"WHAT IS LOVE as we hear and see it in pop-culture?" Ms. O'Keefe read the aim of today's class aloud. "Take ten minutes to define love in your journals, and when time is up, I'll call on volunteers to share out what they wrote," She informed us.

I took a few minutes to think about the question and determine what loved looked like in my life versus how it looked in pop-culture.

Love was tough and honest in my household. My father stopped sugar coating things after my mother passed away and wouldn't hesitate to give me constructive criticism on my work performance whenever I made a mistake. Even though I'm not particularly fond of being called out when I mess up, I know my father does it because he loves me and wants me to be the best I possibly can be.

When I think of love in pop-culture, glamorized is the first word that comes to mind. I believe love can be a beautiful thing, but it can also be heart breaking. My father went from being the happiest man alive when he was with my mother to feeling like dead weight when she died. Pop-culture sometimes focuses too much on the beauty of love to the point where love becomes overrated. With these thoughts in mind, I began writing my own definition of love in my journal.

Love is the thing that turns your glass from half empty to half full
Love is fulfilling and the only thing that can make you whole
Love is restless and timeless
When you're in love you don't go to bed without thinking about the person who's held your heart captive and seem to lose track of time when you're with them
Love is soul crushing
It sends you into a flurry of different emotions that you may not want to experience
"Love is war"
A constant battle between two hearts
"Love is a battlefield"
And you never know when Cupid's arrow is going to strike

I wasn't brave enough to share out my piece to the class, but I was proud of my work nonetheless. For the rest of the period, Ms. O'Keefe explained the next project we were going to be working on which was a collage. Collages were my favorite type of artwork, so I was actually looking forward to starting this project. She then proceeded to show us examples of artwork by artists who were well known for their collages, most notably Pablo Picasso.

When the bell rang, I went to my locker and grabbed my lunch. Before I headed to the quad, I decided to stop and use the girls bathroom. The line to the bathroom was always long during lunch, but I tried to pass the time by playing subway surfer on my phone. It was difficult to fully immerse myself in the game with all of the conversation happening around me, and I found myself losing interest in my device when I heard the name of someone close to me come up in conversation.

"I can't believe Harry told his friends I have a nice rack," The girl standing in front of me giggled to her friend. She twirled a strip of her long blonde hair with her fingertips and sighed. "I don't know whether to feel flattered or upset."

I nearly choked on my own spit when I heard the words that came out of the girl's mouth. Surely, she's not talking about my Harry. I mean, Harry is a fairly common name. Maybe it's someone else. I released a shaky breath and slipped my phone into my back pocket before shuffling closer to the girl as the line moved up.

"Personally, I'd feel flattered if the quarterback of the football team ever paid me a compliment–even if it was about my breasts," The girl's friend said to her with a wishful smile. "Gosh, I'm so jealous of you Tiffany! Are you going to talk to him?"

The girl whom I now learned was named Tiffany bit her lip and smiled. "Well, I do see him next period in AP Lit..." She trailed off, "so yeah. Maybe, I will."

I suddenly lost the desire to use the bathroom altogether and stepped out of line before walking in the direction of the school entrance. I felt like I was going to be sick as I pushed the double doors open and raced down the stairs, gripping my lunch tightly in my hand. I thought some fresh air would help me relax, but it didn't get rid of the sick feeling I had in my stomach.

Tiffany's words continued to play over in my mind like a broken record. Harry told his friends I have a nice rack. I didn't want to believe it was true, but he used to talk about girls that way in the past. I could only hope he made that comment before we knew each other.

Harry may not have been my boyfriend, but I thought we at least had enough respect for each other to be honest with one another. If he was interested in Tiffany, why not just tell me? Oh, right. Because he probably just wants his cake, so he can eat it too. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration and walked over to one of the benches in the quad, so I could sit down.

You know what? Maybe, I'm being too quick to jump to conclusions. I should at least give him the chance to explain himself.

With that thought, I set my lunch to the side and took out my phone from my back pocket. I unlocked it with my passcode and exited out of the subway surfer app before opening up my conversation with Harry. I texted him the four words every guy seems to dread hearing.

Me: We need to talk

Me: Come to my house after school

Mick Jagger Jr: Ok...

