I'm The Geek Who Slapped A Football Player.

2 - Karma's a B*tch

Heyy!! Thanks for reading again and vote and comment!! :)

Chapter 2. Karma's a Bitch

I sit alone at my lunch table, visibly fuming as I stabbed my tator tots with unnecessary force and push the disgusting whipped cream topped pudding away. I really couldn’t help it; I think I’m just in a permanently bad mood now. And it’s all because of that stupid, idiot, mother trucker…. Ooo I just want to kick his stupid ass to the fudging moon!

            And I emphasized the word ‘alone’, because I am utterly alone. It’s just me. No one else is sitting here at this lonely little circular table except my imaginary friend Bobo. (and I’m being completely sarcastic here, I do not have an imaginary friend. Seriously.)

This entire dilemma where I’m sitting alone at a lunch table, stabbing innocent tator tots, ignoring the nasty pudding, and even making a sarcastic imaginary friend comment are all because of, you guessed it, you know him, the one, the only…Sebastian MacCrain!!

Ta-fucking da.

            Thinking of him made me glower down at my aching right hand. The stupid thing was sore and red and even felt a little swollen. I suppose that’s what happens when you get so angry you can’t control yourself, and end up putting all of the power you have into one slap. And it was good slap, I’ll admit. I laugh just thinking about it now. Even through my fog of fury I can still very clearly remember that perfect sound when my hand met his face.

            Sebastian’s head had whipped to the side and he’d stayed that way for an extra two seconds, then very slowly turned back to look down at me, disbelief and astonishment written all over his face. “Asshole!” I’d spit at him before I marched away. Oh it had been great.

            Except, I can’t even enjoy that helluva moment because I’m too angry!!

            I glance around the large, very full lunch room, annoyed. Most every other table was full of people, chattering like a bunch of itching monkeys. No one. Not one! I think sourly. The story of some chick(me) slapping Sebastian MacCrain in the face, hard, had spread fast as hell, naturally. And now not a single friend with whom I sit with at lunch had joined me. I suppose friends is a pulling it a bit far. Acquaintances might be the better word, but I talk to them and share my lunch table with them and occasionally sit with them during classes.

            Of course, now that everyone knew I slapped Sebastian MacCrain, not a damn soul had even passed by my table. I angrily stabbed another tator tot. How did anyone even know it was me? In this giant school I doubt even more than twenty people knew me by name. Someone who knew me must have seen –

            I feel a hand tap my shoulder, and I whip around, ready to bitch out whoever was about to give me shit for granting that moron the smack he’s needed for probably his whole life.

            Scarlett Bilger jerked back at my hostile expression, gasping a little in her faint voice. I sighed. “Sorry Scarlett.”

            She immediately gave me a soft, forgiving smile. Scarlett is an exceedingly quiet, nice, gentle person. I’ve known her since we were freshman, and I can assume she’s one of the best acquaintances I have. Or friend. Whatever.

            “How are you?” She asked.

            “I’m fine.” I said, but was unable to keep the hard edge from my voice. Her eyes are set big in her little oval face, but don’t make her look startled or overly caffeinated. They’re calm and knowing, and a very soft gray-green that reminds you of a nice, quiet rainy morning. Scarlett’s knowing eyes are staring into my own, regular old coffee brown ones, and she can obviously tell I’m not in the best of moods.