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My lips quirked. “True.”
“So, if you don’t have a date to the Snowflake Ball, why don’t you and Ethan go together?”
I wish. “He’s already taking someone.”
Out of all my friends, I was the only loser without a date. How fun. Normally, Ethan was my back-up, but not this time, which kind of stunk because friends were the best dates at dances, anyway. Not that I had much to compare to. I hadn’t dated anyone since my sophomore year when Greg Harlow dumped me because he said I was a prude, the jerk. It wasn’t my fault I have a moral compass and he was disgusting.
Since then, I forgot all about finding a love life. I’d been too busy trying to please my parents, be the perfect daughter, the ideal student to so much as flirt with another boy. I was barely hanging onto my family as it was. I was the glue—neutral ground. I may as well call myself Switzerland. And if I could just hang in there a few more months, then I’d be off to school, and if they fell apart, at least I could say I tried. At least I wouldn’t have a front-row seat.
I sighed as I looked at Harper’s sorrowful expression, and she said, “You could always just go stag?”
I groaned. Yeah, I could. If I wanted to
commit social suicide.
A burst of laughter from center-court stole my attention. I glanced over to see Carson cackling with Olivia, a basketball casually hooked under his arm, looking as carefree as ever.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to Harper. Typical. Of course he would be fawning all over someone like her. He was probably going to the dance with either her or Tasha, one of Sweet Water’s MG’s. They might be popular and beautiful, but they earned their nickname as the school’s Mean Girls for a reason. I couldn’t imagine if I showed up dateless. No doubt Carson would relish the opportunity to rub my solo-status in my face.
I could picture it now, those crystal blue eyes glittering menacingly under the disco ball in the gym, his hair dark and rumpled. Couldn’t get a date, Shorty? he’d say, and then I’d punch him.
Ugh. Why was I even thinking about him?
I crossed my arms over my chest and mustered a smile. “No worries. I’m sure I’ll—”
My words cut off at the sound of someone yelling, “Heads up!”
But it was too late. I wasn’t fast enough. I was too wrapped up in my own personal crisis to react before the basketball smashed into my face—wham!
I doubled over, my hands flying to where the ball had torpedoed into my eye socket. The pain was sharp—blinding. It took my breath away. Several seconds ticked by before I managed to straighten and inhale, blinking a few times, eyes watering as I searched my surroundings with my good eye like a pirate.
My gaze narrowed, knife-sharp, zeroing in on my assailant. None other than Carson Brooks stood right in my line of vision, a smirk plastered across his perfectly symmetrical pretty-boy face.
I dropped my hand from my throbbing eye and Harper gasped beside me, covering her mouth, mumbling a muffled, “Oh my gosh.”
I gave her a cursory glance—she wasn’t helping—before I returned my focus back to the court where Carson began to laugh. Not a chuckle, but a bent over at the waist, full on belly roll.
And I snapped.
My hands balled at my side, while I stormed the eight feet separating us to his spot on the court, my eyes blazing, fists at the ready. I was a woman possessed as I closed the gap. All of my problems culminated in the single moment he lobbed the basketball into my face, and I was sure it was him. I had never been more certain of anything in my life. It was always him prodding me, poking me, pricking his needle-sharp jabs under my skin.
My face throbbed where he struck me with the ball, and as I neared, he laughed even harder. It took him but a minute to absorb the fury oozing from my pores, and his laughter faded, morphing into his signature smirk.
I didn’t think. I could only react, and before I knew what I was doing, before common sense could prevail, my slender fingers wrapped around his puny neck.
???
A whistle blew behind me, and far too soon, Mr. Gorby yanked me off of him. “That is enough. Enough!” he yelled. He stood in between us, eyeing me like I was deranged. And maybe I was, because when Carson chuckled again, I made to lunge at him once more.
Mr. Gorby pushed my shoulders back, no longer a teacher but a bouncer in a club, holding back a crazed patron. Behind me, I heard someone—I think it might have been Tasha—mutter, “she’s crazy,” which was fantastic, really. All I needed to top this crap-show of a day was to have the entire school talking about how I—Mia Randalls—had officially lost my marbles.
I pulled in a shaky breath and yanked on the hem of my blouse, smoothing it with the palm of my hand and lifting my chin, ever the lady, the model student. But as sanity slowly trickled in, I felt my cheeks heat as I realized the gravity of what I had done.
I had, literally, tried to choke Carson. I mean, sure, he deserved it, but strangling a classmate wasn’t exactly something I wanted on my school record, was it?
I mustered as much dignity as I could, avoiding Carson’s gaze as Mr. Gorby glared at me. “To the Principal’s Office. Now.”
I heard Carson snicker before the sub turned in his direction and pointed. “Both of you.”
