Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
That’s fucking unfair. And it conjures up the same burning, all-consuming rage that made me kick Brody as hard as I did that night. Who the hell does she think she is, interfering with our lives?
“Hey, pearls…” I whisper, since the professor just walked in, and he’s already launching into the lecture. With the toe of my sneaker, I nudge her chair. “Pearls! I know you can hear me.”
She can’t ignore me for long. Nobody ignores me. I don’t know what game she’s trying to play, but she’s going to lose. She just hasn’t been in town long enough to know better. As it turns out, I’ve got all the time in the world to show her.
“Earth to pearls,” I whisper, nudging her chair harder this time. By now, there is soft laughter around me, a few snorts. “I know you’re in there. What, you think you can ignore me now? That’s funny. You were feeling feisty yesterday, though, weren’t you?”
She doesn’t know it, but the longer she ignores me, the worse it’s going to be. Because I don’t give up. I’m not some schoolyard bully who’s going to get tired and give up. I’m somebody whose life she has fucked up considerably at this point. If it wasn’t for Dad’s connection to Paul, things could’ve gone even worse.
Which means having no remorse over kicking her chair hard enough to make her head snap back. That has to be what does it, right? She has to turn around, say something. React.
Why are you doing this? A tiny voice in my head. Soft. Barely a whisper. It’s loud enough for me to hear, though, and a sort of sick, uncomfortable feeling slowly washes over me. Why am I doing this? When I take a step back and observe this situation from the outside, I have trouble understanding what this is going to accomplish.
Which is why I need to stop thinking so much. All I know is, she’s a snide, sanctimonious little narc.
And she, of all people, has no right to ignore me. “What a shame you couldn’t ignore me when it mattered,” I mutter, staring at the back of her head while the heat in my stomach moves up through my chest and blooms like a poisonous plant. She had a chance to pretend we never met, and she made the choice to get involved in our private business. She doesn’t deserve peace or consideration when she had no consideration for us.
And when I think of it that way, when I remember her defiance and how obvious she made it that she saw herself as being better than us, sheer rage explodes and gives me no choice but to reach out and grab her by the hair. Let’s see her ignore this.
That’s when the weirdest thing happens.
Instead of yanking her head back, like I planned, her hair just… comes off. Not only the handful I took, either, but all of it. An entire head worth of blonde curls is now clutched in my fist. I’m still so pissed and now battling confusion, so it takes me a second to realize I’m holding a wig.
And that her head underneath is pretty much completely bare.
I wanted a reaction, didn’t I? Her sharp gasp grabs the attention of anybody who wasn’t already watching us. All eyes turn our way as she swivels in her chair with one arm awkwardly covering her head and the other arm outstretched so she can grab for the wig. “How dare you?” she whispers through her clenched teeth, shaking, red faced, reaching out frantically while soft laughter rises around us.
“We should’ve named you cue ball, instead,” I mutter, and the laughter gets louder. It makes me hold the wig out of reach, too, since it’s obvious everybody’s on my side. She brought this on herself.
“Give it back!” she whisper-screams, glaring at me while she tries to hide her baldness.
“What is going on back there?” The professor’s sharp question lowers the volume on the laughter like magic while Emma still tries to get hold of her wig. “Preston, what are you doing? Give it back. They’re not here to play games.”
With a snicker, I shove the wig in her direction. An undercurrent of soft laughter lingers in the air while she pulls it on and adjusts it, then looks around defiantly. “What? I’m the first person who ever lost a bet and had to shave their head?” she asks, holding the gaze of one classmate after another.
In a louder voice than before, the professor announces, “All right, enough of this. Back to the lecture.” His voice drones on while the occasional snort and whisper around me tells me this isn’t over. Nobody’s going to forget this. By the end of the day, everyone in school will know pearls wears a wig, and had it snatched off in the middle of class. It won’t be just me and Easton giving her the attention she could have avoided if she would have only minded her own business. Everybody’s going to get on her ass now. She won’t know a moment of peace after being humiliated like that. And all it took was me trying to pull her hair.