"School's dreadful," Layne groaned as we walked through the halls of Westchester High School, looking for the guys. "Mrs. Peterson gave us homework over the weekend, and I just finished it before you came." She rubbed her dark-with-lack-of-sleep eyes and staggered toward her locker. I closed my eyes and kept walking.
"Watch it," a stern, yet friendly voice commanded. My eyes fluttered open. I'd just bumped into Derrick Harrington. Claire's Derrick.
Oh shit.
"I'm so sorry," I said, trying hard to keep my voice from cracking. "Really. I swear. I'll even dunk my head in a toilet just to prove how sorry I am." Shit, that sounded weird.
Derrick looked amused and freaked out. "Uh, that's okay." He stuck his hand out. I stared at it. It was big, in the guy sort of way. "I'm Derrick." His voice was startlingly deeper than Vader's and Plovert's combined. Then I realized I was supposed to shake his hand.
"Of course you are. Everyone knows you. Derrick Harrington, the great soccer player." Stop it. You'll scare him off. "You're going out with Claire, right? Isn't she a bi—brilliant person? And her hair is so blonde." Shut up, Massie.
"Uh, yeah. Very blonde," Derrick chuckled. My amber eyes met his warm brown eyes, framed by a fan of golden blonde lashes. Those same eyes that made every girl want him. Besides his six-pack, amazing legs and amazing soccer skills, of course.
"I'm Massie." I smiled awkwardly.
"Cool name."
"Ha, thanks. Don't we have homeroom together?" I said shyly.
"Yeah, the homework was killer this week," Derrick's voice dripped with disgusted-ness.
All I could do was nod. Then I noticed that Layne had moved from her locker to next to me, looking aggravated and tapping her DC shoe-clad foot.
"Are you done drooling over him?" Layne asked a little too loudly. My cheeks burned, which meant I was red as a beet.
"Layne." I glared at my best friend. "Shut up."
"Whatever. Mr. Hughes will kill me if I'm late to class again. Bye," Layne muttered flatly.
"Bye," I mumbled and turned my attention back to Derrick. But a certain blonde's arm was around his waist.
"What were you doing with this LBR, sweetie?" Claire cooed, her skye-blue eyes locking onto mine.
"Nothing." Derrick wrapped his arm around Claire's shoulders and turned her away from me. "She was just…there."
Claire's innocent—although it was probably far from it—smile grew as mine vanished. What an ass, I thought, shaking off any memory of the conversation I'd just had with Derrick. If I was nothing to him, he was nothing to me. "I'm going to class, sweetie," Claire said to him as she pecked his cheek and sauntered down the hall. Derrick began to follow her, but stopped.
"See ya later, Massie," he called to me before grinning that slow, sexy grin of his and walking to class.
"Bye," I croaked before turning to my locker. Layne was across the hall, listening to Plovert's iPod and watching as he and Vader argued over which instrument was better—drums or guitar.
Layne turned to me. "Do you wuv him?" she asked, nodding at Derrick's butt—he was far away, but still.
"Shut up!" I said, playfully smacking her arm. "And I don't."
Layne shrugged. "Whatever," she sighed, which was what Layne always said whenever she didn't believe someone.
"Layne. I'm serious. I don't like Derrick. I mean, he's with Claire, you know?" I put on my most convincing smile. Layne shrugged.
"Whatever."
I sighed. It was no use. "Come on, let's get to class."
We fortunately got to our seats -in the back row- right before the bell rang.
"Nice you could finally join us," Mr. Myer sneered. He was known as the meanest Pre-Calculus teacher on campus, but that certainly didn't stop me, or Layne, from talking back to him.
"Sorry, Mr. M. Layne had to stop by at the bathroom, she probably saw your loafers," I said innocently. Fire burned in Mr. Myer's dull, green eyes.
"Do not talk back to a teacher, Miss Block."
"I just did." The class "oo-ed" immaturely while Layne was cracking up.
"One more quip and you're outta here," Mr. Myer fiercely pointed to the door.
I opened my mouth to say something, but Layne jabbed my arm. I realized that if I got a week of detention my parents would either…
ground me for the next month or
ban me from playing at our next gig.
I closed my mouth and sank into my seat, pulling my black iPod nano (first generation!) out of my pocket and playing Medicine Man by the Hush Sound.
"Now, class. Open your textbooks to page 52..."
-:-
I should probably explain the Pretty Committee. They're basically this group of girls who think they're the prettiest—mind-boggling, right?—most popular girls on campus. They're lead by Claire Lyons, AKA the Blonde Witch. She's supposedly famous, but she's only been in one movie.
Her "beta"—although I don't think they're even that great of friends—is Alicia Rivera, who is on the cross-country team, but doesn't run. She's also a dancer, and Plovert thinks she's the "hottest girl. Ever."
Then there's Dylan Marvil, daughter of the uber famous Merri-Lee Marvil. We—Layne and I—are trying to book a gig on her show, The Daily Grind.
Lastly is Kristen Gregory, the smart one who plays soccer.
But it's just Claire that I hate. The others aren't too bad. I mean, Dylan and Alicia brag a lot, but Kristen likes to help me with homework. You know, since I'm pretty much failing Pre-Calc with my lack of math skills. And the fact that Mr. Myner PMS's all the time.
Superxlayne: ur gonna be so dead
Superxlayne: when claire finds out about u & derrick, i mean
I stared at my computer. Thanks for your lovely assumptions, Layne. I cracked my knuckles and began typing.
Blockparty007: there's nothing 2 find out about
Blockparty007: der
Superxayne: w/e
Of course Layne wouldn't believe me. She's had it in her head since the 6th grade that I like Derrick. Which I don't. Even Plovert believes her, but I think it's because the two—Layne and Plovert, I mean—are practically soul mates.
One new message from soccerboiD.
Who the hell is that? I thought before clicking the message.
soccerboiD: hey massie its derrick
Blockparty007: uh hey :D
Blockparty007: wuts up?
soccerboiD: nothin really.
soccerboiD: wanna go to a party with me?
Do guys with girlfriends normally say that? No.
Blockparty007: whos going?
soccerboiD: the guys & few others.
soccerboiD: not claire.
Um, okay. Thanks for the update, Derrick. No, really. Thanks.
Blockparty007: k (:
soccerboiD: k, ill talk to you tomoro. (: ily bye
soccerboiD has signed off.
My hands jerked away from the keyboard as I reread his last message for the fiftieth time. Do guys with girlfriends ask their female friends to go to a party—which said guy is not taking his girlfriend to—and then tell the female friend "ily"?
Hell yeah.
(AN: Thanks to Aly and Jackie (alyparker407 and aly's munchkin, respectively) for helping write the middle part and then LEAVING me to finish on my own. Ily nh :D Yay, a PATD title! Hehe.
As you can see, I gave them cooler sn's. Because Blockparty007 sounds cooler than Massiekur. Haha.
R&R, puh-lease -- ha, clique talk)
