Despite my crappy mood, I smiled. Casey was right. We hadn’t had a movie night together in a long time, and it would be nice to hang out without the drama of boys or loud techno music. For once, I might actually have fun on a Friday night. So I reached for the volume on my stereo and said, “A week from Friday, it’s a date.”
6
When the Friday of our Girls’ Night In finally rolled around, I was more than ready for a nice, relaxing evening with my best friends-and the wonderfully Scottish James McAvoy, of course. I’d shoved the copy of Becoming Jane that Jessica had given me for Christmas, a pair of barely used pajamas (yeah, I sleep naked at home-so what?), and my toothbrush into my backpack. Casey was bringing the popcorn, and Jessica promised us big bowls of chocolate swirl ice cream.
As if my ass wasn’t big enough.
But naturally, the day couldn’t be all good. Mrs. Perkins, my English teacher, made sure of that during fourth block.
“So, that’s The Scarlet Letter,” she said, closing her book. “Did you enjoy it, class?”
There was a low grumble in the negative, but Mrs. Perkins didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, because Hawthorne’s work is so extraordinary and applicable to contemporary society, I want each of you to write a report pertaining to the novel.” She ignored the loud sighs. “The report can be about any part of the book-a character, a scene, a theme-but I want it to be very well thought out. I will also be allowing you to work in pairs”-the class buzzed with excitement-“which I will assign.” The excitement vanished.
I knew I was in trouble when Mrs. Perkins pulled out her roll sheet. That meant she would be assigning partners based on alphabetical order, and since there were no kids whose last names started with Q in that class, my partner was bound to be-
“Bianca Piper will work with Wesley Rush.”
Shit.
I’d managed to steer clear of Wesley for a week and a half-since the day he’d harassed me after school-but Mrs. Perkins had to go and screw that up.
She rattled off the last few names on her list before saying, “I expect the reports to be no fewer than five pages long-and that’s twelve-point font, double-spaced, Vikki. Don’t pull that stunt again.” She laughed good-naturedly. “Now, I want partners to work together. Both must contribute to the report. And be creative, people! Have fun!”
“Not likely,” I muttered to Jessica, who sat at the desk next to mine.
“Oh, I think you’re lucky, Bianca,” she said. “I’d be thrilled if Wesley was my partner. But my heart belongs to Harrison. It is so unfair that Casey gets to work with him.” She glanced toward Casey’s assigned seat, all the way across the classroom. “She’ll probably get to see his house and bedroom and everything. Do you think she’ll say some good things about me if I ask? Maybe she’ll be, like, my wing girl.”
I didn’t bother answering.
“The reports are due in exactly one week!” Mrs. Perkins announced over the chatter. “So, please work on them this weekend.”
The bell rang and the whole class stood up at the same time. Tiny Mrs. Perkins scurried out of the way to avoid being trampled by the stampede toward the door. Jessica and I joined the crowd, and Casey caught up to us just as we stepped into the hall.
“This is bullshit,” she hissed. “An essay over nothing? I don’t want to pick a topic. That’s her freaking job! What is the point of this damn assignment if she can’t even give us something to write about? It’s ridiculous.”
“But you get to work with Harrison, and-”
“Please, Jess, don’t start with that crap.” Casey rolled her eyes. “He. Is. Gay. It isn’t gonna happen, okay?”
“You never know! So you won’t play wing girl for me?”
“I’ll meet you guys in the cafeteria,” I said, turning in the direction of my locker. “I need to grab a few things first.”
“Cool.” Casey grabbed Jessica by the wrist and pulled her toward the other hallway. “We’ll meet you by the snack machines, ’kay, B? Come on, Jess.” And they left me alone in the packed corridor. Okay, not really packed. Hamilton High had only around four hundred students or something, but considering the low numbers, the hallways seemed pretty crowded that afternoon. Or maybe I was just stressed out and getting claustrophobic. Anyway, my friends ran away, and I was left among the beasts.
I pushed my way past the loud jocks and smooching couples-PDAs are so disgusting-and headed for the science hallway. It took only a few minutes to get to my locker, which, like the rest of the fugly school, was painted orange and blue. I spun my combination and yanked open the door. Behind me, a group of cheerleaders ran through shouting, “Go Panthers! Panthers! Panthers!”
I’d just grabbed my coat and backpack and was about to close the door when he showed up. Honestly, I’d expected him sooner.
“Looks like we’re partners, Duffy.”
I kicked the locker shut with a little too much force. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Wesley grinned, running his fingers through his dark curls as he leaned against the locker next to mine. “So, your place or mine?”
“What?”
“To do the assignment this weekend,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t be getting any ideas, Duffy. I’m not chasing you. I’m just being a good student. Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls. They-”
“Chase you. Yeah, I know.” I pulled my coat on over my T-shirt. “If we have to do this, I was thinking we’d-”
“Wesley!” A skinny brunette that I didn’t recognize (she looked like a freshman) threw herself at him right in front of me. She stared up at Wesley with big sappy eyes. “Will you dance with me at Homecoming tonight?”
“Of course, Meghan,” he said, running his hand down her back. He was tall enough to look down her shirt without any problem. Perverted bastard. “I’ll save a dance just for you, okay?”
“Really?”
“Would I lie?”
“Oh, thanks, Wesley!” He bent down, and she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scampering off, not looking at me once.
Wesley turned his attention back to me. “You were saying?”
Through gritted teeth, I growled, “I was thinking that we’d meet at my place.”