Page 17 of The Tenth Circle
There he is.
Letterman and three of his misfit friends.
My insides turn to floating feathers with the vision of his pearly whites shining through a laugh. So perfect, along with everything else on this guy.
There’s two other kids next to him, possibly younger, both engaging in the laughter I can only hope is about a venereal disease Saint’s been recently diagnosed with.
Boy needs at least one damn imperfection.
Brooding on the other side is his creepy friend Crayton, who looks as though he’s one chemical imbalance shy of homicidal.
Like I said, it’ll be some year for us in Riverside.
As if sensing my distaste, the creepy one peers over at us, which prompts Saint to do the same.
A glance is shared between us, quick enough to the naked eye, but not enough to avoid my urge to examine him further.
Saint has no such compulsion—other than turning back to his friends and picking up where he left off.
Curiosity develops into irritation as we continue moving through the tables, passing kids with similar expressions. I can spot Annalie’s table and make a mental note of where it is for future purposes.
Archer ushers us ahead, where a table filled with drama club kids seem to be acting out an exaggerated skit. Archer may be the head of the drama club, but if he thinks being friends means I’ll be playing some damsel in a Shakespearean style tragedy, boy’s in for a Hendrix style awakening.
I’m shaking away the vision of me in an ugly kirtle when commotion drags my attention to my friends.
Specifically Bex, who’s pummeling to the floor over Annalie’s outstretched foot.
I drop my tray onto the table and sneer, “You stupid bitch. You tripped her.”
“The skeezy bitch should’ve watched where she was going.” Annalie cackles. “Plus, I heard she likes being on her knees.”
The audacity of that statement coming from a girl who got felt up in the middle of class, returned the favor, and is wearing a skirt that looks straight out of the bag of a cheap sexy nerd costume.
The judgment alone is the perfect recipe for a crack to the face, but it’s the bully tactic toward my friend that’s cooking my crazy.
“I will fucking cut you!” I scream, swiping some chicken off the plate and throwing it at her.
“You bitch!” Annalie shrieks, shooting out of the seat, chunks rolling off her and onto the floor. The move has her Oxford looking smeared with the same shit making up ninety percent of her personality.
Sure is a glorious sight. But not enough to scratch the itch.
An explosion takes place inside me.
My entire mind, body, and soul lunges for Annalie’s throat, faintly scratching her when Archer’s arms wrap around my waist and he drags me out of the dining hall.
2
HENDRIX
“Trust me when I tell you, girl. Heisthatbig.”
My leg shakes relentlessly against the floor, trying to tune out the tenth conversation I’ve overhead this week involving Saint’s dick. The universe must have a grudge against me, because no matter how hard I try to avoid them, somehow I still end up surrounded by his sleazy conquests.
Or maybe it’s the universe's way of showing me what a pig this guy is. A pig who’s been ignoring me since the first day of school—even though he’s made it a point to sit next to me every day in Algebra II.
No words. No looks. Just orange scented suffocation.
Annalie’s jealousy makes up for that one, though.
