“You better start looking elsewhere,” he growls.
“Don’t worry,” I snap. “You aren’t my type.”
“Good because you—”
“What? Have no more of a chance of riding you than Lisa?”
The girl stiffens in her seat, and I wince.
Way to make even more enemies.
“Don’t worry,” I continue. “Lisa and I only want real guys.”
“Listen, you don’t even know me—” Shane starts.
“I know that real men don’t spend their eighteenth birthday’s in prison,” I say softly.
His eyes flash. I shouldn’t push his buttons. His arrogance, his attitude, his serving time… There’s no doubting it. Shane has to be the last of the Mutineers.
“How do you know what this tattoo stands for?” he asks. “Tattoos.”
I inhale sharply. “I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of assholes who have done time,” I explain.
“Then you should know that every guy has a story.”
That’s true enough, but I’m not about to ask for his. Besides, most likely whatever’s been spread about the school is a lie.
“You waltz into this school and think you can talk shit to anyone and everyone,” Shane says, his voice a deadly whisper. “You’re going to learn your place, and you’re going to learn it real fast.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of teacher I want.”
“Are you always this stupid, or is today a special day?” he taunts.
Trading literary jabs with Tyler had been fun, but this is just pure hatred, trading insults back and forth. How can I hate someone I’ve just met? Yes, I upset him by staring at his prison tats. Yes, I pushed his buttons by backtalking. But he hates me, and I hate him.
I really am my father’s daughter, just a bundle of rage and hatred. One day, I’m going to lash out.
But even then, I won’t react the way he did. I won’t become my father.
I won’t do what he’s done.
I’m better than him.
And I’m better than Shane and the Mutineers.
I don’t deserve their contempt, and I sure as hell won’t take their shit.
“You’re the kind of girl that you could use as a blueprint to build ugly, stupid morons,” he says. “Good for nothing more than spreading their legs and hoping someone will jab their dick into them time and again.”
I say nothing. Back to ignoring, but it’s not like I can do anything right now to get him to stop. If I go the trading insults route, it won’t solve anything. It might even make things worse.
“Do you practice being this ugly?”
I look away and roll my eyes. Nothing new, nothing funny, just cruel and mean. That I can ignore easily enough.
“If being ugly were a crime, you’d get a life sentence,” he adds.
“Stop trying to be a smart ass,” I say mildly. “You’re just an ass.”