten up my ex boyfriend but we'd kissed, something I'd wanted to do since I'd met him. Literally... Since I'd met him.

"You're something else, Oliver Remmer," I mocked him, turning my head to the side to admire his beautiful profile. His nose, although slightly pointy, was the perfect size for his face and his always slightly-pouted lips made me want to kiss him non-stop and his voluminous hair was blowing through the wind.

"That better be a good thing."

⌄⌃⌄⌃⌄⌃⌄

"What the fuck happened to your face?" My mom had asked, me panicking for a bit. After I'd gotten to school, Kat had thankfully covered the bruise with Sidney's makeup and it was no longer noticeable.

I'd had Oliver drop me off at home, asking him to come in because my parents wouldn't interrogate me as much with witnesses... Well, that and the fact that I really wanted to get to know him more, avoiding talking about the kiss in fear that he'd reject me.

I mean, he told me I wasn't his type he'd even gotten to know me.

"What do you mean?" I asked, adrenaline pumping as my mother raised a dark eyebrow, lips pursed. Her hazel eyes were narrowed as she smirked slightly.

I envied how beautiful my mother was.

"You have a dopey grin on it," she finally smiled, showing her perfectly straight teeth and I thanked the Lord that she seemed so happy, "you look like your father."

Rolling my eyes, I scanned over the food she was making, the apron that Dad had bought her, tied around her waist, "I brought a friend," I stated, dropping my mouth open when she held a spoon of her homemade collard greens up.

Ma smiled at me as I chewed the food before running the spoon under the tap and wiping it with a towel. Handing it back, I saw her eyes lingering on Oliver who'd been convinced to indulge in one of Jackson's video games. The large screen tv had occupied both of their attention, "Emerson Riley, that's a white boy..."

She gave me a knowing glance, bumping my hip with hers and stirring her pot.

"Yeah, I know, Ma; I have eyes," I said, resting my hand on the countertop. If I didn't hurry up and leave she'd give me the talk about sex and interracial dating.

"Don't get smart," she reprimanded, smacking my butt hard, with her wooden spoon, as I walked by.

"Ow! Ma!"

She rolled her eyes at me, turning the eye of the stove off, her chicken Brest bites sitting pretty in the pan, "I didn't know you were into white boys."

"We're not dating."

She gave me that 'i-know-you're-lying' look, the one that every black mother can pull off, "Oh, I know what white chocolate can do to a girl, changes everything."

"Ma!" Peering into the living room, I let out a sigh of relief seeing that Oliver hadn't heard her. My mother lacked what was called a filter and it scared most people off.

"I'm just saying, it runs in the family."

And it did, my Step-Grandpa was Caucasian, Grandma was African American, passing on that everyone was equal and love was love. There was no room for debate about that in our family and race was never really a big issue.

She watched as I bit into the chicken bite she'd given me to try, it thankfully cooled. It was my favorite meal along with the homemade mac and cheese baking in the oven, "Your father and I are going out tonight, you're in charge and if Jackson so much as looks at the higher channels, I'ma rip his scrotum out, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Warden."

She glared playfully at me, pointing to the door with a big fork she was using to take the chicken out of the pan, "Get your ass out my kitchen."

"I love you, Ma," I teased, sticking my tongue out.

"Love you more, Bug."

Plopping down on the couch beside Oliver, I watched as he frantically pushed buttons, trying to beat Jackson in 2K15... You could clearly tell he sucked.

Shoving me slightly when I laughed, he got distracted, my brother stealing the ball and dribbling it down the court.

"Passes to Carmelo and he throws in a three! Yes son, and one," Jackson had laughed as Oliver fouled him but his shot still went in.

"You suck," I stated as Oliver glared at me, Jackson doing a celebration dance in his seat.

"Like you're any better," he challenged.

And never being the one to pass up a challenge, I rolled my eyes, "Jackson, pass me the controller."

For the next game, I proceeded to show Oliver how he'd lose gracefully.

⌄⌃⌄⌃⌄⌃⌄

"Are you serious?" Oliver had wined, me stealing the ball yet again and Jackson had muttered something about choosing a team with a bad offense, us ignoring him again.

"Face it, babe, you're not on my level."

He rolled his eyes at that, pushing my hand when I'd gone for a three.

"Cheater!" I'd laughed as we sat there pushing each other's buttons, making each other miss. Jackson groaned, yelling about us flirting, his complaints being muffled by the yells of victory as well as the front door opening and closing.

"Babygirl," my Dad had whined at my mom when he rushed through the door, ripping off his man-cardigan and throwing it over the couch, it hitting me in the face, lightly.

My dad was a well known therapist and he'd been volunteering at the psych ward lately. That usually ended up with him coming home stressed but that day he seemed happier.

From the look on Oliver's face, you could tell he hadn't expected that my dad was in fact white and I stifled a laugh at his wide eyes.

"Gross, man," Jackson had shuddered as Dad walked into the kitchen and we could see him grabbing my mom's waist from behind, pushing her curls off her shoulder and resting his head on her shoulder as he towered over her. His lighter complexion complimented her darker and I found myself smiling at that fact as she pushed her fingers through his blond hair.

