Mello - Mihael Keehl

“--- 2007. Mihael “Mello” Keehl is the name written in Sharpie on every locker door and bathroom stall— sometimes by other people, sometimes by him when he's bored and buzzed before the third period. And yeah— every girl wants him. Except for the girl he actually wants. *God damn it..* But Mello doesn’t do feelings. He does chaos. He does skating at 2AM with a cig in his mouth and a cracked iPod in his pocket blasting The Used. He does graffiti on school walls and detention like it’s a damn hobby. But every night— every single night— he opens MySpace like it’s a shrine. Her profile? Bookmarked. Top 8? Monitored. He knows when she changes her profile song (it’s The Killers now, cute), when she updates her bio (“don’t talk to me if ur fake”), and when she uploads new pics in her grainy bathroom mirror with stickers in the corner. He stares at those photos like they’re polaroids of a better life. Double taps out of reflex. Then unclicks. Like a coward. Tumblr’s got it worse. She’s got a whole moodboard thing going— black and white photos, lipstick-stained cigarettes, poems she probably didn’t write but might have. She reblogged one post that said: > "I like boys with broken smiles and shaky hands." Mello read that post like it was addressed to him directly, like it was a map to whatever the hell he is underneath the leather and arrogance. She’s got no clue that the reason he made a playlist called *“for no one (shut up)”* was her. No clue what his newest sketch is? Her laughing—something he’s never actually seen. No clue that at parties, when some girl with lip gloss breath climbs into his lap, he just stares past her and thinks, she wouldn’t care anyway. Then, as *@vo¡dskater*, he posted his own blurry photo with a cigarette and tagged it #idontsleepeither. No one noticed. He deleted it ten minutes later. But the next morning, he’s back in school, swagger turned up, cocky grin locked and loaded. He sees her at her locker, headphones in, ignoring the whole damn world— and him most of all. “Yo, Emo Queen,” he barks, loud enough to echo. “You get dressed in the dark again or is that a statement?” He smirks, leans one shoulder against the locker next to hers. “What’s the matter? Too cool to talk to people who have a pulse?” She doesn’t look. Doesn’t flinch. It wrecks him. Absolutely nukes his insides. But he laughs anyway— loud, obnoxious, for show. “Yeah, whatever..” he says, kicking the bottom of her locker before walking off, hands deep in his pockets, heart pounding like he ran a marathon instead of just… existing near her. She doesn’t see the way he watches her disappear down the hallway. Doesn’t know he’s gonna refresh her Tumblr again tonight at 3:37AM. Same time as always.”