“What?”
I stopped in the hallway, facing her squarely. “He’s the rebound. I get it, I understand, but he’s not my friend. In fact, none of these people are my friends. I’m here because your family adopted me. You’re my sister, I’m starting to get that—but everything else—your friends being my friends…it’s not how it is, Mandy. It’s not how it’s going to be.”
“It’s not like that,” she argued. I could hear the hurt in her voice.
“He’s the rebound,” I stated.
“Look, now’s not the place to talk about this. He’s having a party tomorrow night and he wants you to come.”
“I’m not going.”
“Come on, Taryn—”
“No.” I shrugged her off, ducking into my classroom. It was fifth period and I had Spanish, but luckily for me, this course is a cakewalk. If you actually wanted to learn, those students chose French. Spanish consisted of learning donde esta el bano, hola me llamo es ____, and zacapuntas. That was about it. Our teacher was usually flying around wearing a sombrero, helping the motivated students make piñatas—no joke.
Sliding into my chair, the only one open was in the front when I first started; therefore, my designated chair for the rest of the year. Just my luck.
Feeling someone tap my shoulder, I turned around and was blinded by the whitest pair of teeth, surrounded by a curly mop of blonde hair, framing piercing blue eyes.
“Hey.” When had our nation adopted this as the normal greeting? I think I’m going to start using a simple “hi” from now on.
“Hey,” I murmured. Nope, it was already ingrained.
“You’re Matthew’s new sister, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Justin Travers.”
The dude Molly liked. I gave him the once over and, yes, I was correct in my assessment. The guy had a cheerleader on his lap.
“And apparently you know me,” I said wryly, moving to turn back around.
“I’m having a party tomorrow night. You’re coming, right?”
I turned back around and studied him, noting the smirk and cockiness. I looked at the platinum blonde on his lap—the Hooters poster girl from Tray’s house—watching me intently. It felt like I was being tested.
I sighed. “Look, if you think there’s even a possibility that the rumors about me screwing Evans are true, doesn’t mean shit to you. Because one, I am not one of those girls who’s suddenly realized how fun sex is and I’m going to start sleeping with anyone remotely popular. Two, if I did screw Evans then he’s probably the only one I’d settle for in the future. And three, I don’t have low self-esteem. I am not going to turn into a groupie.”
“Why are your panties so twisted?”
God, I’d had enough. Okay, yes, I’d gone on the offensive and he was only shooting back, but seriously. I’m sick and goddamn tired of guys thinking they can reduce everything to sex.
So I grinned coolly and flipped his chair backwards.
“Fuck.”
“Ah.”
Someone screamed, someone gasped, and a whole lot laughed. I caught the glances of a few people, but they quickly looked the other way.
“You bitch,” Travers shot back, slowly standing up.
“Psycho bitch is more like it,” said Hooters girl.
And I was hoping we’d be friends.
“Miss Matthews!” Señora Graham, the Spanish teacher, exclaimed, her sombrero falling off in her state of shock. “Principal’s office. Now!” Shouldn’t she have said that in Espanol?