I rubbed my head as I walked out of Stats class. It wasn't my best subject, and it had been particularly hard that day. We had started a new section that I just couldn't wrap my brain around, at least not yet. My lack of good sleep was catching up with me, and it took me twice as long as normal to do our daily assignment.
I left with the beginnings of a headache, and was thinking about running to the vending machines by the cafeteria for a quick soda. The sugar injection of an grape soda sounded perfect right about then.
"Hey, Abby," Tristan Blake said as I came out of the classroom, startling me. He had been waiting outside of the door of my class.
I wasn't a fan of Tristan. He was the stereotypical jock, suave and arrogant and traditionally handsome. He sure knew it, too. He was a charmer and a player—he'd hooked up with all the pretty cheerleaders and popular girls in town, if the gossip circulating was to be believed. I hadn't sought the gossip out, but had overheard a pack of juniors talking about him in Study Skills one afternoon.
Basically, he was the type that I had always avoided on character issues.
"Um, hey," I said, continuing to walk down the hall. I was confused. Why was he talking to me, of all people? How did he know I existed? He quickened his pace to catch up with me.
"I heard you made varsity volleyball."
Oh, I realized. Okay. That's why he was talking to me—I was climbing high on the social ladder because I was on the volleyball team. Got it. "Yeah."
"Congrats. You must be excellent to make the team."
"I guess." I was growing antsy with him being around, my skin starting to crawl.
"So," he said smoothly as I rubbed absently at my arms. "Are you coming to the football game on Friday?"
I hadn't decided yet. Mina and Dylan weren't going, so I would have to hang out with the rest of the volleyball team. I wasn't sure if I was on that type of terms with anyone else yet. "Not sure," I replied.
"You should. I'm starting, you know." He flashed a model-worthy smile, as brilliant as his ego.
"Good for you."
My next classroom finally came into sight and relief washed over me—I was almost there. Before I could duck inside, however, Tristan blocked my path so I had no choice but to stand there and let him talk. "There's going to be a huge party after the game. You should be there. Come as my pretty date."
My eyes snapped up to his in surprise. I hadn't expected that. My stomach churned at the idea, and I started feeling sick. Throw-up sick. "No," I said firmly, but added a polite, "Thanks."
"Aw, come on. Anybody who's important is going to be there."
"Then it wouldn't really be my scene."
He stepped closer and twirled his finger suggestively in my hair. "Someone as pretty as you should be my date."
I balked at his words. What sort of compliment was that? What was I supposed to say to that? Oh Tristan, you honor me by allowing me to be in your presence! I can't believe someone of your social stature and awesomeness and attractiveness would choose me as your date! I'm glad that I'm pretty enough for your standards. Because we all knew that looks were the most important thing when choosing people to associate with.
Um, no.
I stepped back, pushing his hand out of my hair and away from me. I was starting to get angry, what with him touching me like that. "No, thank you," I repeated, a bit more harshly this time. My stomach was still churning.
"Are you saying that you don't want to be my date?"
"Correct."
His face clouded with rage, a fast temper—a look I was familiar with. "Other girls would kill to hook up with me."
"Well, at least you won't be lonely."
"You're being an idiot, Abby."
Yeah, that makes me want to change my mind and go out with you. "Surprisingly, I'm okay with that." I sidestepped him and made my way into the classroom, my arms folded self-consciously over my chest.
"You're going to regret it," Tristan spat after me. "I'm not going to give you this offer again."
I ignored him and sat down, pulling out my notes and fuming irritably at them. I heard him huff in anger, then storm off. Obviously, he wasn't used to being turned down. Apparently, most girls leaped at the chance to be around him. Just another thing that set me apart from others.
Ugh. Tristan. What a jerk—I hated boys like him, entitled and smarmy. I felt demeaned by the whole ordeal.
"What was all that about?"
I jumped at the voice. I was so distracted that I had forgotten about Sam and the fact that he sat in the rickety desk right beside me in AP English. Great, he'd probably seen most of that fiasco and how stupidly I'd dealt with the whole situation. "Tristian's trying to get me to go out with him."
Sam regarded me with mild sarcasm. "And you are not leaping at the opportunity?"
"Why would I?" I said, trying not to snap at him. "He's just another stupid boy in the world," slipped angrily out of my mouth before I could consider how it would sound.
"Wow, someone is bitter."
"I'm not bitter." Sam just raised his eyebrow at me, and I couldn't help a small laugh at my irony. "Okay, maybe I am. But even if I was into dating at the current moment, which I'm not, why would I pick someone like Tristan? What a jerk."
"Was he too forward with you?" Sam asked with condescending sympathy.
"At least I have some dignity," I snapped.
Sam sat there in silence. His chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. "Well," he said after a long pause, quieter than before. "Good for you. It does not seem like anyone does anymore."
"Huh?"
"A lot of high school girls don't seem to bother with it these days. Nice to know someone has a bit of self-respect."
"Yeah, well," I snapped again, then realized he was paying me a compliment. Oh. "Yeah." I looked down at the pen I was playing with in my fingers. "Thanks."