to…”
“Mean to what, objectify me?”
I bristle. Was she always so bitchy and I just never noticed? “Admiring the female body is hardly objectifying.”
She folds her arms and scowls. When I gape at her, she lets out a long, breathless laugh. Tears form in the corner of her eyes, and she waves her hand around in front of her. “Oh. My. God. Stop.”
She doubles over, clearly enjoying herself, while I stare at her, confused.
“Grab a mirror. Your face is priceless.”
What the hell? Her shifts in personality are dizzying.
When she recovers, Ellie drums her fingers against the side of the dresser. “You don’t need help in American Government, do you?”
There’s no point in lying. “Not really.”
A small smile dances across her lips. “Didn’t think so. I know you’re in the running for valedictorian.”
So she is here to hook-up. Maybe Brady and Reid were wrong. Maybe girls don’t want to be friends with me. I throw up my hands. “I know, but look, I just want to—”
“Hook-up?” she offers.
“Get to know you. I want to be friends.”
Her smile fades. “Well, that’s good, because I’m not interested in what you have to offer.”
“So why’d you come over? If you knew I don’t need help,” I ask.
A slight hint of pink colors her cheeks. Her fingers play with the bottom of her tank top. “I was curious.”
“About?”
She keeps her eyes trained down, her voice soft. “You.”
I fight every urge flooding my body. It’s not easy. She arches her back, in a way I’m sure she knows is tempting, and shakes her hair so that it brushes the bed beneath her. Blood races to every part of my body, betraying the detached cool I’ve been trying so hard to maintain. Before she notices her effect on me, I lean slightly forward.
She sighs and pulls her book into her lap. “Ready?”
With that one small movement, I understand I know nothing about girls.
9
“You look like shit. Alex really got you good,” Brady says, leaning over his desk toward me.
“Tell me he looks worse.”
“His nose is fucked up, and he has a cut by his eyebrow, but other than that he’s fine.”
I touch the tender purple area around my eye and cringe. How’d he get me so good, if I had him pinned?
“So?” Brady asks. “How’d it go with Ellie? Did she freak out when she saw your face?”
Normally, I’d lie. I’d tell him about how I made her scream my name and have the scratches to prove it. I’d make up something about her sucking my cock and spitting in my garbage can. We’d both laugh and bump fists.
“We studied.”
“That’s understandable. Who’d want to kiss someone with a busted lip?” Brady laughs and narrows his eyes. “No, really. What happened?”
Mrs. Campos, our thousand-year old blind-as-a-bat teacher, tilts her head and gives us her famous “shut it now” look. She may not be able to see a thing, but she can hear whispering from two hundred yards easily. “Is that Fletcher Colson and Brady Pearson mumbling back there?”
“I was just asking Fletch for his thoughts on the protagonist’s motives.” Brady is such a kiss-up. No wonder he has almost the entire student body, as well as the staff, under his spell. Helps that he’s wicked smart too.
“Save it for discussion time, gentlemen. Right now, you’re supposed to be reading and analyzing.”
“Yes, Mrs. Campos,” I say. Brady rolls his eyes and stifles a laugh.
He thumps my desk. So , he mouths.
Nothing.
Brady throws his arms up like a ref making a call. I don’t believe you.
Of course he doesn’t. Because when is the last time I’ve been alone with a girl for more than ten minutes where I haven’t at least tried to get some action? Maybe when I was eleven, but even that’s debatable.
I flip the page of my book and focus on the text. Unlike Physics, I actually like Lit class. For the next thirty-five minutes, I ignore Brady’s increasingly annoying attempts to get my
“Mean to what, objectify me?”
I bristle. Was she always so bitchy and I just never noticed? “Admiring the female body is hardly objectifying.”
She folds her arms and scowls. When I gape at her, she lets out a long, breathless laugh. Tears form in the corner of her eyes, and she waves her hand around in front of her. “Oh. My. God. Stop.”
She doubles over, clearly enjoying herself, while I stare at her, confused.
“Grab a mirror. Your face is priceless.”
What the hell? Her shifts in personality are dizzying.
When she recovers, Ellie drums her fingers against the side of the dresser. “You don’t need help in American Government, do you?”
There’s no point in lying. “Not really.”
A small smile dances across her lips. “Didn’t think so. I know you’re in the running for valedictorian.”
So she is here to hook-up. Maybe Brady and Reid were wrong. Maybe girls don’t want to be friends with me. I throw up my hands. “I know, but look, I just want to—”
“Hook-up?” she offers.
“Get to know you. I want to be friends.”
Her smile fades. “Well, that’s good, because I’m not interested in what you have to offer.”
“So why’d you come over? If you knew I don’t need help,” I ask.
A slight hint of pink colors her cheeks. Her fingers play with the bottom of her tank top. “I was curious.”
“About?”
She keeps her eyes trained down, her voice soft. “You.”
I fight every urge flooding my body. It’s not easy. She arches her back, in a way I’m sure she knows is tempting, and shakes her hair so that it brushes the bed beneath her. Blood races to every part of my body, betraying the detached cool I’ve been trying so hard to maintain. Before she notices her effect on me, I lean slightly forward.
She sighs and pulls her book into her lap. “Ready?”
With that one small movement, I understand I know nothing about girls.
9
“You look like shit. Alex really got you good,” Brady says, leaning over his desk toward me.
“Tell me he looks worse.”
“His nose is fucked up, and he has a cut by his eyebrow, but other than that he’s fine.”
I touch the tender purple area around my eye and cringe. How’d he get me so good, if I had him pinned?
“So?” Brady asks. “How’d it go with Ellie? Did she freak out when she saw your face?”
Normally, I’d lie. I’d tell him about how I made her scream my name and have the scratches to prove it. I’d make up something about her sucking my cock and spitting in my garbage can. We’d both laugh and bump fists.
“We studied.”
“That’s understandable. Who’d want to kiss someone with a busted lip?” Brady laughs and narrows his eyes. “No, really. What happened?”
Mrs. Campos, our thousand-year old blind-as-a-bat teacher, tilts her head and gives us her famous “shut it now” look. She may not be able to see a thing, but she can hear whispering from two hundred yards easily. “Is that Fletcher Colson and Brady Pearson mumbling back there?”
“I was just asking Fletch for his thoughts on the protagonist’s motives.” Brady is such a kiss-up. No wonder he has almost the entire student body, as well as the staff, under his spell. Helps that he’s wicked smart too.
“Save it for discussion time, gentlemen. Right now, you’re supposed to be reading and analyzing.”
“Yes, Mrs. Campos,” I say. Brady rolls his eyes and stifles a laugh.
He thumps my desk. So , he mouths.
Nothing.
Brady throws his arms up like a ref making a call. I don’t believe you.
Of course he doesn’t. Because when is the last time I’ve been alone with a girl for more than ten minutes where I haven’t at least tried to get some action? Maybe when I was eleven, but even that’s debatable.
I flip the page of my book and focus on the text. Unlike Physics, I actually like Lit class. For the next thirty-five minutes, I ignore Brady’s increasingly annoying attempts to get my
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