Very Bad Things
Page 37
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By the time I walked in English, class had already started. I handed Ms. Weinstein my excuse note from Mr. Beasley and searched around for Sebastian, remembering that this was his first day at a new school. I found him in the back of the room. He gave me his usual leer, and I laughed.
There was only one seat left, and I took it even though it was directly in front of Emma. I prayed I could endure the close proximity. With only thirty minutes left in class, it was possible. But when the teacher left the room to make extra copies, she started kicking the back of my desk.
Perhaps growing tired of my muteness, she called out in her snotty voice, “So bee girl, the janitor said he’d go out with you again, if you’d let him sting you!”
Defiance flared. Why had I taken her shit for so long? Why had I let her put me down and call me names?
I turned around. “Emma, if I’m the bee girl then I’d be the one stinging him. Maybe you should think about repeating freshman year science class. But thinking really isn’t your strong point, is it? Sometimes I wish I had a lower IQ so I could enjoy your company.” I smiled sweetly at her.
Because she wasn’t a mean girl for nothing, she smirked back at me, unfazed by my sudden backbone. She brushed an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve. “Wow, impressive speech,” she sneered. “Too bad it doesn’t get you a boyfriend. I truly pity you, having to screw old Mr. Bronski in the cleaning closet at school just to get a date.” She laughed, and I heard her pseudo-friend April join in.
I stood and walked around to stand beside her, enjoying the surprise on her face. “Here’s a little tip: the art of insulting someone takes brains you don’t have. And it takes a bit of creativity to offend me, so the next time you want to bully me, please come up with something better than ‘bee girl,’ or ‘nerd,’” I said, making the air quotes motion. “Maybe you should worry about yourself from now on Emma. After all, your dear friend April there is fucking your quarterback boyfriend.”
Now, I didn’t know this for certain, but while I’d been people watching last year, I’d intercepted several secret sultry looks being passed between Matt Dawson, Emma’s boyfriend, and April Novak. It was a BA-educated guess.
“I really wanted to save this info for your party, but I think you need to know.” I glanced over at Matt whose mouth was parted in shock. “Matt touches April every chance he gets. In last year’s Euro class, in the hallways, in the lunch line. Maybe he even goes to her house after he leaves yours.”
She gasped and looked at April whose face had flushed a deep red. Matt, whose desk was suspiciously close to April’s, bent his head and covered his guilty eyes with his hand.
Damn that felt good.
TWO HOURS LATER I walked into Calculus class and picked out a table that didn’t have anyone else sitting there, which wasn’t hard considering the room was mostly empty. The room smelled like pine cleaner, and the floors gleamed with the sheen of a new waxing, reminding me that this first day of class was a fresh start for me.
Neither Sebastian nor Mila were in this class, and I didn’t know who would be. Engineering Calculus was an upper level class for serious math people only, only available to students with an SAT of at least 650 in math or a 29 on the ACT. As I looked over the syllabus, I studied the coursework: techniques for integration of trigonometry, exponential and logarithm functions, and polar coordinates applications. All that sounds like Greek to most people, which is funny because the word calculus is actually derived from Latin. I chuckled at my nerd joke.
There was an empty seat beside me until Drew sat down, easing his long legs under the table. Surprised, I stared over at him, and the tension that had lingered between us since New York flared up. We hadn’t really been alone since the night . . . I counted back in my head . . . eight months ago.
“What’s up?” he asked casually and set his books down on the table. He pushed a hand through his wavy brown hair and smiled. I’d always liked his crooked smile, and when he used it, it used to send tingles down my spine. It used to get me hot. Now, it just pissed me off.
“I’ve been dreading this class, but now that you’re here, it’ll be much better.” He paused uncertainly. “Uh, unless you’d rather I didn’t sit here?”
I yanked opened my notebook. “No, that’s fine.” It wasn’t.
“Okay,” he said, staring down at the syllabus on the table.
Long seconds passed, and, of course, I couldn’t stand the silence. I gave in and tried to chitchat. I said inanely, “I heard this class is tough.”
“Nah, we can handle it,” he said, turning his hazel eyes on me. “We can study together if you start having trouble.”
“Pft. Me, have trouble? Please. Tell you what, if you need some extra help, I’d be glad to tutor you, Mansfield.”
He laughed. “You always make me smile, Nora.”
My mouth tightened. “Is that so?”
“Hey, remember that time when Mr. Bray fell asleep during debate practice and his toupee fell off, so we started calling him—”
“Mr. Bray-Toupee,” I interjected rudely, not wanting to share in his little joke.
In the past I wouldn’t have let him know I was hurt by him, but now I wanted him to be uncomfortable. How dare he sit here and talk to me after the way he’d treated me? “So how’s Lori? She’s a junior this year, right?”
