Twisted (Editing)

Chapter 5 (Edited)

We exchanged numbers as the bell rang and I went about my day, thinking of the books I'd read already, and which of them might be useful for the project.

It turned out to be useless in the morning. When I walked into class, Jonah was sitting at a desk that had been dragged beside mine. The other groups were using their time to explore more ideas. My own partner was chatting with the boy that used to be Jonah's partner, and I looked at Mrs. Kelly with a head tilted to the side.

"Did I miss something," I asked.

"There was a switch," Jonah said. "You're my partner."

"What do you mean, there was a switch? Why?"

"Mrs. Kelly suggested it."

"Why?"

"Because I asked her to."

I turned my head to peer at him.

"I didn't like my old partner, she gave me a new one. Go ask her about it if you're not satisfied."

I decided I would ask her about it. I walked up to her desk and tapped to get her attention. "Excuse me, Mrs. Kelly." She turned around. "I'm told that apparently there's been a change in the partner arrangement and I was just wondering if that was true."

"I thought I told Jonah to tell you," she said. She shuffled through the papers on her desk, unconcerned with me. "I did in fact change the partner sheet. Jonah was having a hard time with his partner, something that quickly became obvious, and I switched them."

"I was working well with my partner though."

"Yet your old partner is getting on just fine." She looked up and set her hands down flat on her desk. "Imani, you're new, and if you put your mind to it, you'll be able to work well with anyone you choose. Have pity on Jonah⁠⁠—he's not the same."

"But⁠⁠—"

"Imani. What's done is done."

I nodded, my face hot with the embarrassment of having been cut off mid-whine. I dragged my feet back to my desk and sat down. "Didn't I tell you?" Jonah asked.

I held the roll of my eyes and flipped open my packet. "I want to do project number three⁠⁠—"

"I don't like that one."

"You didn't even look at it."

"The essay? We're not doing that one."

I bit the inside of my cheek. Now I saw why his first partner left him. He was an uncompromising bitch.

"We're doing number 7."

I flipped the page and read the problem. "An in-depth documentary analysis of how World War Two reshaped modern American literature. Minimum sixty minutes. This is going to be even more work than the essay. We have to write a script, which will be an essay basically, and then⁠⁠—"

"I'm not changing my mind."

"Well, who made you king of the world?"

His eyebrows lifted. "The ancestor of mine who built this town. Everything here has my name on it. Even Mrs. Kelly's paycheck," he whispered.

My mouth flattened into a thin line. Someone, anyone, should slap the hell out of this boy. For his own good. "Okay," I said. I was here for one year. And I didn't want trouble. But in another life...

What I would've done in that moment.

"I can come to your house every day," he said. 

"My house? Who said anything about my house?"

"Where else are we going to do it?"

"I assume you live somewhere too." He looked at me with narrowed eyes. Good. I hope I was annoying him. I sighed. Our grades would be shared at the end of the day, so I needed to get along with him. I had the feeling that with the way his name carried in this town that he would have a much easier time than me petitioning for a grade change. "What if we went to the library?"

"We can't do the work we need in the library."

"Then we'll split the days. Two in my house, three in yours, we flip weeks. My parents get home late anyway."

"That's fine." He slid me his phone with the "new contact," menu open. I put in my number. "I'll text you my locker number. I'll drive you there."

"I can walk. This is a small town."

"It's thirty minutes away from here," he said. He took his phone back. "I'll drive you there."

Before I could argue again, the bell rang and he left without looking back at me. My palms were sweaty. If only I had my license, then this wouldn't be a problem, but I'd moved across state lines too many times to ever hold a permit long enough. I wiped my hands on my skirt and stood up to leave after he was already gone. Anyway, there was nothing to be scared of. He was a tall, overblown idiot. And me?

Well, my mother didn't raise a bitch.