Gross.
“And the student in question was Andrea, wasn’t it?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to.
“Does he do that with all of the girlfriends he dumps?” I ask.
“Most of them don’t have every single class with him,” Jess mutters. “I… I did what I thought was best for the students, for both of them.”
“Right, because upending and completely rearranging a woman’s entire schedule for the sake of a man is so forward thinking of this school. Wow.” I tap my chin with a finger. “I wonder what the news stations would think—”
Jess eyes me and purses her lips. “You’re new here. You don’t understand how everything works. Brett really should have explained this to you. We have… There are students here who are part of an innovative program. It’s a sort of initiative program. They—”
“They are allowed to do whatever they wish because their parents have so many zeroes in their bank accounts. Got it. So, you’re saying there’s no chance that my schedule can be changed?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Yes. Thanks for everything.”
“I’m here to help!”
I whirl around, muttering to myself about how little help she had actually been.
At least I know where just about everything is now, and I hurry to homeroom, but instead of heading inside, I linger outside. A few students are already inside, but most haven’t arrived yet. Unfortunately, most of the girls all seem to have friends already, and I try to talk to some, but they just smile and walk on by.
Yeah, this school has some amazingly friendly students.
Not.
Before I can be stuck by Tyler, I enter the room and try to take a seat far from where Tyler sat the other day.
But no. Of course not. This teacher has a stick up her ass, and she has me move back because of permanent seats.
Tyler’s smirking as he enters.
“Favorite bike?” he asks.
“Mine.”
“Come on. Your dream bike.”
“Like you actually care.”
“You really think you have it all, don’t you, Smuggy?”
“Smuggy?” I roll my eyes.
“You’re the smuggest bug I know.”
“I’m not a bug.”
"You aren't a pest. Ladybug, though…" He winks.
Is he flirting with me? Fuck that shit. I’m not touching him with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole.
“Bet you want a Bonnie,” he says, leaning back.
“Why would you think that?”