He couldn’t possibly.
I ignore the sudden thickness in the air surrounding us.
“I’m far from perfect,” I defend myself, affectively changing the subject.
“I know,” he says quickly. “That’s why I said trying to be.”
I glare. “I don’t—”
“Yeah you do,” he challenges. “You’re always at school early, don’t leave until late. You have perfect grades and still do extra credit, have had perfect attendance since forever. You say hi to everyone you pass, offer to help more people than you should or even have time for.” He tilts his head. “You just smiled and waved at the chick the dude you’re hot for wants to fuck, or already has by now.”
“You make me sound like some goody-goody, praise chaser. That’s not who I am.”
“Is everything I just said not true?”
My lips form a tight line and I look away.
I’m not about to tell him I have to do well to appease my mom or that I want to just as much so I can get the hell out of my house and be able to say I did it on my own. Not that he’d care to hear it.
I keep my response simple for his arrogant, hypercritical, ass.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do well in school and being nice to other people is the right thing to do. As far as Sandra goes, she’s her own person and Alex isn’t mine,” I snap. “So, yeah. I was nice and I’ll continue to be.”
“Why?”
My eyes fly to his. “Because.”
“You think you’ll get that asshole’s attention by being nice? Tell me, D, how nice were you to him last night?” His lip practically curls.
I must give myself away, because a dark chuckle leaves Nico.
He shifts, leaning to the right more. “He didn’t show.”
When I don’t say anything, he shakes his head. “Yet you’ll still chase him, won’t you?”
What is it with this guy?
“It’s not like my entire goal is to become Alex Hammons’ girlfriend,” I bite out.
His face twists. “Isn’t it?”
I jerk forward in my seat, pissed off.
“I like him, sure. I’d like someone to go with to all the fun senior shit this year, duh, but I don’t feel the need to have to be a bitch to harmless people to make that happen.” My brows jump. “You want to sit here and pretend to know me so well, but if you think for a second, I’m the type who will become what she thinks someone else wants in order to gain, you’re wrong. What purpose would it serve to have him if I can’t even be me?” I ask, but not for a reply. “If he doesn’t like me the way I am, oh fucking well.”
Pretty sure he might though, dick!
I don’t tell him that.
Nico glares, but yet again, there’s an unexpected change in him.
Suddenly, his eyes are less sure, of what, I can’t even pretend to understand.
In the next second the timer on my phone goes off, and I shoot from the chair, eager to get the hell out of here. “We need to go back down, there’s only ten minutes left, and Mr. Brando might start looking for us.”
He doesn’t move, his gaze dark and measuring.
Finally, he pushes to his feet, stepping toward me until he’s directly in front of me, my entire body wrapped in a shadow of his own.
He stands there, blank faced with a heavy fog of vexation surrounding him, making it hard to breathe.
Nico remains closed-lipped for a solid thirty seconds, and then finally he slips past, his chest brushing mine with carelessness as he does.
Only when the scrape of the brick across the cement finds my ears do I realize I’m frozen where he left me.
A ragged exhale leaves me, and I clear my throat as I step through the frame, leaving him to follow.
I jolt when the door slams behind me, Nico on the opposite side.I take my time driving home, putting a frozen casserole in the oven for dinner the minute I step inside, and then get busy with my homework.
I’ve already eaten and am finishing up my weekend assignments when the front door opens and shuts downstairs, my mom’s voice easily heard as she argues with someone on the phone.
Why is she home?
It’s just after eight when she gets here, but the knock on my door doesn’t come for another twenty minutes.
“It’s unlocked,” I call out, already dreading her entry.
My mom opens the door, glancing around the room before her eyes fall on me sitting in my window seat, surrounded by textbooks and papers.
She walks in, picks up the remote to my TV and turns it off.
“Always studying.” She links her hands in front of her.
I swear, she’s the hardest woman to please. She wants me to be Miss Socialite and the future fucking President while having no clue which she wants more.