§

I played with the loose fabric of my ripped jeans as I sat on my couch and watched tv. I got home from school about thirty minutes ago, and Harry still hasn't shown up. I had enough time to calm my nerves over the situation between now and then but felt my heart rate pick up again with the sound of the doorbell ringing.

There were so many things I wanted to say to Harry, but as soon as I saw him behind my door, I was rendered speechless. The sight of him in his gray plaid shirt and black skinny jeans, wearing a baseball cap that was facing backwards, was enough to erase the thoughts in my mind and fill it with only thoughts of him. His brown hair looked tousled, like he had spent quite some time running his hand through it. There was a sense of alarm in his striking green eyes, and I cleared my throat before inviting him inside.

"Hey, um, thanks for coming," I said to him once I shut the door.

I turned back around to face him to see that he was nervously scratching the back of his neck. His green eyes were casted on the floor before he lifted his gaze to meet mine.

"I was a little caught off guard by your text," Harry admitted with a nervous laugh. "Is everything alright?" He asked me worriedly.

I wished I could tell him that it was, but I couldn't. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest and exhaled deeply.

"Can I ask you a question and receive a completely honest answer from you?" I questioned him, staring at his face intently.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded his head nonetheless. "Go for it," He encouraged.

"Did you tell your friends that Tiffany has a nice rack?" I blurted out.

Harry's jaw went slack when he heard my question, and I noticed his face paled slightly. My eyebrows scrunched together as I scrutinized every detail of his face. He probably didn't expect me to ask that but guilt was written all over his face.

"W-who told you about that?" He stuttered his response.

"It doesn't matter who told me," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Is it true?"

Harry took a deep breath before nodding his head. I felt a pang in my chest and fought the urge to slap him across the face. Before I could tell him off, Harry rushed to speak.

"Wait, I can explain!" He assured me. "Matthew asked me who I was texting one day after football practice in front of the guys, and I didn't want them to know it was you, so I lied and said it was Tiffany," Harry explained.

I let out a frustrated sigh and shook my head. So he would rather lie than tell me the truth. "And I'm supposed to believe you casually slipped in the comment about her chest?" I asked rhetorically. "You must think I'm a fool."

"Tiffany has big boobs. So what. We're not even dating, so I don't understand why you're upset. Would you rather I had told the guys from the football team all about your small tits?" Harry retorted, glowering at me with annoyance.

I felt like I had just been slapped in the face after hearing his comment. Harry knew how self-conscious I was about my chest. He said this to hurt me. Tears began to spring in my eyes at the realization, and I saw his face soften the slightest bit, guilt clouding his emerald eyes.

"How dare you even say that to me? We may not be dating, Harry, but I thought you at least had enough respect for me to not talk about other women like that," I bitterly remarked. "I see now how far from the truth that is. You need to leave. I've heard all I needed to hear from you," I gritted out while gesturing toward the door.

I stepped aside so he could walk out, but he wouldn't move. His arms were crossed over his chest like mine were, and he had this look in his green eyes that I couldn't quite decipher. All I knew was the longer he stood there unmoving, the angrier I became.

"Florence, I–" He tried to say before I cut him off.

"–Get the fück out of my house Harry!" I yelled, catching him off guard. 

I felt a tear roll down my cheek before I could catch it with my hand and opened the door for him.

"If I walk out this door right now, don't expect me to come crawling back," Harry warned me.

"Don't worry, I wasn't betting on it," I replied as a few more tears streamed down my cheeks.

I slammed the door closed as soon as he walked out and slid against the door frame with my hand over my mouth, muffling my sobs. My shoulders shook vigorously, and it seemed like the flow of tears was endless. This was the first time I had ever cried because of Harry, but somehow I knew that this wouldn't be the last.

Author's Note:

Hey everyone. I hope you had a nice weekend. Prom was super fun. I had a great time. The piece about love I included in this chapter was something I wrote in my art class back in February. My high school graduation is this Friday, and I can't wait.

Feel free to vote, comment, share this story with a friend, or follow me on wattpad. This story is at 9K reads, and I'm so thankful for everyone who has supported me throughout.

Shoutout to @beliefnan for the sweet comment she replied with on her message board. I hope you're happy with this update.

Question for my readers: What do you think of Harry's comment? Does Florence have a right to be upset if they're not dating?

Let me know your thoughts.

—
Kaylandia