A son with the bad boy
"I was working full-time, moving, Owen, things with my parents... it wasn't the right time, and I didn't even take the entrance exams when I finished high school. What about you? Although I see you haven't changed much."
I don't hide my hands; I know the marks are visible, and part of my face is swollen from the fight. But what does she want? It's the only thing I've ever done: get into trouble.
"I study architecture," I say instead. I don't expect her to use my crap to screw me over with Owen in the future.
"Architecture?" she shows interest. I think she's the first one who doesn't mock. "Cool. I'm in criminology."
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