Kieran Tate is the type of person who just floats through life. He had a somewhat average childhood, has somewhat average grades, and isn't really anything special. That's the way he likes it to be; do all of the needed tricks without falling off th...
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Nah, screw everything civil I said about Cassius last week.
If he tells me to hurry up one more time, we are going to have a serious problem.
"Jesus Christ, Tate," he scoffs. "Hurry up."
Bitch.
I know that I had a hella cool superhero moment last week, and possibly saved Cassius's life, but that doesn't mean I'm cut out for running. Matter of fact, I'm about five seconds away from puking up my guts. I'm sure my morning combination of Froot Loops and coffee is not going to look pretty if I happen to start spewing chunks.
Of course, Coach Bass's little bonding assignment for gym class today had to include running. Mentally, I could be a marathon medalist with my endurance. I'm great at running away from my dad's cooking, running away from my responsibilities, my problems, the list goes on and on. Physically, though, I am not cut out for running the cross-country loop, especially when Cassius is being extra insufferable today.
"Okay, s-stop," I nearly wheeze, putting my hand on a tree to stabilize myself so I don't fall face-first into the uneven ground.
"Are you kidding me?" he scoffs.
I am desperately trying to catch my breath as Mr. Grumpy Pants glares daggers at me.
I can't help that I'm horribly out of shape...well, I can, but I'm not going to.
"We aren't even halfway there," Cassius snarls.
"Yeah, a-and right about now, I want t-to shove my foot halfway down your throat," I huff breathlessly. "Just let me catch my breath."
Cassius angrily crosses his arms before leaning against a tree as well.
You know, sometimes I see no difference between him and a five-year-old.
I glance at him through labored breaths. I don't know what kind of sorcery he is pulling, but he looks completely fine. Every hair on his dumbass head is fine, there isn't a single bead of sweat on his skin, and he looks entirely unaffected by our little jog when it's almost eighty degrees outside. My curls are stuck to my forehead, and I know it's not attractive. I didn't want to look like a wet mop, but here we are.
"Cassius?" I question as I finally reach the point where it doesn't feel like needles are stabbing me in the chest anymore.
"Don't talk to me," he says coldly, clicking his tongue.
I don't even know why I bother.
"Are you almost done or what?" he snaps. "You know, I'd like to get back to school at some point during this lifetime. So, if you are done being weak, let's go."
Well, the insult was unnecessary, but if roles were reversed, I'd probably tell him the same thing. But that's not important. All I know is that he just insulted me, and nobody gets to insult me but my family.
