Paraplegic (COMPLETED)

Chapter 4

"Says the guy who can't even find his own butt in the dark with a flashlight." The entire class chuckles at my retort, then immediately stops as Petrelli shoots a glare around the room. He then stands from his chair, his fat roll protruding over his belt-line.

"That is quite enough!"

"I've always wondered," I say, "is your entire family a victim as well, or was it only you who got beat with the ugly stick?" The room breaks out in a range of indistinct whispers and murmurs. All eyes are now glued to me. Each student is shocked by my bold retorts, waiting on the edge of their seat to see what will fly off my tongue next. I'm a bit curious myself. From the corner of the room, I see Xander shaking his head in amusement.

Petrelli marches over to me. I expect him to scold me some more and slap me with detention, but I honestly don't care. The biggest game of the year is tonight and there's no way Coach will allow it to start without the Blue Jays' head cheerleader. It might take a little bit of sweet talking, but I'll wriggle out of it. I'm not the least bit worried.

Petrelli looms over me, his nostrils flaring in and out. The vein in the almost center of his forehead is sure to burst at any moment; it's all blue and purple-y, which is a huge contrast to his tomato colored cheeks.

A hush settles across the room. The only sound is the whoosh of air sailing through Petrelli's still flared nostrils. He leans in close; the smell of bacon grease is evident on his breath. He is about to say something when the bell beats him to it. I expected everyone to leap to their feet and scramble for the door, as is the routine after every bell, but they don't. They remain glued to their chairs, eyes magnetized to me and Petrelli.

With a smirk, I say to him, "Maybe we can continue this conversation tomorrow?"

"Graduation is tomorrow."

I shrug with one shoulder. "Whoops." The smirk is still plastered on my face.

The classroom then springs to life as everyone gathers up their textbooks and stuffs them inside their backpacks. I look back to where Xander was sitting, but his chair is now empty; he must have left without me noticing.

I take my sweet time gathering my school supplies; all the while I can practically feel Petrelli's stare burn into the back of my head. What better way to end high school than to leave your teacher with the realization that they lost an argument to one of their students? I should treat myself to a latte. And a new pair of shoes. Louis Vuitton, perhaps?

As I make my way back to my locker, I don't see Xander anywhere in the crowded hall. It's lunchtime, so maybe he's already fueling those muscles of his with protein?

My phone jingles from inside my back pocket. Mother has sent me a text.

Mother: Hey, sweetie! Hope UR day is going gr8. I just wanted to let U know that a letter from Stanford arrived just a few minutes ago.

Me: OMW!!!!!!!! That is totes amazeballs! What did it say?!!

Mother: I thought it would B nice if we opened it together.

Me: No!! Don't tease me! What did it say?! Did I get accepted???

Mother: LOL. C U when you get home from school. Love U!

It's rather funny to realize mother can text. I mean, to actually, really text. Like, the same way a cool person would text. I remember when smartphones first hit the market; I navigated it straight out of the box like I had been born with one in my hand. Mother and father weren't as quick to adapt, however. Father asked me one time if he actually had to laugh out loud whenever he would type the word "Lol". I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes at that question.