I'm The Geek Who Slapped A Football Player.

34 - Piglet and Squeak

Oh God, where to start?

We’d already reached my van, but Scarlett simply leaned against it and dropped her backpack onto the hood. I unlocked the van and slipped my backpack from my shoulders, opening the door and throwing it inside.

“He was just…God, I could have killed the moron when he…”

Scarlett raises her eyebrows at me and I inhale through my nose to gather my thoughts. Right. I have to tell Scarlett. In a way that makes sense. Most teenage girls do this sort of thing, which is spilling all of their pent up feelings to someone they trust. But I’m so new at this, I think I’ve only done this once before…I’ll probably have to omit about fifty percent of the swear words too. Just kidding, I don’t know if I can do fifty, maybe thirty five percent…

I started with how he’d followed me all the way down the fucking hallway to Economics, laughing at me for squealing like a little pig when he nearly killed me, or some nonsense. Though I was pissed as hell, I’d been doing a relatively good job at ignoring him, until he decided to amp up his annoying-ness.

“Remember I told you that you sounded like a little pig when you screamed?”

My sarcasm couldn’t resist taking a snap at him. “Yes, like five steps ago.”

“Well, that gave me an idea.”

“Oh, that must have been exciting. How often does that happen?”

He’d ignored me and went on explaining his ‘idea’. Apparently he decided that I had to have another nickname. This nickname was pretty damn good, if he could say so himself, but it wasn’t good enough to completely exclude my other one, ‘Psycho’. It was just about perfect, though. He rambled like that for a while longer and I was beginning to tune him out, actually hoping he’d keep up his babble so I could continue tuning him out.

But he then announced my second nickname as ‘Piglet’.

I’d stumbled over my own feet in shock. “What?!”

He laughed at me and nodded, a wicked smile on his face.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I snarled and started stomping ahead. PIGLET? Like, the shy, stuttering little pig from Winnie The Pooh whom I never really could decide was a boy or girl? He nicknamed me after that?

            “Well, it was between Porky or Bacon, and frankly,” He’d reached over and pinched my sides – which had made me blush profusely and I’d swatted at him with my notebook – and then poked my shoulder bone, “you’re too skinny to call Porky. And I love Bacon. So I can’t call you Bacon.”

            He’d had a point there, so I just silently fumed over my new nickname and stomped onward to Economics, a giant, hot, stupid football player in tow.

            Once we got to Economics I’d high-tailed it to my desk, looking for even a moment’s peace from him. But he simply followed me at a leisurely pace, and then, smiling at me, picked up a desk – I glimpsed his beautiful bicep muscle at work and had to look down at my notebook, furious with myself – and dropped it down next to mine. And then he sat in it and scooted it all the way over. As in, despite-being-in-separate-desks-we-were-brushing-elbows over.

            And for the next class period I’d had an internal battle with myself on whether committing homicide was worth it.

            “You what?” Scarlett asked, looking like she trying not to laugh.