He squirmed. “She moved to Miami in June,” he told me, his eyes trained on my face, assessing. “Her dad got a job with a new company there. So, I guess we’re taking a break.”
There was only one seat left, and I took it even though it was directly in front of Emma. I prayed I could endure the close proximity. With only thirty minutes left in class, it was possible. But when the teacher left the room to make extra copies, she started kicking the back of my desk.
Perhaps growing tired of my muteness, she called out in her snotty voice, “So bee girl, the janitor said he’d go out with you again, if you’d let him sting you!”
Defiance flared. Why had I taken her shit for so long? Why had I let her put me down and call me names?
I turned around. “Emma, if I’m the bee girl then I’d be the one stinging him. Maybe you should think about repeating freshman year science class. But thinking really isn’t your strong point, is it? Sometimes I wish I had a lower IQ so I could enjoy your company.” I smiled sweetly at her.
Because she wasn’t a mean girl for nothing, she smirked back at me, unfazed by my sudden backbone. She brushed an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve. “Wow, impressive speech,” she sneered. “Too bad it doesn’t get you a boyfriend. I truly pity you, having to screw old Mr. Bronski in the cleaning closet at school just to get a date.” She laughed, and I heard her pseudo-friend April join in.
I stood and walked around to stand beside her, enjoying the surprise on her face. “Here’s a little tip: the art of insulting someone takes brains you don’t have. And it takes a bit of creativity to offend me, so the next time you want to bully me, please come up with something better than ‘bee girl,’ or ‘nerd,’” I said, making the air quotes motion. “Maybe you should worry about yourself from now on Emma. After all, your dear friend April there is fucking your quarterback boyfriend.”
Now, I didn’t know this for certain, but while I’d been people watching last year, I’d intercepted several secret sultry looks being passed between Matt Dawson, Emma’s boyfriend, and April Novak. It was a BA-educated guess.
“I really wanted to save this info for your party, but I think you need to know.” I glanced over at Matt whose mouth was parted in shock. “Matt touches April every chance he gets. In last year’s Euro class, in the hallways, in the lunch line. Maybe he even goes to her house after he leaves yours.”
She gasped and looked at April whose face had flushed a deep red. Matt, whose desk was suspiciously close to April’s, bent his head and covered his guilty eyes with his hand.
Damn that felt good.
TWO HOURS LATER I walked into Calculus class and picked out a table that didn’t have anyone else sitting there, which wasn’t hard considering the room was mostly empty. The room smelled like pine cleaner, and the floors gleamed with the sheen of a new waxing, reminding me that this first day of class was a fresh start for me.
Neither Sebastian nor Mila were in this class, and I didn’t know who would be. Engineering Calculus was an upper level class for serious math people only, only available to students with an SAT of at least 650 in math or a 29 on the ACT. As I looked over the syllabus, I studied the coursework: techniques for integration of trigonometry, exponential and logarithm functions, and polar coordinates applications. All that sounds like Greek to most people, which is funny because the word calculus is actually derived from Latin. I chuckled at my nerd joke.
There was an empty seat beside me until Drew sat down, easing his long legs under the table. Surprised, I stared over at him, and the tension that had lingered between us since New York flared up. We hadn’t really been alone since the night . . . I counted back in my head . . . eight months ago.
“What’s up?” he asked casually and set his books down on the table. He pushed a hand through his wavy brown hair and smiled. I’d always liked his crooked smile, and when he used it, it used to send tingles down my spine. It used to get me hot. Now, it just pissed me off.
“I’ve been dreading this class, but now that you’re here, it’ll be much better.” He paused uncertainly. “Uh, unless you’d rather I didn’t sit here?”
I yanked opened my notebook. “No, that’s fine.” It wasn’t.
“Okay,” he said, staring down at the syllabus on the table.
Long seconds passed, and, of course, I couldn’t stand the silence. I gave in and tried to chitchat. I said inanely, “I heard this class is tough.”
“Nah, we can handle it,” he said, turning his hazel eyes on me. “We can study together if you start having trouble.”
“Pft. Me, have trouble? Please. Tell you what, if you need some extra help, I’d be glad to tutor you, Mansfield.”
He laughed. “You always make me smile, Nora.”
My mouth tightened. “Is that so?”
“Hey, remember that time when Mr. Bray fell asleep during debate practice and his toupee fell off, so we started calling him—”
“Mr. Bray-Toupee,” I interjected rudely, not wanting to share in his little joke.
In the past I wouldn’t have let him know I was hurt by him, but now I wanted him to be uncomfortable. How dare he sit here and talk to me after the way he’d treated me? “So how’s Lori? She’s a junior this year, right?”
He squirmed. “She moved to Miami in June,” he told me, his eyes trained on my face, assessing. “Her dad got a job with a new company there. So, I guess we’re taking a break.”
