CHAPTER9
I’m fuming mad as I take my time getting to my next class, wanting to ensure I don’t end up sitting anywhere near Brett fucking Russo.
Who does Tyler think he is? He’s not better than the rest of the damn Mutineers. Just because they might all have issues doesn’t mean that they can take out their stress and aggravation on me. They need to get a hobby or something.
Mrs. Ice beams at me as soon as I enter her classroom. I smile at her and then grin at the empty seat in the front row that I quickly claim as my own. No way will Brent want to sit in the front row.
And he doesn’t. The front row and the second fill up before he even enters the room, not that I’m paying him any attention.
I’m doodling on my notebook as he approaches. He enters the aisle next to my desk, coughs, and just stands there like a looming presence.
I can hear whoever sitting behind me shifting and moving.
Shit. Brett bumped him.
Because of fucking course Brett did.
"Did you have a wet dream last night?" Brett asks, leaning forward. My hair is up in a ponytail, so I can feel his hot breath on the nape of my neck.
I remove my ponytail, letting my hair fall down.
“Bet you think you look sexy,” he says. “No one gives a shit about you.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to turn around and tell him that I don’t give a shit about him, but Mrs. Ice is starting to teach. It’s the perfect excuse to ignore him.
Only, Brett doesn’t handle being ignored all that well. As if that’s a big shocker.
He pokes something hard into my back. A pen or pencil maybe.
“Did you finger yourself thinking about me?” he asks.
“No. I thought about your dad.”
He says and does nothing.
Feeling vindicated, I glance at him over my shoulder and wink.
The exact wrong thing to do. His green eyes narrow, and his entire face is red. He’s fuming, and I know I’m going to regret this.
For the rest of the class, he insults me terribly. Mrs. Ice even asks him a few times to keep his voice down. Not to stop, mind you. She doesn't have the authority to do that. I mean, she's only his teacher, but whatever.
A few minutes before the bell is going to ring, I ask to be excused to go to the bathroom, thinking I can slip out and away from Brett and get to my next class without having to deal with him.
Only, when I go to grab my backpack, Brett had his foot through the strap, his shiny black shoe glued to the ground so I can't take it with me.
“You’ll be back in time before class is over, right? You don’t need to be in the lady’s room for five minutes, do you?”
“Maybe I do,” I hiss.
“That time of the month, huh? That why you’re such a bitch?”
“Well, at least men expect women to be bitches when they’re on their period. What’s your excuse for—”
“For what?” he asks through gritted teeth.
I smile, although I can feel the eyes of everyone, including the teacher's, on us. Mrs. Ice has stopped teaching.
“For being such a popular, handsome, well-mannered boy?” I amend hastily, doing my best to sound sincere.