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“The rumors that say I’m cool as fuck? A terrific lay? Fucking hilarious?”
Our high school halls flood with rumors about him.
The one that he sports an overinflated ego is officially confirmed.
“Negative,” I reply. “The rumors that you’re a sucky lay with a small penis.”
This is a lie—a rumor I’ve never heard—but hey, if he wants to talk crap, so can I.
“Lies, babe, all lies. I’m more than happy to present the evidence to back up my claim.” He retreats a step, dropping his hand to the crotch of his jeans, and tugs at his zipper.
I do another quick scan of the hallway before loudly snorting. “You won’t do it.”
He flinches, that smug smile slipping off his lips. “Huh?”
“You won’t do it.” I nod toward his crotch. “You won’t unzip your pants andpresentyour evidence.” I park my hands on my waist and kick my foot out.
He gapes at me, speechless.
“Pull it out or go away.” I dismissively wave my hand. “I have a test in ten minutes, and you, standing in front of me with your hand on your junk, aren’t helping me ace it. Go beg another girl to write your paper because you lack a brain … and according to the girls’ locker room gossip, a decent penis size.”
He drops his hand from his crotch, his smile returning. “Looks like Little Miss Innocent might not be as uptight as she leads on. There’s some personality hidden underneath those awful, itchy-looking sweaters of yours.” He makes a show of eyeing me up and down.
I opt out of giving him hell over theuptightcomment. The faster he goes away, the better.
“No, she has a low annoyance tolerance.”
He steeples his hands into a praying motion. “Say yes to writing my paper, and then you can go about your studying, sweater-wearing ways.”
“No.”
“Sixty bucksanda bonus of proving I’m well-endowed when we’re in private.”
I dramatically gag. “Gross.” As much as I don’t want to deal with him, I could use the cash. “Seventy-five, and I’llhelpyou write the paper, but you’re doing it yourself. I don’t cheat.” I signal to his jeans. “And keep your micropenis to yourself. I’d rather fail every class than have you prove you’rewell-endowed.”
“Paying you tohelpme write the paper defeats the point of paying you.”
“Really? With that brilliance of yours, you shouldn’t need me to write your paper.”
He laughs.
“Why are you even asking me? You’re in line—behind me—to be class valedictorian. You can easily write your own paper.” I reach forward to pat his shoulder. “I have faith in you, petite-penis buddy.”
“Never said I couldn’t write the boring-ass paper. I’d just rather not. I’m a busy guy who doesn’t give two shits about Shakespeare.”
“Eighty dollars,” I blurt out.
“Eighty? What the fuck? You can’t up the ante like that.”
“I can, and the longer you waste my time, the higher the price.” I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but hey, money talks. “Eighty dollars. Meet me at the library after school.”
“The library sucks. My house.”
I shake my head. “You’re high if you think I’m going to your house.”
“If I’m paying eighty dollars, which is fucking insane, at least give a guy the privacy of his own home.”
I thrust my finger toward him. “You’d better not try any funny business.”
