CHAPTER THREE

Apparently, her name is Stasia Queen, and she's from Manhattan, New York. From far away I thought she would be pretentious, but she's so much more uppity close up. What's worse is that she doesn't do it on purpose, but I swear to God, if she squeals that one more thing is, "soooo adorable" I'm gonna hit her. It doesn't help that she's unbelievably gorgeous with her bright blue eyes, sharpened in the backdrop of her neutral make-up. She also happens to be 5'9". She's practically a fucking model, so how the hell she wound up in the 5th worst place to live (thank you, Money Magazine, all of us in Odessa were so proud) is a story I'm curious to hear.

I can't fathom what the hell was running through Principal Davies head when he asked me to babysit her (not necessarily in those words) for the day so that she could learn her way around the school. You would think he would ask, oh, I dunno, the class president or Valedictorian or something. But no, he asked me, so here I was, glaring at Stasia while she tried to haggle with the lunchlady for something that didn't look like it had been squashed with a mallet.

"All I'm saying," she explains in a determined voice, her northern accent dripping from her tongue, "is that you should offer a larger variety of food. I mean really, what person eats this load of garbage? Would you?"

"Alright, Stasia," I say in a rushed voice, pushing her down the line where a huge gap had formed from where we stood to where we pay. "What the hell?" I hiss under my breath, glancing back at the Miss Wright who was growing purple in the face, eyes bulging out of her skeleton-like head. That'll come back to haunt me. Her face, that is.

Christ, it just did.

"Do you always eat this crap," she says sticking her tongue out in disgust. "I mean, can't we go off?"

Trying to shake Wright's face from my subconscious, I quickly answer. "We can," I sigh, unable to lie because she'd find out eventually, "but money is tight for a lot of people around here…"

"Oh, okay."

She said it like it was nothing, like it was something so easy to accept like it was gonna rain. I frowned but didn't push the subject.

We paid for our food, and I began to lead Stasia to me and LeAnn's regular table in the back of the cafeteria. I had left one crutch with her (LeAnn) and had one under my arm so that I could balance my tray in my other hand. "I'll introduce you to my best friend, LeAnn," I told Stasia as we began to move. Between my bruised, ugly face and her flawless beautiful one, we grabbed the attention of the entire room, whispers following in our wake. Self-conscious and wary, I ducked my head down, praying I didn't stumble and fall. I could see Stasia taking her newfound popularity in stride.

"Hey there," a voice speaks out from in front of us, "you must be the new girl."

"Stasia Queen," Stasia says pleasantly enough.

I look up between my lashes without moving my head. Maria Saunders, probably the most popular girl and the biggest whore after Melissa Tate. Maria, however, is the bitch behind a majority of my humiliation. She always finds some way to put me down since the ninth grade. I still don't know what I did to make her hate me so much.

"Welcome to Permian," Maria says brightly, flipping her dirty blonde locks over her shoulder and fluttering her stupid, slutty, long lashes. "My name's Maria Saunders, and my friends and I would like to invite you have lunch with us. There are some people," she says looking pointedly at me than back at LeAnn, who is now standing, waiting for a fight or something, "you just don't want to associate with."

Stasia is silent a moment. "I know what you mean," she says finally. I don't know why, but my chest aches at her words. I knew this would happen, but it hurts all the same.

"See, I knew we would get each other," Maria gushes.

"Yeah, because I would really hate to hang out with a total bitch like you."

Once again, Stasia says it so plainly, but Maria's mouth falls open in shock and my head finally comes up in disbelief and little bit of respect. I couldn't even fathom calling Maria a 'bitch' simply because she has more resources to make my life a total hell (well, a bigger hell), besides, if it had been me she would just laugh in my face. Stasia's face remains impassive while Maria's quickly changes shades of red.

"Ex-fucking-scuse me," she gasps.

"You heard me," Stasia states plainly. "Now where were we gonna sit, Clara?"

She struts away, leaving a pissed off Maria staring at me as if this is somehow my fault. I can't even shrink under her gaze, I'm too ecstatic. Slowly but surely, I follow after Stasia who already made her way towards LeAnn, probably figuring out our seating arrangement simply because of the way LeAnn was screaming my name.

"Relax, Lee," I assure her when I reach the table. "Stasia put the nutsucker in her place."

Stasia looks at me, confused, and LeAnn explain, "It's our nickname for Maria because she gives so many blow-jobs a year."

"Oh."

I sit down next to Stasia whereas LeAnn resumes her original seat across from us. "Uh…Stasia, this is my best friend, LeAnn. LeAnn, this is Stasia, she's new."

"Nice to meet you." Stasia smiles, holding out her hand for LeAnn to shake, which she does.

"You too. What accent is that?"

"Yorker," I explain.

"You're a yankee," LeAnn asks, her voice dripping with a sudden disdain.

Stasia immediately gets defensive, snatching her hand back and glaring at LeAnn with contempt. "I'm not too fond of being surrounded by hicks, either."

"Tch, please. You should be honored Texas even wants you."

Damn that Texas pride. It inflates our heads to the size of…well, Texas.

"Well," I interrupt quickly just as Stasia opens her mouth to retort, "now that we've got introductions out of the way—"

"Yo, Cuz, you gonna introduce me to your friend?"

