won’t happen again.” I glance at Brantley over my shoulder. “I think we’ve all been reminded of blissful memories that the world will never forget. Among other things.”
Mrs. Henry scoffs but turns back to the board.
Murmurs rise in the class as I turn back around, trying desperately to hold on to my cool but I’m losing the battle. I watch as Brantley’s eyes flash with anger, making me smile. But inside, I feel empty. I’m tired of all this, but I pretend like I’m still the same old me.
Cold, dramatic, and a pro when it comes to being a class-act bitch.
When in reality, I have far bigger issues waiting for me at home. Issues that I can’t help, no matter what I do.
“Brantley, I’m not supporting St. Jude. I don’t give a damn about them.” Or who’s on their team for that matter, a fixation that every other girl is obsessed with. “I’m just saying maybe you should lick your wounds in private. Or better yet, keep me out of it. After all, I’m just looking out for your feelings.”
Loud snickers make Mrs. Henry turn around but I’m already facing forward, looking the part of a willful student, paying close attention. The moment she turns back around, people laugh, having gotten their entertainment for the day.
All teenagers want is a good show. Something to gossip about instead of their shit problems, like failing to mature.
A tap on my shoulder makes me turn back around. Noticing the way Brantley is looking at me, I tilt my head to the left, studying him. If I was someone else, someone who actually cared about any form of retribution from this jerk, I would’ve shivered in my seat.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you lately,” he starts after a few seconds, dropping his voice so he, Dante and I are the only ones to hear him. I don’t have a desk partner. Which is a good thing in my opinion. “You’re colder than usual. Make no mistake, Mia, your reign over the school is slipping, and soon you’ll wake up one day and realize you’re not the badass you think you are, sweetheart.”
I frown. That sounded a lot like a threat, veiled in something else. Something that I can’t wrap my finger around. I straighten my spine, the fake smile on my face gone.
“First of all, I’m not and I’ll never—not even if it rained gold hail—be your sweetheart. But then again, we all know you wish, with all your two cent dreams, I was.”
His face darkens with anger again, poor thing.
“And second, you should be worried about your crooked teeth that need braces, B, not my crown. I assure you, it’s still intact.”
The snickers grow louder as I turn away. I don’t have time for all this shit, let alone finding out what people think of me.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that everything this jerk just said is, in fact, true.
A lot has changed since before we started sophomore year. More if we count the week before freshman year started.
Things happened that I never thought would happen to me, but they did. I don’t care about a lot of things anymore, including where the latest party is or who will be there or how to be the most popular girl in school, besting even the current seniors.
I just don’t care anymore. I can’t afford to.
“There’s no need to be all bitchy, I was just trying to talk to you,” he says behind me, trying to laugh it off.
I turn back around to look at him. His face is red with embarrassment and anger, but I don’t give a damn if this is the first time a jock like him has been told off by me in front of the entire class of nosy students that will spread the word about this.
“About what, Brantley?” I’m beyond angry, and empty now. “The fact that you can’t get it up for longer than two minutes?”
I know I’m being a bitch, but I’ve been trying to keep it together for the past half hour of the class, and in that time, he’s been whispering behind me and Dante was helping by throwing balled up papers at me, annoying the hell out of me.
I watch with flat eyes as his eyes widen, my words finally registering with him.
“I don’t…that’s not…” he stutters. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
“Say no more, B.” I drop my voice to a sympathetic loud whisper. “I wasn’t the