Page 66 of Riot Act
“You can’t complain about any of it, then.”
“I won’t.”
“And I’m not giving you any character breakdowns. We’re not plotting this thing out.”
“Perfect. I don’t work that way, anyway.”
Urgh. She’s being soagreeable.She’s also acting like she’s written fifteen novels already and has any fucking clue what this process is going to be like. Grumbling, I open up my laptop.“Fine.I'llwrite the first chapter right now then. At least that way I won’t have to actually speak to you for the rest of class.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Two days each per chapter. I don't give a shit what Jarvis says. If you don't keep up, I'll write it myself and that'll be that. You got it?”
“Loud and clear.”
“And let me be completely transparent. If you try and twist my work into some kind of garbage, bullshit romance, I will rewrite every single word and erase you from the project.”
“Don't worry, Davis. I don'tdoromance.” She's as serious as the grave.
I immediately begin hammering away on my laptop. For the next forty minutes, I write like the wind. Occasionally, I shoot Chase a sidelong glance; she just sits there at first, reading a book that she pulled out of her bag, but after a while she rummages around and pulls something else out of her bag—a small Ziplock, filled with…what the hell is that? I have to turn my head properly to look at what she’s got in her hands. Takes me a moment to realize that the Ziplock is full of strands of colorful thread. She takes out red first, then, orange, then yellow. My fingers slow, the rhythmic tapping against my keyboard betraying the fact that I’m watching her. She notices and smiles. Fuckingsmiles.
I’m not having her sit there, smug as hell, knowing that she’s distracting me. Not. Fucking. Happening. I renew my focus, lasering in on the words spilling out of me and appearing on the screen, determined not to give her the satisfaction.
Five minutes before the bell, Chase starts to pack up her stuff. She shoves the book she was reading, her textbooks, her Ziplock of colored thread, all of it, back into her bag—which, upon further,verybrief inspection, turns out to be a battered military bag. Not an army surplus kind of deal, either. This bag has been used excessively. I see the name patch sewn onto the top of it:WITTON, ROBERT, K. It belonged to her father. Must have done. So she’s a military brat, then, just like Stillwater.
Given that the bell hasn’t actually gone, I keep typing, feigning disinterest in this small, new detail I’m learning about Chase. However, I have no choice but to stop when she reaches out and curls her hand around my wrist.
She curlsherhand aroundmywrist.
I stop dead, frozen, rooted to my chair, so taken aback that I all I can do is turn my head to the right and stare at her, open-mouthed.
She’s touching me.
Whyis she touching me?
And why am I so fucking shivery?
“Stay still,” she whispers.
“Thefuckare you doing?” I don’t move. I can’t. I’m so shocked by the brass balls of her that my entire nervous system has shorted out.
“Just relax.” She arches an eyebrow at me in a very Jacobi-esque kind of way, and that, too, takes me by surprise. There are very few people who can pull off an arched brow like Wren.
Looking down, her hands work quickly around my wrist. I put two and two together, but it’s already too late by then. The colorful knotted bracelet has already been tied firmly before I can wrench my hand away. I glower at her, running her through with an incredulous stare. “Youareout of your fucking mind.”
“You don’t like it? I was going to use blues and greens, but fiery colors seemed more appropriate.”
“What are we, fourteen-year-old girls? Are you at your first fucking slumber party? Do I look like I just got my first fuckingperiod?” The questions volley out of my mouth a little louder than they should. The students sitting at the other tables all cease their inane chatter and look over at us. Worse, Jarvis looks up from the stack of papers she’s grading and frowns.
“If you’re planning on kicking off again, Pax, think again. There are three minutes left of this period and I’ll be damned if I have to march you to see the principal on my time. Settle down.”
I shoot daggers at the witch, tugging furiously on the bracelet underneath the desk, dead set on ripping it off my body. Only it won’t fucking come off. “What, did youweldit on?”
Next to me, Presley chuckles softly. “I knotted it. You’re making it tighter by pulling on it.”
“What the hellisit?”
“Come on, Pax. You know exactly what it is. It’s a friendship bracelet.”
