Page 5 of Strum Me

“And you know they say computer games are great for stimulating the creative and reasoning and logic parts of your brain.” He grins, seemingly quite proud of his completely ridiculous argument.

“Right.”

“And, well, let’s just say they should recruit me for some sort of governmental think tank, that’s how primed my brain is right now.”

“And your English homework?”

“My brain is too primed for such a menial task!” He scoffs.

“Hey! Are you saying I’m stupid?” I swing my bag at him and he moves out of the way just in time.

“Oh, um, I’m not saying that! It’s just that, well, you know, there’s smart and there’s genius.”

I nod as if in total agreement, and he grins in relief and taps himself on the temple.

“There’s also taco day in the cafeteria, which is today and your favorite, as you know, and there’s detention during lunch for not doing your homework.” I wink at him and tap my own temple as his mouth drops open.

He reaches over and tries to rip the homework from my hand, but I’ve known him long enough to anticipate it and cram the sheet back into my bag before making a run for it.

“Thief, thief!!” he yells as he runs after me, “She’s taking off with her, I mean, my…thing. Thief! Somebody stop her!”

I almost choke on my laughter but keep running, turning my head for just a moment to see how far a lead I have on him. Unfortunately, an overgrown tuft of grass catches my foot at that exact moment and I tumble over to land in an ungraceful mound of teenage girl.

I scramble to my feet, but never the most nimble of athletes, I trip over myself and end up on the grass again.

“Ah-ha! Gotcha!” I hear through the hair fallen over my face, and I push it aside just in time to see Brad grab the homework sheet from my bag.

“No!” I yell and kick out with my foot, catching him on the shin and he squeals as he tumbles down right next to me.

“Oooff,” he grunts as he rolls over onto his back, still clutching the crumpled sheet to his chest.

I struggle to get upright and then press a foot onto his shoulder, holding him down as he wriggles. “Give it up, Windsor. Or else my foot’s going to move south.”

“Dude. I give, I give!!!” he yells and lays his body flat against the ground.

Bending over, I snatch the homework sheet back with one hand and offer him my other hand, helping to pull him to his feet.

“Well played, Butter. Talk about an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He flinches as his hand hovers around his groin protectively and shudders as if contemplating what might have happened had he not surrendered. The look on his face is so pitiful I can’t help but give in. My eyes roll up into my head as I hand him the homework sheet.

“Oh, you hath taken mercy on my poor soul. The universe shall reward you with riches and the never-ending joy of my company.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hurry up and get it back to me before we have to hand it in,” I beg him as I brush the dirt from my clothes.

“I am the very picture of speedy plagiarism,” he says with absolute confidence.

“Mr. Windsor, Miss Butter. Is there some reason why you are late for my class?”

Our teacher’s voice drifts toward us and we turn to see him striding across the grass, notes in hand, a wholly unimpressed look on his face.

“Erm,” I start, but not sure how I’m going to finish.

“Oh, Mr. Harris, don’t be coy now,” Brad pipes up. There’s that cheeky catch in his voice. Oh man, this isn’t going to end well.

“Whatever could you mean, Mr. Windsor?” Mr. Harris cocks his eyebrow, twenty years of teaching experience telling him to just let the kid talk himself into trouble.

“Well, weren’t you talking about how it’s better that we not go anywhere on our own on school grounds? That it’s always better if you can have a...what did you call it, ‘pal’? Just for safety’s sake?”

“Spit it out, Windsor!” The blood starts to build up Mr. Harris’s neck and up to his face.