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Weirdly enough, other than her reaction to me last week in the woods, Scarlett has never picked on me. I mean, she’s known for being harsh with pretty much anyone she interacts with. But up until the other day, she’s never really interacted withme.She’s always scared the hell out of me, though. I know she’d be the worse out of anyone if she ever set her sights on me.
Which apparently, today she has.
She cocks a hip against the edge of my table, her emerald-green eyes scanning my bag, narrowing slightly like she finds something about it lacking in some way. Then she lifts them to meet my likely petrified gaze.
“That stuff I said to you the other day by the picnic table… I was in a shitty mood. And I took it out on you.”
Her left eyebrow twitches and I’m not sure if it’s just a twitch, or some sort of signal that she’s waiting for me to respond. I think… maybe she’s trying to apologize? Possibly? Only she still sounds kind of harsh. And really intimidating.
“Um… okay.”
I really have no idea what else to say. I’m relieved she isn’t laying into me. But I’m also confused about what exactly sheisdoing. Her eyebrow does that twitchy thing again, and she inhales a long breath, as if this whole interaction is somehow really taxing for her.
“Anyway, I just wanted you to know—I didn’t mean to be a bitch to you. I was just being a bitch in general. It wasn’t personal.” She pauses, then adds, “And obviously, I know you weren’t spying.”
Holy cow. Itisan apology.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “For apologizing.”
“Your bag is ripped,” she says in response, motioning with her chin at the front pocket of my backpack. Which has been ripped for about three years now.
“Oh, yeah… Thanks.”
She nods, then turns and sashays out of the classroom, leaving me standing there totally stunned. And relieved. And possibly feeling a little lighter, in some weird way.
“I think Scarlett apologized to me this afternoon,” I tell Sebastian at our tutoring session later on at his place.
He leans back in his seat and arches a perfect light brown eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”
“For how she reacted the other day in the woods when I barged in on you guys… getting intimate.”
His eyebrow lifts even higher. “You thought we werehooking up?”
“It’s none of my business what you and Scarlett were—”
He leans forward. “Scarr and I are just friends. We weren’t hooking up. We were talking.”
“Your fly was down,” I practically whisper. And I hate that I’m even pushing the subject. What he and Scarlett get up to—in the woods or anywhere else—really isn’t my business.
He laughs. One of those laughs where he throws his head back. “I was taking a leak,” he says once he’s able to talk again. “Scarr kept smacking my arm ‘cause she was annoyed at me and I pissed all over myself. I was foraging around for leaves to wipe off my shoe a few minutes before you came crashing through the trees, and I forgot to zip my pants back up.”
It seems like kind of a far-fetched story. But why would he make up something like that?
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”
“I know I don’tneedto. I want to,” he says, his usually smiling eyes suddenly serious. “I don’t like how people always assume Scarr and I are hooking up just because we’re good friends.”
I smirk. “Honestly, what’s more concerning here is the fact that you clearly have such poor aim that you manage to pee all over yourself when you relieve yourself in the woods, and still forget to zip your pants up afterwards, like any normal male species over the age of four.”
He tips his head back in another one of those awesome Sebastian Murdoch laughs, and we don’t talk about the incident again for the rest of the session. He’s extra distracted this afternoon though, and crazy fidgety. But I can tell he’s really trying, at least. It’s kind of adorable, actually—the way his tongue peaks out one side of his mouth when he’s trying to concentrate. Also, really eye opening, how embarrassed he gets when he thinks a question or comment might make him look stupid.
His parents must still be mad about the water-slide stunt, because they’re a lot more serious than the last time I was here. They remind him twice to study in the dining room, and then each come and check on us about three times over the course of the two hours. Like they think he might try to sneak me up to his room or something when they’re not looking.
On Wednesday, we get our civics pop quiz results back.
Sebastian swivels right round in his seat as soon as Mr. Hogan hands him the test. “Seventy-freakin’-six, baby!” he calls over to me. He’s beaming with pride.
Honestly, I am, too.
