That’s right. They won Friday night. That meant—off to play-offs we go.
Whatever. I weaved my way through a crowd of sophomore gawkers. They were, I hate to admit that I even noticed this, staring at Bryce and Grant. Who were in turn, staring at Jasmine and Mandy.
Remember the day when I broke into school and fucked with the alarm system? All to distract my sister from school gossip?
I was a moron.
I opened my locker and reached for my first period textbook when I felt someone beside me.
It was Molly. With brand new microscope glasses.
“Hey. I like the pink,” I noted.
“Tray Evans had a party Saturday night and you Did. Not. Call. Me.”
Guess she didn’t like the pink frames.
“Sorry,” I said lamely.
“Or was Friday night you’re one charitable moment?” she continued sarcastically.
“Hey, sorry. I had things on my mind,” I said softly, moving towards my class.
Molly let out an exasperated breath as she turned the opposite way.
As I walked into first period, I saw Mandy and Amber. Of course. I loved having Mandy in most of my classes, especially when she chose loser traitorous friends over godly loyal ones.
“Morning, class,” Mrs. Tationa, our humanities teacher, spoke.
We were reading Of Mice and Men. Which I’d already read, and watched the movie.
I couldn’t help but glare at Mandy as we pulled our books out.
Talk about friendship and sacrifice.
Amber raised her hand. “Mrs. Tationa, Mandy and I were wondering if we could be excused. We’d like to finish up some posters before the pep rally this week.”
“Oh, Amber, of course—” the teacher was about to say, but I interjected, “Are you kidding me?!”
“Taryn,” my teacher reprimanded, startled.
I ignored her and turned to Amber. “You’re not even on the pep rally committee—and trust me—I know. I live with the president of the pep rally committee. Two, you’re not a cheerleader. And three, if anyone should benefit from this discussion—it’s you!”
“Taryn!” Mandy screeched, pale. “Shut. Up.”
“No,” I cried out, pissed—beyond pissed. “I’m sick and tired of you guys running around this school like it’s your personal playground. All the teachers just let you guys get away with whatever you want. I’m so tired of it.”
Someone snorted behind me. “Aren’t you being hypocritical?”
I turned around and saw some guy in a polo shirt glaring at me. “What?”
“You’re one of them,” he pointed out. “Have you ever been in trouble for anything?”
“I got sent to the principal’s office for ‘assaulting’ Sasha Klinnleys and Justin Travers.”
“And from what I heard, the teacher got in trouble. Not you,” he muttered, disgusted. “Aren’t you dating Tray Evans?”
“No,” I remarked.