Page 102 of The Monster I Am
“Yeah, but my brother is an asswipe,” Soph quickly adds. “Maybe they suffered a simultaneous concussion. It’s the only explanation for their sudden change of mental growth.”
“Didyouhit Tai over the head?” I joke accusingly. “That Kindle is a weapon of mass destruction.”
“Only to my lady bits,” Soph claps back. “And please be real—I’d never bring harm or disrespect to my Kindle like that. Even if Tai’s head is awfully enticing.”
The guys bailed on me last night. But I didn’t find out until Archie rocked up with an armful of snacks and his textbooks. Once again, apparently a group effort by the newest collection of misfits.
Instead of people trying to keep me and my right-hand man apart, now I have them coordinating visits like I need supervising.
Maybe they are all dicked out. I did provide ample warning that I could handle the three of them.
After watching a very cute PDA session at the Bexley custody handover, I say goodbye to the girls and head into Biology with Archie as he takes his shift. Yep—I’m confident that this is what’s happening behind the scenes because, outside of work hours, it’s oddly suspicious thatsomeoneis always with me.
Initially I had thought that maybe it was some type of protection detail, which, truthfully, annoyed me because I’m not worried about Mayor Astor or Dean Lannister. They can shove their threats up their pee holes. If they want to harm me they can schedule it in and make an appointment. I’m too busy to deal with their tantrums.
But now… I’m starting to think this has nothing to do with anyone’s lack of confidence in my ability to protect myself.
I think they are protecting people from me.
In my defense, Liv had it coming.
After clocking her in the face, I grabbed Peyton and took off like a bat out of hell. And I’m more annoyed at the fact I probably can’t return to my favorite Olive Garden now.
I guess I deserve it, though. I stole the guy she wanted so she took my breadsticks.
It’s okay. I’ll just convince Ry to order me a bunch through his handy little app. That will work. Loopholes for the win.
We slip into our seats and as the rest of the class slowly saunter in, wearing the same matching shade of exhaustion, I scan the room. Speaking of the devil and she shan’t appear. Liv is noticeably absent, but I have no doubt it’s nothing to do with the injury itself and just her vapid reaction to not wanting people to see her with a bruised face.
Honestly… it’s not that deep. I do it all the time.
Mr. Martin shuffles a stack of papers, his lavender hair sticking up in various directions. He waits for everyone to be seated before draping his mismatched jacket over the back of his chair and leaning casually against his desk, facing the room.
“Ooh, who’s excited?” He grins, eyes bouncing around the room. “Exams next week!”
Clearly Arch and I are some of the only ones to get the sarcasm, chuckling low while the class look either horrified or pissed off. A loud huff catches my attention and I spot Sierra in the second row, flicking her hair at a footballer while making some obnoxious comment about how exams are not fun.
Obviously, Sierra. That’s what the man is implying.
When no one gives her the reaction she’s after, there’s a moment of panic before Sierra dramatically makes a wild, theatrical gesture with spirit fingers. “We’re all, like, really stressed!” She says to Mr. Martin, waving her hands around unnaturally.
You can almost hear the choreo music as her digits bop to some invisible beat.
I sink in my seat out of pure embarrassment for her, shooting Arch a cry for help, as I find myself wishing Livwashere to save us from this performance. Apparently when the headcheerleader isn’t around, Sierra becomes determined to find a way to put the spotlight on herself. Someone needs to tell the poor girl that the bulb is busted.
Like a champ, Mr. Martin nods encouragingly, clearly the bigger person out of the two of us. “Absolutely. It is a very stressful time for you all. Which is why I encourage you to think outside of the box.”
“It’s a square,” Sierra interjects. “You think outside a square because that’s what boxes are.”
“Fuck me,” I mutter quietly to Archie. He muffles a grin, ducking his head low to hide his face.
Mr. Martin smiles warmly at her. “Indeed it is.” Pausing, he glances around the room. “Just remember—you have something other seniors don’t have. A special power, if you will.”
A few people straighten up, pens at the ready, keen to hear about this secret sorcery. But they sag in disappointment when he continues, “You have dual knowledge from two different institutions!”
“That’s boring!” Perkins shouts out and Arch shoves my arm back down when I lift my textbook, preparing to launch it straight at Perkins’ idiotic head. What was he expecting? The ability to absorb books by putting your hand on the cover or levitation?
“Just think what you can achieve if you put your heads together,” Mr. Martins says, beaming at the class. “The exchange of knowledge—sharing techniques and skills. You have the opportunity to be great!”
