be next, and a few glares from jealous jocks wearing varsity jackets like Randy’s. I didn’t get what it was about them that made some of the chicks automatically drop their panties.
After settling into my seat in the back row, I stretched my long legs out into the aisle. My wallet chain swayed on my hip. Bryan settled into a seat on my right side. He wore the same basic shit—worn T-shirt, faded jeans, even the chain.
“Comfortable, Warren?” Mr. Yurelli looked back at me, the chalk in his hand poised over some stupid-ass equation on the blackboard.
“For the moment.” My lips curved as some girls giggled and a few guys guffawed.
Shaking his head at me, Mr. Yurelli returned to teaching.
Bryan opened his notebook and started writing shit down. He had a mom who cared about him and how he did in school. Mine didn’t give a shit. Besides, what fucking use would I ever have for algebra?
I was going to be the lead singer in a band . . . a world-famous rock band. Bryan would be my guitar player. We just needed a few additional members to round out a group. Some good tunes under our belt, and we’d be out of Southside fast.
Fame. Money. Chicks. Booze. We’d have all we wanted, in that order. My old lady wouldn’t be able to ignore me when I was on the cover of Rolling Stone.
After a lot of boring stuff, the bell rang. From the back of the room, Bryan and I ambled out last.
“War?” Mr. Yurelli extended his arm into the aisle, stopping me.
“Yeah? What’s up?” I jerked my chin high, giving him respect. I didn’t understand the stuff he taught. But since he basically let me do whatever I wanted in his class, I liked him.
“Mr. Garrett wants to see you in his office.”
“Fuck,” Bryan said. “What do you think he wants?”
“Dunno.” I hadn’t done anything wrong. But the principal summoning me to his office on my first day back, within the first hour or so of my return, was good for my bad reputation.
“I’ll head there now, Mr. Yurelli.”
“Thank you, Warren.”
“No problem, Mr. Y.”
I headed through the doorway and stopped just outside it. The corridor was crowded with Latinos, blacks, and whites, all mixed together and shuffling along apathetically. Why study? Why care about anything? We all knew we’d end up going nowhere, just like our parents.
“Catch up to you in history class?” Bryan asked.
“Yeah. Probably. I might skip, pick up another bitch.” And fuck her while thinking about the new girl, I added silently. That had worked to make the finish spectacular with the brunettes. “If not history, then lunch. Grab us some chips from the caf and a couple of sodas. I’ll meet you outside on the corner.”
“Okay.” Bryan lifted a finger in the air and dove into the flow.
I turned left and went upstream against the traffic. Holding my chin high and my shoulders back, I slid on my shades. People jumped out of my way. No one wanted to mess with a six-foot-one badass with an attitude.
Plus, word of what had gone down with Kyle had probably already made the rounds. My reputation remained intact. I might not be a rich piece of shit like my old man, but here on my end of Southside High, I ruled.
With the fluorescent overhead lighting shining down on me like the spotlights on a stage would someday soon, I confidently strode through the rapidly emptying hallways on my way to the office.
“Mr. Jinkins.” The secretary rolled her eyes behind purple-framed glasses when I entered the office. “You’ve returned from the great unknown.”
“Had to, Mrs. Hodges.” I leaned over her desk and lowered my voice, dropping my shades a second to give her a low-lidded scan. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Oh, well.” Looking flattered and uncomfortable, she shifted in her chair.
“Warren,” Mr. Garrett barked from behind her. “Quit flirting with my secretary.” He hooked his thumb toward his glass-enclosed space. “My office. Now.”
“Later, Mrs. H.” I tapped her desk with my knuckles, and I swore she sniffed the air as I strolled past. Her reflection in the glass revealed she was fanning her face with a paper file.
The alternative school had been shit, but I still had my touch with the ladies.
“Hey, Mr. G.” I entered his office and folded my frame into the red plastic chair on the right. It was my preferred roost.
“Mr. Garrett,” he said predictably, correcting me as always. “And remove the sunglasses, young man.”