"Shut up, Jonas! I'll seriously have to kick your freaking butt!"
"Yeah well, try and make me!" said the curly headed boy. I growled under my breath as the teacher walked into the class room. She rapped her wooden ruler on the desk making the class jump up in attention. Mrs. Ludwig was about as uptight as the gray bun on the back of her hair. The only thing interesting about her was the fact that she shared a last name that corresponds with one of the world's greatest classical music composers.
Nick Jonas got on my nerves every day before history class. Him and his buddies sat in the back of the class and shot spit balls at the back of my head when the teacher wasn't looking.
But today, I was ready.
Mrs. Ludwig droned on about 18th century warriors in south China and grabbed a stick of yellow chalk off the edge of her desk. She turned to scratch something onto the green "black" board when BAM!
"Hey! What was that!?" screeched the curly boy.
I slipped back around in my chair and stifled my laughter.
"Mr. Jonas, I would appreciate it if you would pay attention to my lesson. It will be on your quiz tomorrow," Mrs. Ludwig snapped and returned back to the chalk board.
Some of the students snickered as Nick shuffled through his mass of curls for the giant spitball I just shot as his head. He pulled it out of his hair and shuddered.
I gave him a look of pure revenge when he mouthed, "Oh, it's on."
Nicholas Jerry Jonas didn't seem to have much respect for the fact that girls don't like spitballs. And no, don't ask how I know his full name. That's a story for another time.
A tear of loose-leaf notebook paper from the back of the room told me that the war had just begun.