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Chapter 11 Dylan
It was a bad idea to order spaghetti and meatballs for lunch.
I’m sure the red-orange hue of the tomato sauce I’m currently floundering in will pair well with my white button-down shirt.
Fuck. My. Life.
At least I can take solace in the fact that a portion of my meal spattered on Britney’s thousand-dollar Burberry messenger bag. Bitch.
But as much as I want to beat her ass for intentionally tripping me, I won’t give her the satisfaction of letting her know she’s ruffling my feathers.
Instead, I calmly peel myself off the cafeteria floor, silently praying I don’t slip. Again.
As suspected, everyone’s eyes are trained on me.
Well, everyone except for Jace, who appears to be enjoying his food without a care in the world. And Oakley, who’s laughing so hard he’s shaking.
Assholes.
A faint flicker of pity passes in a few people’s gazes as I straighten myself out, but not enough for anyone to hand the new reject a paper towel.
Whatever. Screw the sheep.
With a smirk, I pluck a strand of spaghetti off my shirt and plop it in my mouth. “It’s good. But it could use a little salt.”
“Gross. You’re so wei—” Britney starts to say before her face turns ashen. “Oh my God, you dumb slut. You ruined my bag.”
I lick a drop of sauce off the tip of my thumb and shrug. “Consider it karma for ruining my lunch.”
With that, I walk away.
But not before grabbing the remaining spaghetti strands off my shirt and tossing them in her direction.
“You’re go
My response is a middle finger in the air.
I’m barely in the bathroom thirty seconds when the door opens, and I feel someone gawking at me.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I snap as I vigorously scrub my stained shirt with a paper towel.
“Don’t have to. Britney already posted one on Instagram.”
Of course, she did.
“Before you bathed in tomato sauce,” the girl adds.
Lifting my gaze from the mess, I glare at the short, curvy brunette do
Probably a wa “Thanks for the play-by-play.” I crinkle my nose. “Now buzz back to your queen bee.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” Irritated, I stop scrubbing. “How so?” “By assuming I was part of Britney’s posse.” With a huff, she unzips her bag and takes out a white button-down shirt. “You’re wasting your time. Those stains will never come out.” I blink, feeling like an idiot. She wanted to help me, and I was an asshole. “You’re right. I was being a hypocrite.” I eye the shirt warily. “I wouldn’t feel right taking that from you now.” “Don’t worry. I have another one in my locker, two more in my car, and like twenty more at home.” She sweeps a hand up and down, gesturing to herself. “It’s go I take the shirt. “No, I do. Thanks.” She gives me a curt nod before I duck into a nearby stall to change. As expected, it’s big, but I manage to make it work with a few adjustments. The girl is still standing by the sinks when I walk back out. This is awkward. It occurs to me she might be expecting something in return. “I don’t have a lot of money, but—” She holds up a hand, cutting me off. “It’s on the house.” I fidget with the hem of my skirt. I’ve never been good at small talk and it’s clear she isn’t either. Since our weird exchange can’t get any worse, I ask her something that’s been on the tip of my tongue for the last five minutes. “Why do you keep so many spare shirts around?” She looks embarrassed. For a moment I think she’s going to tell me she has some kind of perspiration issue, but then she says, “I transferred to RHA last year when I was a sophomore. I was barely here a week when Britney and her cronies stole my uniform out of my gym locker. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but when I went to the shower, they took my gym clothes.” My heart sinks as she continues. “I forgot my cell phone at home so I couldn’t call my mom. Everyone was out of the locker room by then, so I had no choice but to walk back to the gym in a towel and get the teacher.” She points to herself. “And because I look like this, everyone who saw me laughed and mooed. The next day Britney posted a picture of me roaming the halls in a towel on Instagram. Needless to say, life really sucked for a while.” Jesus. That’s terrible. “She’s such a cunt.” She nods. “I can’t wait until she graduates. I might actually be able to enjoy my senior year.” She shrugs. “Truth be told, I was happy she found a new target, but when I saw you covered in sauce, I knew I had to help.” She smirks. “Not that you needed it. You were pretty badass back there.” That gets a laugh out of me. “I’ve been dealing with Britney since elementary school, so I’m used to her bullshit. There just happens to be way more of it now.” No doubt due to her and Jace dating. Her brows crinkle in confusion. “You used to go to school here? I thought you were new?” I shake my head. “Nope. I mean, I might as well be because it’s been so long and I only know a few people, but I moved out of Royal Manor when I was in eighth grade.” I blow out a heavy breath. “Now I’m back.” And nothing has changed…except Jace. “Which royally sucks,” she says, taking the words out of my mouth. “Big time.” She holds out her hand. “My name is Sawyer Church. I’m a junior and I drive an old ass mini-van. I’m not rich like everyone else here, but I enjoy studying so I managed to get a scholarship to RHA—really, it’s only because Principal Ryan is close with my family. Oh, and I dislike ninety-nine percent of the general population, but that doesn’t stop me from helping all the dipshits in the world because WWJD.” I shake her hand. “WWJD? Is that like a band or something?” “I wish. That would be awesome.” She motions to the bracelet on her wrist that has the same initials inscribed on it. “What would Jesus do.” Not quite the answer I was expecting. “Oh…” She grimaces. “Ugh. Don’t do that. I thought you were cool.” I have no idea what she means. “Do what?” “Look, just because I’m religious doesn’t mean I’m some kind of Jesus freak. Well, I mean I am, because he’s awesome, but I promise I’m normal.” She averts her gaze. “Okay, maybe not normal—but I cuss a lot, stay out past curfew, and watch bad movies.” She blushes. “I’ve also watched porn a time or two. And if Nick Jonas wanted to spend the night with me, I’d seriously consider tossing my virginity out the window.” “I think he’s married.” “God, don’t rub it in—” She quirks an eyebrow. “You never told me your name.” “Dylan Taylor.” She taps her foot. “And…” Oh, boy. This girl is a trip. “I’m a senior. I have my license, but my car was repoed when my—” I stop mid-sentence because I don’t know her well enough to tell her about my dad being in the slammer. “It’s a long story.” Sawyer tips her head to the side, studying me. “It’s okay. We’ll get there.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.