Sharon’s Note: It’s a lot of fun to write a character who isn’t nice. Not evil, just not nice. It gives me the licence to make the character do some really fun things. Warning: Author hoping you’re having as much fun as she is.
I jab Clarissa right in the jaw. Her head rocks slightly, but that’s all I get my sore knuckles. Her wide eyed look of horror is much more satisfying.
“You hit me!” She wails.
“You hit her.” Max echoes. He’s gone from vicious guard dog to confused puppy.
“Hell yeah, I hit you.” I point over my shoulder at my sopping wet back. “You threw hot coffee at me. You try anything like that again and I’ll beat your face in with a base ball bat, you got it?”
The crowd is creating a low level wall of noise behind me. Clarissa’s eyes start to water. She nearly crashes into her cronies in her haste to run away. I don’t know what she’s so upset about. I have bruised knuckles and a scalded back. She doesn’t even have a mark.
“You are kind of violent, huh?” Max asks. The cronies are following their mean girl queen, and the crowd must have sensed that the spectacle was over, because they are breaking up. They’re still eyeing me, but I think I see a little respect now.
“So?” I look him square in the eye. “You want to make something of it?”
“Not if I’m going to get hit for it.” He grins at me. Weirdo. Cute weirdo.
I shake my head. Nope. I am not succumbing to the charms of the human puppy.
“Whatever. Do you know anywhere around here I can get a clean shirt? In the main office, maybe? Speaking of which, where are all the teacher? Someone should have seen this.”
“They kind of leave us to our own devices.” Max is shifting around like he’s standing of fire ants. I don’t think he realizes that he’s a terrible liar. “Reporting this would only draw attention to the fact you punched her. If you need a shirt, you could barrow my gym shirt.”
As weird as this town acts around strangers, they’d definitely take bottle-blond’s side over mine. And a spare shirt is a spare shirt.
“Yeah, thanks.” Max whips a gray tee-shirt out of his bag. I hold it up and it’s about two sizes too big for me, but a shirt is a shirt. He points me to a bathroom and have just enough time to change and stow my wet shirt in my locker before the bell rings.
Of course there are a group of people in front of my locker. They are definitely a group, all dressed in black, though their style ranges from corsets and lace to safety pins and leather. The guy leaning against my locker looks like he just walkers off the broadway production of Grease, minus the pompadore.
“Excuse me, you’re on my locker.” I point behind the Danny-Wannabe. The group goes quiet, seemingly startled that I dare speak to one of them.
“I heard we were getting a new student.” Wannabe is grinning at me in an almost cartoonishly predatory fashion. “What’s you’re name?”
“April. And you?” The rest of Wannabe’s group looses interest in us and go back to their conversations. He is still in front of my locker and I am fairly certain the bell is going to ring any second now.
“I’m Noah.” He holds out his hand just as the bell rings.
I take his hand and shake it bruskly. He raises an eyebrow and smiles like I’m amusing.
“Yeah, nice to meet you, but I really need to get to my locker. Could you please move?” His friends were already gone, but he just stands there staring at me.
“On one condition.” I think he’s trying to purr. He’s definitely trying to be suave. It isn’t working.
I . . .