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Without waiting for a response, she huffed and turned to face her locker and began shoving the tubes back inside, so I bent down to help.
“What? You’re not gonna just stand there and laugh like your friends?” she spat, and okay, I probably deserved that.
“You know they did this, right?” she asked, eyes blazing like hot coals.
“They don’t mean anything by it,” I said, though it was the farthest thing from the truth; they got off on the misery of others. “They’re just screwing off.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and I realized it the second I said it.
“Is that what you guys do? Go around making everyone’s lives miserable and making excuses for each other?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything, Scarlett placed her hand under Penelope’s elbow and helped her up, saying, “Remember the game plan, P. Come on, let’s go.”
And then they left, leaving me staring after them, wondering,what’sthe game plan?
Chapter 11
PENELOPE
Ipointedtomynotebookwithmypencil.“Okay,sointhisexample,DequalsdistancefalleninmetersandTequalstimefromjumpinseconds.”
Crinkle. Crinkle.
My teeth gnashed together.
I sat in the study room of the library with Topher on my right. “So in this example, at one second, to figure out how far Sam has fallen, we use d = 5t2=5x12=5m.”
Crinkle. Crinkle.
I glared at him. The entire building was quiet save for the obnoxious rustling of his chip bag. “And, so to get the speed—”
Crinkle. Crinkle.
My hand whipped out and crushed the bag of potato chips, smashing Topher’s fingers in the process.
“What the heck?” he cried.
“For the love of all that is holy, would you,please, stop crinkling that dang bag and pay attention?”
Topher snorted, and it took everything in me not to punch him.
“Alright, geez. All you had to do was ask,” he said, cramming one last chip into his mouth.
“You’re not even supposed to have food in here.” I reached up and angrily yanked at my ponytail, tightening it, needing a release for my pent-up rage.
“Says who?”
“Um . . . the school? The librarian? I don’t know,” I said, my voice rising with my annoyance. “It’s common knowledge.”
“Seems dumb to me. Food helps me think.”
I glared at him.
Typical. He thinks the rules shouldn’t apply to him.
He glanced down between us, a furrow between his brow. “Your equation to figure out speed is wrong.”
“What?” I blinked over at him, then down to the paper where he pointed at the numbers.
