3. I Dare You
It's not hard to hate a certain Dalton Academy Warbler known as Sebastian Smythe. For one, he's creepy and when he likes someone he decides to throw a slushie sprinkled with rock salt in their eyes. Secondly, he's named after a singing crab from an old Disney film which I stopped watching when I was four, right now he should be at the bottom of the ocean singing 'Under the Sea' to some red haired fish in a shell bra. And last but not least, he dares come less than three centimetres away from me whilst ruining a classic Michael Jackson song which I was totally rocking?
Hate is a strong word which I seldom use, but Sebastian Smythe is a special case. Suppose he hates me as much as I hate him, why does he even have the nerve to invite me out to Breadsticks? Doesn't he have enough brain to know that as soon as I see him, I'll rip out his eyeballs and force him to eat them? What puzzles me is that I've actually complied with his request, and now the two of us are sat glaring across the table at each other with a plate of neglected spaghetti left stone cold and untouched.
"Are you going to apologise any time soon Smythe?" I question. His eyebrow arches into a sarcastic curve and he breaks into a roar of obnoxious laughter. I sit back and watch him, not amused in the slightest at whatever the hell he's laughing at. He must be so overwhelmed by the only female company that he's had in years that he can't help but turn into this pitiful pile of a giggling mess. It's disgusting.
"Me? Apologise?" he says between gasps of breath. "What for? You beat us at Regionals with your oh so cliché original songs, so there's no need for me to apologise!"
I slam the flat of my hand against the table and the legs shudder with the sheer force. I'm a bitch but I have an intolerance to ignorance on this high a scale.
"No need to apologise?" I repeat. "I'm sorry but you've messed with the wrong girl. You've messed with the wrong girl's friends and you've cheated." He tilts his head to the side and a cocky smirk forms across his lips. Wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, he leans forward on the table and rests his chin on the back of his hands.
"Oh, are you really that upset that you'd actually come and beg me to say sorry?" he taunts. "I only invited you here to tell you that next year we'll be taking that trophy from you with ease, so prepare yourselves."
That's it, he's crossed the line. I swing my fist towards the collar of his shirt and twist the material in my hands, yanking his upper body across the table. The blood boils in my veins and I just want to slap some sense into that scrawny face of his.
"Say that again, I dare you." I hiss, my teeth bared as if I were to rip his throat out the moment a word came out of his sly mouth. He just smiles.
"Are you sure that you can take it?"
By now, the whole of Breadsticks is watching us with wide eyes yet no one dare say anything. Any normal human being would know not to say anything. I'm from Lima. Heights. Adjacent.
"What would you do if knocked you unconscious?" I snarl, narrowing my eyes at him. He lowers his gaze to my lips and then catches my glare.
"What would you do if I kissed you now?"
Before I can even say anything, he takes the sides of my face in his hands and crushes his lips against mine, his eyes locking on mine with a victorious glint. I don't think about the things I do, I just do them. With one hand still grasping the cloth of his shirt, my free hand reaches down to the disregarded spaghetti and I smash the dish on the crown of his head, streaks of blood red rolling down the curves of his face. He pulls away immediately, an expression the depiction of complete abhorrence, yet I just smile at him.
"Thanks for paying the bill, I've had a great time." I thank, slipping out of the booth and sauntering to the door. I didn't think he had a brain, but that was just pushing it.
Never mess with a girl from Lima Heights Adjacent, especially not Santana Lopez.