Page 24 of We Shouldn't Be Together
I sit taller, looming over her. “Don’t I? Give me one good reason.”
Her bottom lip drops, and a squeamish sound comes out. She blinks a few times, flapping her ridiculously long lashes. Nope, not doing this. Not looking at this horrible girl.
“Thought so,” I whisper roughly, and turn back to my textbook.
“I should be the one protesting about sitting near you.”
“You?” I turn and face her. Her doe eyes have slit into a frenzied state. “You’re the reason we’re plonked together. What right do you have to protest?”
“I should be treated better than being forced to sit next to a tacky non-conformist.”
I snigger at her. “Are you trying to insult me?”
Her eyes narrow and her features harden. “It’s high school. Since when is not fitting in a good thing?”
“Girl, I’m captain of the soccer team. I fit in just fine.”
“Maybe when you’re wearing a uniform.” She crosses her arms as disgust distorts her face. “I’ve seen how you dress outside of school when you carry around that ridiculous skateboard.”
“Ridiculous? I’m ridiculous?”
She doubles down, tilting her head as she gives me a once-over. “That’s what I said.”
“You’re so full of yourself.” I lean in, growing my frame to intimidate her. “You’re a nasty girl, who’s so ugly inside, that she says vile things to people to feel a shred of happiness.”
The venom in her stare decreases, taken off-guard by my words.
I hit the desk with my fist and make her jump in her seat. As I lean in closer, I coldly whisper, “You’re kidding yourself if you call that feeling happiness. You’re a mean, spiteful girl, and I hope you get everything that’s coming to you.”
A whimper squeaks out of her, and her bundled hands sneak under her chin. As I pull back, I take in her child-like scared posture as she shivers under my stare.
I turn to face the front, glad I’ve silenced her. She deserved every single word. Probably more.
“Kai, Tabitha,” Mrs. Field says, stopping by our bench. “Everything okay over here?”
“Perfect,” I reply, “if you separate us immediately.”
Mrs. Field cocks an eyebrow and then taps Tabitha’s open textbook. “No, perfect is you two getting your work done quietly.”
“Fine by me,” I grumble. “I have nothing to say to this girl.”
“Tabitha?” Mrs. Field asks, scrutinizing Tabitha’s notebook. “Do you have the homework assignment I asked for?”
“Oh, umm…”
Mrs. Field watches Tabitha scramble between her notes. “Your parents signed it?”
Signed it? Did we all need to do that?
“Umm, yes, ma’am. Well, umm, my mom did. My dad was still working late.”
“That’s quite all right,” Mrs. Field says. “As long as you’ve finished your work and have a signature, it’s all I require.”
Tabitha retrieves the paper and hands it to our teacher. “Here.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Field nods. “Now, I haven’t seen you lift a pen yet.”
Tabitha leans forward, and from the corner of my eye, I notice her hand tremble as she lifts her pen. “Sorry, ma’am.”