A low growl escapes from somewhere low in my throat. "What, James."

Stasia looks from me to James (aka Bobbie, but I refuse to call anyone related to me a part of the female anatomy, even if it is spelled differently) and inquires, "Are you two related?"

"Unfortunately," I hiss. "Can you leave?" I ask my cousin.

"Not until I get a name," James says with a smile, moving to sit beside Stasia's other side. "James Miles, but everyone calls me Boobie. Runningback on the football team and varsity ladie's man."

I accidently spit out my milk before trying to hide my disbelieving laugh behind the back of my hand. God, my cousin is a cocky idiot, sometimes I'm actually embarrassed to share his DNA. Sometimes I wonder how James went from the sweet little boy who used to instruct me on the game of football when we were six to the conceited jock who hardly glances twice in my direction unless I have something he wants.

I catch a glare from James from behind Stasia who had turned to face him, but I just ignore him. I look up at LeAnn and catch her gaze. She looks at my cousin then rolls her eyes. I totally agree.

By the end of the day, my good leg is sore from carrying the brunt of the weight, again, and is begging for me to sit down and call it day. Stasia already left, her Mom arriving early. She tried to tempt me into introductions, but I opted out, complaining about the pain in my side from too much movement (not an exact lie). LeAnn had to stay behind in her English class to discuss a grade she received on a paper, so by the time she finished, I planned to be on my way home.

This is me leaving.

Slamming my locker shut, I shift my crutches so that both are under one arm, and then I try to pick my bookbag off the floor, which is more difficult than is sounds because bending my knees is turning out not to be such a good option for me. Wobbling forward, I tried to lift my bag by one strap when I almost toppled forward by the sudden weight of it, letting out a single gasp of panic as someone grabs me around the waist.

"Whoa…I gotcha."

My heart pounding in my ears, the person gently rights me back up. The hallways are still flooded with kids exiting the building, and had the person not caught me, my senior year would've been down the shit pipe.

"Umm, thanks…Don?"

Having moved from behind me, bending over to pick up my bag, Don turns his head up to look at me, a slight grin on his face. "Why, you are so welcome." He straightens, tugging my bag over one broad shoulder. "I've got this," he adds when I reach for my bag.

Right. I just nod, returning his grin with a tight-lipped and semi-uncomfortable-with-the-whole-situation "grin" before placing a crutch under each arm. I make my way slowly to the double doors that mark my escape with Don following along beside me at an equally slow pace and not seeming to mind it either.

Feeling like I should say something, I blurt out, "I'm sorry I was a bitch yesterday. It wasn't you, I was just having a really shitty day."

"Nah, it's cool. No offense taken."

"Oh, well, good then."

We continue silently to my car, and the weight of the awkward silence makes my face burn. Like with Stasia, Don and I draw attention of the crowd, and I feel more self-conscious under each lingering and criticizing gaze. I can't wait for these damn bruises to heal so I can go back to being an ignored nobody. All this staring shit is unnerving. Then again, being caught walking with the "new girl" and the "it" guy of the school isn't helping my cause much either.

When we finally reach my beat-up pick-up, I instruct Don to just toss the bag in the bag, which he does, and I follow up with my crutches. Opening my driver's side door, I turn to look at Don. I open my mouth but my words die on my tongue when I look at him looking at me with a really weird, intense look on his face.

"Uhhh…"

Don blinks. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say 'thanks' for helping me out," I tell him, as sincere as possible. "I really appreciate it."

Don just shrugs. "It's nothing," he responds nonchalant. "So…I'll see you around."

It's my turn to shrug. "I guess…" I murmur half-heartedly.

Don smiles and I'll honestly admit: it's a nice smile. Two rows of straight, white teeth as well as small crinkles at the corner of each eye. But there's something about it that put me on edge. Like a predator's smile. "Let me rephrase…I really hope I see you 'round."

My face heats up, my mouth opening and closing like a fish outta water. There is no mistaking the seductive undertone in his baritone voice. When I finally get my baring, Don's at least five feet away. "Excuse me?"

Don stops and casually looks back over his shoulder. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me," I snap indignantly. "Where the hell do you get off trying to…flirt with me? Who the hell do you think I am?"

I'm hanging on to the bed of the truck, furious. My fingers press into the hot metal, the tips losing feeling in a matter of seconds. I'm so pissed, it's not even funny. I don't know guys well enough to know what exactly Don meant by his last comment, but I know me well enough to know that I didn't like the connotation that dripped off his voice when he said it. It sounded like he was trying to slip me a dirty phrase or something. Besides, he didn't mean it, he just said it the same reason guys asked me out freshman year, then turned to their buddies and laughed it out: I'm a fucking joke.

Don frowns, turning slowly ninety degrees in confusion. "I don't get what the hell you're talking 'bout. All I said was that I wanted to see you around again."

I roll my eyes, scoffing loudly so he knows exactly what I think about his lame excuse. "Don't bullshit me, Billingsly, your reputation precedes you. I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing here, but leave me the fuck out of it."

I shoot him a glare as I climb inside my truck, the interior sweltering hot from being in the sun the entire school day. And as I pull out of the student parking lot, not once do I look back. I have no idea what kind of impact my words make on Don, but when he goes back to our usual relationship of ignoring one another, I figured they hit home.

The words, that is.