Big, strong hands.
I swallow, refocusing on my own project. “So. Um. Were you ever planning on explaining to me how you ended up in this situation? It’s not going to be the elephant in the room this entire time, is it?”
“What, about the mascot and shit? It’s a long story.” He keeps his head down and his eyes fixated on his precise brushstrokes.
“We’re here all night.”
Easton turns to stare at me, horrified. “All night?”
I shrug. “I mean. I live here, so…”
Ha ha.
Easton rolls his eyes, clearly fed up with my quick-witted humor, determined to scowl and be miserable even though he’s surrounded by paint and cardboard and fun.
It’s me.I’mthe fun.
Chapter 9
Easton
This isn’t as terrible as I thought it was going to be.
Don’t get me wrong—it’s terrible, a waste of time, boring. What I’m saying is, at least I’m not sitting in a jail cell somewhere, busted for a crime I was stupid enough to perform for guys at school who seem to have it in for me.
I was never going to win that dumb bet. Maddie Miller was never going out with me, and Aiden Tompkins knew it.
Dick.
So yes, being here is not as terrible as the alternative—though I’d obviously rather be sitting on my ass in my mom’s shed, digging up to my elbow in a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, or in the basement gaming with my friends.
Sighing, I give in and answer her question. “What do you want to know?”
“All the dirty details,” she says.
Jeez, how many different ways can I tell a story? I hesitate before answering, not sure where to begin. If I tell her the truth, is she going to make fun of me, the way Marcus and Gabe andDeshaun did when I lost the bet—or is she going to be cool about it?
Only one way to find out.
Still, I barely know this girl and what Idoknow is that she blows hot and cold. Some days she’s nice to me; other days she’s ready to snap my head off.
I pause, paintbrush hovering over the mostly red shield I just smattered with color.
It looks like total shit.
Like a toddler painted it.
She slowly casts her eyes downward and blinks, but for once, Harper Conrad doesn’t comment.
“Um. You were saying?” She is like a dog with a bone, unwilling to let this subject go. I know it as well as I know my name is Easton Dipshit Westermann.
Finally, I relent. “You know Aiden Tompkins?”
She nods. “He was in my IT class last semester.”
Sounds about right. He’s a massive nerd.
“He put all the seniors’ names in a database and picked two to pull the senior prank. Mine was drawn to steal the Parker Lane mascot.”
