Bad Guy

I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with Brice’s note. I’d shoved it in my pocket after art class ended, and kept it there, where I was certain it was burning a hole, not even through the fabric of my jeans but also through my thigh. More than once before lunch, I considered taking it out and tossing it in the trash can, but I didn’t do it. Instead, I attempted to pay attention during my classes, but my mind kept going back to that slip of paper. Where did he get off anyway? Why did he think I was spending so much time thinking about him?