Chapter 13

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Chapter Thirteen

If you’ve ever been to one of those award shows, you would’ve seen the commotion that was made every time a limo or some other big time car pulled up. A pandemic would erupt across the masses of raving ‘normal people’ hoping for a glimpse of a gloved hand waving, the tail of a dress or a stray strand of hair… anything from their idol. Well, walking into the hallowed halls of our high school on the arm of Shane Mason, the school’s  biggest bad boy, who, claimed Alexa, made ovaries erupt with the slightest glance your way, was like that. Well,  minus the one loser who would always throw up and the mini lightning storm from all the flashes.

We were late. The warning bell had sounded long before we had gotten there and now the final bell was ringing away. But the student body paid no heed and turned to look as Shane pushed open those huge double doors. And with me on his arm making him look so good that fine Monday morning, they stared.  So you can’t exactly blame a girl for embracing the opportunity to flaunt her stuff- even though the strut was more of a drag-wobble-limp. So, to make up for it, I flashed a killer wink Larry Portman’s way. He begun grinning like the idiot he was and walked headfirst into the locker of his only friend.

I chuckled and Shane gave me a quizzical stare. I shrugged.

“Come on, that was funny!” I exclaimed, but Shane was not laughing. I sighed as I narrowed my eyes at him. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. His eyes darted around the hallway and his mouth was fixed in an anxious line.

“Come on,” he said, “ At the rate you’re moving I’d be blessed if I made the last ten minutes of class.”

I said a prayer and tried to suppress the urge to kick him in the midsection. Instead, I did a double take on the fact that Shane- badboy Shane- was worried about being late to class.  I looked at him truly taken aback.

“What?” He turned to me and shrugged, “I have econ first period.”

My eyes widened in amazement and horror at the same time if that was even possible. You see , the only class you had to at least pretend to give two shits about if you wanted to graduate this dump-  was Mr. O’Neil’s econ class. The last time the man smiled was back in ‘97, at his father’s funeral.  And the last person to get a B in that man’s class also graduated  in that year.

The odds were definitely not in his favor.

“Then what the hell are you still doing here?!” I quickly let go of his arm. “I can make it on my own.”

Shane did something completely unimaginable. He grabbed my arm back almost… desperately. I looked at him suspiciously.

“Do I need to define ‘on my own’ for you?” I asked, and yanked my arm away so roughly that I stumbled. Shane grabbed my waist to steady me.

“Urgh! Why the hell can’t you just accept my help?!”

“I’m not even sure why the hell you’re so desperate to help!”

“Shane!”

At the sound of that voice Shane let go of my waist and spun around so fast that you would swear we had just been caught humping or something. His move was so sudden that I’d fallen backwards and from the crack I heard as I hit the floor and pain I felt which was worse than sitting through a Justin Bieber concert, I could tell that my twisted ankle was a lot more than twisted.

“Oh my god!” came a high pitched squeal.

Tears were stinging my eyes and I could hardly distinguish the shape of the dark haired girl who bent over me.

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