Nix pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.
Two weeks have passed since the incident, or what I dubbed “The Shower Scandal.” I later found out the video was only texted to the senior class. Still totally sucks, but at least my lady parts weren’t seen by every single kid at school.
Girls glare at me enviously and guys stare longingly. Though my scandalous debut catapulted me to celebrity status, I haven’t heard a peep about it, which is strange. I thought the tongues would be wagging until graduation. Also, the name calling has died down a bit. Even Queen Bitch and her minions have backed off some.
I anxiously wait for Maverick to arrive to class. Our assignment is due next week. Mr. Barnes has designated four teams to present a day and we’re scheduled for Wednesday. The jerk wouldn’t even provide input on a topic. Eventually, I settled on Faraday's and Lenz’s Law.
I emailed him the PowerPoint presentation and detailed notes, but of course, he didn’t reply. I would gladly do all the talking, but team collaboration is a huge chunk of the final grade. Why did Mr. Barnes have to pair us?
Besides the constant glowering, Maverick doesn’t pay me much attention, and I couldn’t be happier. Today, I have to disrupt my peace and I’m dreading it. On the plus side, after next week, I have no reason to say anything to him and he can go back to his silent brooding.
Maverick walks into the classroom and my spine stiffens. He’s worse for wear. Bruises cover his face, his uniform is wrinkled, and bags are under his eyes. Fresh war wounds appear every other day.
Normal people meditate, go to therapy, or exercise to clear their mind. Maverick fights.
He takes his seat, and immediately, I begin airing out my grievances.
“Did you get my email?”
No answer.
“You know our presentation is on Wednesday, right?”
He looks straight ahead, and I huff in irritation.
“Can you grunt in acknowledgement or something?”
Nothing, nada, zilch. Stabbing him with my pencil flashes in my mind. That’ll get a reaction.
“Maverick, please study the damn notes,” I say in annoyance. “Literally, that’s all I’m asking you to do. Everything else is done. Easy-peasy.”
I hate begging, but I’m freaking desperate at this point. Maintaining a high GPA is a priority for me.
“You need to bring your A-game. I’ll be damned if I get a failing grade because of you.”
His fists clench. “Stop talking to me.”
“Oh, the mighty one speaks,” I say sarcastically.
“I mean it,” he hisses.
“I’m going to keep yapping until we come to an understanding.”
He turns cold eyes on me, and I shiver. “I want to do bad things to you.”
I blink hard, taken aback by his comment. “Why?”
“Because I’m fucked up.”
Who knew the complexity of Maverick could be summed up with one simple sentence?Because I’m fucked up.He accepts who he is and proudly wears his shiny badge of depravity. Mr. Barnes bustles into the classroom and promptly starts today’s lesson.
“I drive by your house often,” he whispers. “In the middle of the night.”
My muscles tense and the rancid taste of fear erupts on my tongue. I’m too shocked by his admission to speak.
“I’ve even stood outside your bedroom window more than once and came close to sneaking inside.”
I lick my lips nervously and his nostrils flare.Finally, the monster lurking within Maverick comes to the forefront. How the hell does he know where my bedroom is? He must have done some serious reconnaissance. Unquestionably, he’s a certifiable basket case, but this... this goes beyond the pale. My home is supposed to be a safe haven. How many nights has danger been at my doorstep while I slept? My window will be locked, and a weapon stashed under my pillow moving forward.
