Page 22 of We Shouldn't Be Together
She huffs. “It’s worse when it’s all three of them.”
“Three?“ I question. “They gang up on you three to one?”
She winces, stepping back. “Can we not?”
“When does this happen?”
“I dunno. Any time I’m walking the halls alone.” She shrugs. “Phys-ed mostly.”
My hands plant on my hips, and I bite down hard. “Figures,” I grunt. “Get you when you don’t have any of your boys with you.”
Jamie palms her forehead. “Ugh. If I didn’t get so tongue-tied and shaky around other girls, I’d put them in their place.”
“Why does that happen, anyway?”
She throws her hands up. “Beats me. You think I’d keep doing it if I knew the answer?”
“Fair point.”
“I just came over to see how your practice went this morning.” She looks off to the side, now regretting the decision. “You know, because I haven’t seen you all morning.”
That stings. If she weren’t on the way to meet me, those horrible girls wouldn’t have ruined her morning. Why the heck didn’t I speak up sooner? I get I was in shock that someone was ragging on my best friend, but I shouldn’t have tolerated a single word.
Next time, I won’t let them get out a second word in front of Jamie.
“Sorry, James,” I mutter. “Buck up. Soon it’s lunch, and then just a few more classes till we’re outta this prison cell.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yippee.”
We give less than enthusiastic waves goodbye and head to our next classes. On my approach to my chem lab, a bunch of students hang outside thedoorway. Mrs. Field runs a pretty tight ship, so I’m surprised there’s so many stragglers.
As I move into the classroom with them, we’re all halted at the front of the lab benches. I hike my books under my arm, scanning the near-empty benches. Only the two at the back have students seated at them, plus another one at the left.
My bench.
Why are Sam Bancroft and Isla Finster sitting at my bench?
I tap the arm of the kid on my right. “What’s going on?”
“We’re being reassigned lab partners.”
My lip upturns. “Great. What for?”
He shrugs. “Beats me.”
Mrs. Field is reading out names, and more students shuffle toward their new benches.
Ugh. I actually came in early to my first class so I could snag a bench at the back. I don’t wanna be closer to Mrs. Field when she’s yammering on.
Speaking of which, once we’re down to the middle benches being assigned, Mrs. Field calls out, “Tabitha and Malakai.”
Tabitha Jones screws up her nose. “Malakai? Who?”
When Tabitha’s gaze lands on me, I swear I’ve never grimaced harder. “Oh, hell no.”
Her lips almost turn o-shaped, and I’d linger on how pouty they look if she weren’t the devil incarnate. I stomp toward the third bench on the right and slam my books on the bench. “Mrs. Field,” I call out. “I can’t work with her.”
Mrs. Field locks eyes with me. “You’ll work with who you’re assigned to.”