She shoved his face away, giggling when he tried to grab for the rag she was using to clean up.

"I love you, babygirl," he tried to coax her, kissing her cheek while swaying them back and forth. My father always insisted in doing everything he could to make my mother happy and that included trying to clean up after her.

"That's not gonna work and you know it," she murmured, leaning back into his chest, "I hate it when you come home and have to clean."

Turning around she pushed on his chest, aiming him towards the door, "go relax, I'll bring you a plate."

And he laughed as he stumbled out of the kitchen, stopping in place when his eyes landed on Oliver, "Who's this?"

"Hi," Oliver had stood, the game on pause as my dad got closer. Reaching his hand out for a shake, Oliver stuttered over his words, "I-I'm Oliver."

"Rodin," my dad had furrowed his eyebrows in scrutiny. He must've known who Oliver was from his job but he obviously didn't want to seem rude and judge him.

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Emerson?" My dad had called, eyes still locked on Oliver as his hands swung to their sides.

"Pops?"

He glared down the boy in front of him, "Do I need to get my gun?"

Jackson scoffed, ruining Dad's intimidation technique, "You don't even own a gun."

"You don't know what I got."

"Baby, he's the good kind," my mom had interrupted as she rang out her rag in the sink, looking over at my dad. And then she raised a pan from the sink, "you hurt her and I'll shove this pan where the sun don't shine, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Oliver had nodded, respectfully as I buried my face in my hands.

"Babygirl, we're gonna be late," my dad had muttered when he finally broke away from his stare-off with Oliver. The boy in question had let out a heavy breath of relief, eyes rolling shut as my dad turned around to look at my mother who is just realized was wearing a white blouse and a black skirt, heels on. If I wasn't mistaken, they were going on a date...

They hadn't gone on a date in months.

"I didn't think married people still dated," Jackson laughed, everyone ignoring him yet again.

"We'll be back by eleven, alright? Dinner's on the stove."

"Yes, Ma," we'd groaned in unison.

"Twelve?" Dad gave he a pouty lip as they linked hands, the bling on their rings shining.

"Baby..."

"Eleven thirty?" he asked in a softer tone, his eyes going wide and watery as he manipulated his wife.

"Eleven thirty."

He smiled wide at that, throwing an arm around her waist, "I missed our date nights."

"Me too," my mother said, pecking her husband's cheek before turning to my brother, "Jack Jack, keep an eye on her."

Jacky groaned, "Ma!"

"Have fun!"

"No. No! Do not have fun, I don't want another sibling!" Jackson yelled with wide eyes as the door slammed shut and he was left, talking to himself.

"It's nice to see your parents so happy," Oliver smiled after they'd left.

"They were stressed but I think it's getting back to normal. Now sit so I can dust you in Call of Duty."

⌄⌃⌄⌃⌄⌃⌄

Oliver and I were laying on the couch later that night as Jackson played some video games in his -and Dad's- mancave that used to be a basement. The boy beside me had insisted we watch old movies so as we sat there, eating popcorn, we had finished West Side Story (technically we shut that one off because it sucked ass), had watched The Outsiders, and were halfway through the movie Loser.

And along the way, I ended up pressed up against Oliver, his arm wrapped around my shoulder. I could hear his heart beating fast as we got closer and I would be lying if I said I didn't like it. He was nervous and even though we'd known each other a little over a month, I think we were getting comfortable with it.

When his fingers lightly rubbed my bare shoulder, I laced my fingers through his to stop the shivering attack my body was having with his warm skin against me. The air was on for one reason only, Oliver was beside me and we would lay together. Of course he didn't mean to but he started subconsciously playing with my hand that rested on my thigh.

Of course, I knew we'd have to talk about the kiss and maybe some other things but overall, I was content with him just holding me.

"I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby," he sang along quietly to Wheatus as it played, the song fitting perfectly with the movie. Earlier he'd informed me that that song was written specifically for it and that made me love it even more.

Oliver's voice was slightly raspy and he really didn't sound bad. Sure it wasn't anything amazing but he definitely didn't suck, "I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby... Listen to Iron Maiden maybe with me."

And when the movie had ended, his lips made their way to my exposed shoulder after some silence, both my hands latched onto his. I was trying to catch my breath as he kissed my skin before resting his head in the crook of my neck, the air thick, "You know we have to talk about this eventually..." I'd said, his calloused fingers rubbing mine as he held me, my back pressed into his side.

He shrugged, one hand letting go of mine which at first had disappointed me. That was until he slid his hand onto my cheek, pulling me to look at him. He pecked my lips softly and inside I was overwhelmed with happiness as his hand released me and made itself home on my hip, "yeah, not now, though."

We may or may not have kissed a little after that, hiding our swollen lips from my parents when they'd stumbled in, giggling like teenagers.

And I may or may not have walked Oliver home, lips lingering on his until Elliot had caught us.

I might have liked his kisses a little too much.