“Who doesn’t? Elvis and Clint Eastwood both rode T120s.”
“Yeah, and…”
“You want one because of The Great Escape.”
I snort. “He didn’t make that jump on a Bonnie. It was a TR6 Trophy.”
“So you do know your bikes.”
“Don’t fucking quiz me,” I snap. I glance at the girl beside me. “I like your earrings.”
“I’m not a lesbo,” she says, not even looking over.
“Wow. Way to take a compliment.”
So much for finding a friend in homeroom.
Calculus isn’t much better. Brett asks Mrs. Ice if she could give us some word problems that involve bikes somehow, and we are stuck working through tough equations, ten of them. I only managed to solve half of them during the allotted time. Got three of them right. At this rate, I might need a tutor. My previous school clearly had more failings than my father ever realized.
To think he wanted me to have private tutors so that I could be taught anything I wished. I wanted to go to school with Katie, though. It wasn’t my father’s top choice in school for me, though, and being here and deal with all of this shit makes me wonder if I dodged a major bullet because if his top school had been anything like this one…
Of course there, my father’s name meant something. I would’ve enjoyed even more success there. I would’ve been the Andrea over there, dating whichever boy was Brett’s equivalent.
Nope. No. I wouldn’t have been. I hadn’t dated at my high school, my old one that is, and I’m not going to date here either.
Economics is next, one of my classes with no Mutineers. Watch. This class will be the only one where I’m able to make a friend.
The girl beside me has on a beautiful necklace, a golden locket. I open my mouth to mention that to her when she reaches up and touches it. Her eyes turn glassy, covered with tears, and her shoulders slump. Clearly a sentimental necklace. I don't want to risk upsetting her further, so I look for another way to break the ice when a hand lands on my shoulder.
“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself to you yet,” a smooth voice says.
I look up to see a tall senior who isn’t quite as muscular as Brett and them, but he’s still clearly fit. His hair is bushy, looking almost as if he had been electrocuted. It makes him look like a cool nerd in a way, especially because his smile is perfect.
“I’m Liam Haverforth, and you are?”
He has the moves, all right, or at least the voice.
When I don't respond right away, he shifts behind me. Both of his hands are on my shoulders now, and he starts to massage them.
“Boy, are you tight,” he says with a groan. “How does this feel? Do I make you feel better? Do I make you feel good?”
I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well for him.
“Can you get your hands off me?” I ask pointedly.
"Why?" he asks, bending down and bringing his head close to mine.
Trying not to be put off, I stare straight ahead.
“I love that shirt on you,” he says before finally moving away.
I wait until he's sitting at an angle behind me to look down.
From his angle, he had gotten a great view of my cleavage. Pervert. He doesn’t want friendship. All he wants is something far more than friendship, and he’s not even going to get that.
When class is over, Liam rushes up to me before I can leave the room.
“Where are you off to next?” he asks.