Love to Hate You

Chapter Eight

I look back down at my paper and feel angered all of a sudden. What if he cheated? What if he copied down my answers? Would Miss Myers even notice? My eyes flick back over to his paper again before I reach over and snatch it off his desk.

“Hey! What the heck, Carrots?” he inhales at the sudden motion while trying to get it back.

I elbow him away and compare the first two answers and then the second two. They are completely different. How?

“How the heck did you get an A?” I ask confusedly while reluctantly handing him his paper back.

“I read the chapters!” he tells me while snatching it back and shoving it in his bag.

“Since when?” I argue while raising an eyebrow.

“It’s called power studying, now mind your own business!” he snaps and digs in his bag before pulling out his copy of Anne of Green Gables.

I’m about to say something when Miss Myers starts speaking and everyone quiets. She explains something about the next section of reading before telling us to start reading quietly. I open my book and begin to read, like a good student, when a balled up piece of paper bounces onto my desk. I look up at Miss Myers, who isn’t paying attention, and then over to Justin who nods at the paper. My eyes roll dramatically so he can tell I’m annoyed before I unfold the sheet.

Hey Carrots, we have band practice. Don’t forget.

I look over at him from the corner of my eye. He’s tapping his feet rhythmically against the floor and flipping through the pages of the book without really reading the pages. I look back down at the note again and decide to respond. I pick up my pen and scrawl out:

Whatever, but I refuse to ride on your dumb skateboard again.

I glance at Miss Myers again and find she is behind her desk clicking away at her computer. I throw the crumpled paper over onto Justin’s desk and return back to the book. I’ve barely even finished reading the page when the paper hits my arm and falls to the floor with a small crunch. I quickly shoot him a scowl, to which he shrugs, and I pick up the paper slowly as not to draw attention to myself. When I unfold it, it makes some rustling sounds and I instantly tense up. No one seems to care so I continue until the next message is revealed.

I can teach you how to skateboard, if you want.

I grimace. Yeah, right. There is no way I am doing that. I’d probably embarrass myself, kill myself, or all of the above. I’d rather not.

No thanks. Can’t we walk instead?

I toss it back and wait until his reply is returned.

No, it takes longer. Skateboarding is fun, give it a try.

I roll my eyes. What is he? He sounds like my mother when she’s trying to bribe me to do new things. Thing is, I like staying in my bubble, and he is continuously forcing me to pop it.

Quit telling me what to do!

I wait again. He doesn’t take too long to reply. I’m not getting any work done. This is probably his master plan. He wants me to fail this class. I hate him.

Unless, you want to keep riding double with me. You know, with my hands on your hips and your hands holding mine. Our bodies close to each other’s and my breath on your neck.

A winking smiley face is at the end of the note and I blush furiously. When he puts it that way it seems intimate. Seduction to tease him, yes. Intimacy for him to tease me, no. Screw that, I’m learning how to ride my own darn skateboard!