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“So, you’re going to tell me what’s on this,” I announced.
“What…what’s in it for me?” He hesitated.
“Same deal as before. What do you want? And it better not be a second date with Aidrian Casners.”
“Uh—”
Too late—he took too long in answering me—I wanted a ‘yes’ immediately. I snapped, “You’re going to help me or you’ll deal with me. And if I’m not scary enough, remember what I said about my car? I like running people over with it.”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll help, jeez. Just…”
“Just what?” I warned.
“Nothing.”
“That’s what I thought. So, when and where do we get started?”
“Uh,” he scratched the back of his head, “how about after school? You could come over to my house—”
“Where I’ll have to meet your mom, who will think I’m your girlfriend? I don’t think so, you can come to Tray’s house. Bring your laptop and whatever techie gadgets you need.”
He paled.
I turned and marched off. Not appeased, not fucking at all. I wanted to get at that information ASAP and now I’ll have to wait for the entire fucking day.
Swearing, I kicked my locker when it stuck.
“Man, I’m surprised to see you here,” Crystal remarked, hugging her books to her chest.
I spared a glance at her, but went back to beating the shit out of my locker.
“You’re entitled to some time off, you know? You shouldn’t be back at school already. Brian’s funeral was yesterday.”
“I know when Brian’s funeral was!” I snapped, punching my locker. It wouldn’t move. Props wouldn’t help me right this second. And Brian was still dead.
I was mortified, feeling tears tease at the corners of my eyes.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Tray seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He blocked me from the watching audience and Crystal quickly stepped closer, blocking me from her angle.
“Get off,” I warned.
Tray rolled his eyes and slammed a fist to my locker, where it opened immediately. He grabbed my books and held them hostage. “You going to calm down?!”
“Give me my goddamn books.”
“If you’re going to go at it like this, all emotional and shit—we’re gonna fail. You have to push it aside, Taryn.”
Crystal frowned. We weren’t referring to books.
“I don’t need—”
“My help?” Tray slipped it, “Because, according to you, you do need my help and I’m telling you—calm the fuck down!”
“My locker wouldn’t open.” I knew it was a shameless excuse.
“We’re not talking about your damn locker and you fucking know it,” Tray growled.
“Stop it!” I shoved him away. “Give me a break…”
