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“I’m not exactly known as the nice girl from the popular crowd. You know, one of those types that’s popular and incredibly sweet so everyone tries to be friends with her because they think she can make them popular. That’s not me.”
“Exactly,” Molly pointed out.
“What happened to you being pissed at me?” I moaned.
“You were right about Justin. I’ll always think he’s the hottest thing here, but…I don’t know.” She shrugged, ducking her head, flushing. “I just…I’d like to tell my mom that I went to one party this year. One of those that she’ll freak out about and forbid me to go to.”
“And there are reasons why you should be forbidden from going to those types of parties.” I reasoned.
“You could watch out for me.”
I was about to say I wasn’t going, but remembered I had already told Mandy I would—out of guilt. Damn.
“And what if I’m too busy? What if I’m going to hook up with a guy?”
Molly looked indignant as she pushed her glasses back on her nose. “You don’t strike me as that type of girl.”
“Look, I’ll let you know tomorrow.” I glanced away, uncomfortable.
Mandy wants me to have friends. I can have friends. Just not…her friends.
After the bell rang, I made my way to my locker, evading most of the hallway rush. I probably would’ve made it to my car without speaking to anyone, if that one guy hadn’t stopped me outside on the front lawn. The guy who’d told me I was inhumane.
“Hey, bitch,” he called out, loping across the lawn towards me.
I took a harder look at him this time. He’d called me inhumane our first meeting, glared at me the next day, and now he’d called me a bitch. Again. I eyed him up and down and saw nothing significant about him—he was skinny, had shaggy hair, and he looked almost bug eyed (I’ll give him credit though, they were a startling green color that demanded more than one look at them).
I smirked, waiting to hear what he had to say.
Drawing closer, he said, “I heard what you did.”
I was starting to think back to what he could be talking about…what hadn’t I done? Seriously. Why did everyone have to care so goddamn much about what I did or did not do or who I did or did not do?
“And what was that?” I drawled out.
“Travers and that slut Klinnleys.”
“So what? Was that inhumane too?”
“No way. That was awesome!”
This guy was killing me.
“Is there a reason why you feel you have the right to continuously interrupt my peaceful walk, three times in a row, and claim your judgment on my behavior?” I bit out. “Because if I made you my judge and jury in some prior life, I’d really like to know so I can correct my stupidity—somehow in this life!”
“Hey, dude, I’m just saying that I was wrong. You’re my personal hero. I’ve been wanting to take Travers down a notch ever since freshman year.”
“Oh. A whole five months, huh?” I snapped.
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “You might want to think about changing your script. All you do is be a bitch followed by being a bitch and then serve a dessert portion of…being a bitch.”
“Yeah, well, it’s worked for me so far.”
“Doesn’t seem like it. You’re the one pissed off right now and me,” he grinned, backing away, “I’m peachy. Travers got taken down. You made my year.”
“Hey,” I stopped him as he was turning around, “what’s your name?”
r /> “Me?” he asked, surprised.
