Myles shrugs. “You beat me up yesterday so we’re even now.”
I gasp, nostrils flaring and toes curling.
This is too much. I’ve had it with his smug attitude and I’ve exceeded my limit. Before I can stop myself, I shove myhand into the open jar of white glaze next to him and swipe my hand across his face.
Everything stops. No one speaks. No one moves.
Myles’s lips part as his jaw rocks, and he looks at me again with dark tired eyes. The boy who grew up being told he had the patience of an angel doesn’t seem so patient anymore.
I don’t know what he’s about to do, but I know he won’t be able to ignore me any longer. I have his attention.
His chair screeches as he pushes it back.
A glare locks on to my face, but I don’t move. I stand my ground in front of him, daring him to drag me away again.
He opens the red glaze and pours it over my head.
I shriek as glaze drips down my hair. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect him to fight back. I wanted him to be intimidated, but instead I started a war.
I grab every glaze and paint in arm’s reach, removing the lids and chucking them at him one by one as he chases after me. The other students jump out of the way as paint and glaze fly across the room.
The paint containers rupture like bombs all over the floor, making the classroom look like a crime scene in seconds.
I leap up and grab a stack of brushes, throwing them at him as he searches for another jar of paint. “You brat!”
“This isn’t a great idea,” Sam says, ducking underneath the desk. “Ms. Simon isn’t going to like this.”
Neither one of us cares.
We don’t stop. I pick up a random binder and use it as a shield to deflect Myles’s throws while searching for my next weapon. If he’s set on ruining my life, I’ll make his as miserable as possible in the process.
“That’s enough!” Ms. Simon yells the second she steps foot in the room.
Myles freezes with his hand in the air, ready to throw yellow paint at my face.
Heat rises to my cheeks as I look around. There’s an explosion of muddy colors coating the floor, the desks, and even some of the walls.
He gulps, setting down the jar like he realized just how far he’s strayed from his good reputation.
I'd rather be eating lunch, but unfortunately there’s a bucket of soapy water at my side and a rag in my hand.
Instead of detention, Ms. Simon decided to take matters into her own hands and agreed not to inform our parents as long as the mess was cleaned up. She thought it would be a great opportunity to work together and put our differences aside, but she doesn’t know how impossible that is. I’ll never bond with the heinous creature next to me.
I scrub green paint off the wood floors while Myles works on a spot on the wall.
Ms. Simon sits at her desk, eating her sandwich while watching a show on her computer. She’s wearing headphones, so I can’t tell what she’s watching. Whatever it is, she’s invested in it to the point where I doubt she’s watching us. Every few minutes she gasps or laughs, reminding me she’s in the corner of the room.
Myles’s blazer hangs on one of the chairs behind us, and his sleeves are rolled up. I don’t really see the point. There's so much paint and glaze on the two of us I’m sure we’ll need new uniforms.
He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand beforeleaning in to scrub hard again. The paint is stubborn, but it’s slowly coming off.
“Stop staring and get to work,” he says.
I scowl, dipping my rag into the bucket of water next to me. “I’m not staring.”
“You’ve been staring since yesterday,” he mumbles. “It’s like you’ve got a weird obsession all of a sudden.”
I roll my eyes as I wring out my rag. His grumbly voice is irritating, raspy and dull. He doesn’t smile. Everything about him is cold and icy. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not obsessed with you.”
