“What is love to you two?” Leo watched Jean look up from her poetry book. Her dark eyes squinting.
The sun from the window behind peeked through, casting its rays on Leo, in various places of his face.
“Love?” she said, looking over at Rafe.
Rafe pouted a bit, “Define love. There are so many types,”
“You know, romantic love.” He murmured the last part embarrassed. Before he’d let them see him blush, Leo peered back into his comic book.
“Romantic love?” he heard Jean ponder. “I would say trust” Rafe grinned, taking her cigarette out of her mouth.
“I’d say sex,”
“Shut up!” Jean sent her book flying at his chest. “He’s clearly asking for advice,”
“Are you?” Rafe drew out a smoke. “Who do you like?”
“It’s no one. I was just wondering,” placing his comic book on the shaggy carpet, Leo was brought to his feet. “I should get back to my room. I have a lot of homework.”
“It’s Malina isn’t it,” Rafe’s mouth went agape. Leo ceased patting down his pants for wrinkles.
“No!” he shot. How could she possibly guess Malina? Was it that obvious?
Now, both of their eyes were studying him, quietly waiting for Leo to try and explain himself. Yet the room was still as dead as a cemetery. Leo hadn’t the slightest thing to say to defend his case. He wasn’t a lawyer.
“Well, she did sort of lead him on,” Rafe intoned, watching Jean stand to her feet.
“She’s dating Trace.”
That was all Leo needed to here. And now that someone said it out loud, it confirmed any other doubt he’d ever have.
“I knew that,”
“Really?” Rafe stood, as his eyebrows slightly frowned. “Because you were pretty disappointed she didn’t show up to the film.”
“Well, she invited me,” he tried.
“It doesn’t matter. Trace is an asshole anyway. That’s why she didn’t show. She was with him”
Leo spun around, his legs quickening the pace for the door. Once he reached the knob, he felt his stomach churning. Why didn’t they just tell him she was with her boyfriend. Why did they ignore that small, but very big piece of information?
“Sorry, Leo!” was the last thing her heard, before slipping out, and hurrying down the steep stair way of the apartment complex.
*
Of course, Trace would be in the room, just when he wanted to be alone. As Leo stormed in, he glanced up, from the camera perched in his hands.
“What’s up, American?”
Trying his best to be polite, Leo nodded with all his patience.
“I’ve been taking some pictures of Malina. Want to see?” he asked,
wagging his eyebrows.
“Not in particular,”
Trace’s large shoulders went up. “Suit yourself,”
Leo picked up his backpack, and spilled it’s its contents onto his untidily, made bed. His hands shuffled through all the items, swiftly picking up the only sharpened pencil he owned. The carpet scuffed, once Leo yanked his seat from under the small desk, and settled down with his homework.
“Bitch,” he heard Trace murmur, underneath his shallow breath.
Surprised at the sudden curse, Leo peered at him carefully. “What was that?”
Still punching the circular buttons on the camera, as if he was in a trance, Trace suddenly eyed Leo.
“Nothing,”