Chapter 23, Bleak boy

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I don't bother with looking nice

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I don't bother with looking nice.

Mysterious Fucker message me earlier today and told me to look nice for when Blake is scheduled to pick me up, but I'm never listening to that guy ever again. I don't care who he is anymore and if I stop listening to him, maybe bad luck will stop following me.

So, I throw on an over-sized sweater and vintage jeans. I don't bother even trying to get rid of the paint-stains that Blake is always glaring at.

It's Sunday. Not even a week has passed since I talked back to the gangs and already I'm in deeper shit than what would seem humanly possible. How did it all come down to this?

"I seriously don't find any of this fair," I say to Jessy when she walks into my room. "BD shot my wheel! I would've won if it wasn't for him!" I complain.

"Amber, I know Blake. You do not want to keep him waiting," Jessy replies.

What follows is a sound I can't even start to describe.

"Get your lazy butt out of here and make him regret ever making that bet," Jessy says before pulling me off of my bed.

"What is one think Blake absolutely hates about girls?" I ask Jessy, because she ought to know since she dated his friend. And I seriously want to be his worst nightmare.

"Well, depends... Do you know where he's taking you?" she asks.

"Don't know and don't care," I admit.

"Okay then, he hates absurd girls. He likes them quiet and respectful. I think he wants a girl to know her place," Jessy admits.

"I'm going to slurp and laugh and fart at every opportunity I get," I reply with a chuckle.

"You do that," Jessy chuckles as well before we head downstairs.

Uncle Anton is eating a sandwich at the kitchen island. Though, I think he forgot whatever should be in the sandwich, because it's really just two slices of bread. Also, I think he forgot the coffee in his coffee, because he's drinking milk out of a coffee cup.

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