My heart thumps in a way I choose not to examine too closely.
Jace:Okay.
Bells:Eat something first.
Jace:Bossy.
Bells:Shut up.
And for the first time all day, I nearly smile. The tension in my shoulders eases just a little.
I peer up from my phone and see Nicole glaring at me, arms folded tightly across her chest, nails tapping against her elbow. That sharp expression she always gets when she’s about to start something. She probably thinks I’ve got some chick lined up. Someone other than her.
Good. Let her think that.
She leans forward, eyes flicking to my phone.
“Well,” she says, voice thick with fake sweetness, “this should be interesting.”
I glare at her, and when I don’t speak, she nods toward my phone.
“You smiling at your screen,” she says. “Didn’t know you were capable of that. Usually you just scroll until some girl is dumb enough to spread her legs for you.”
I slide the phone onto the table, unimpressed.
“Relax,” I say. “Your replacement isn’t sitting here.”
Her mouth tightens.
“Must be someone special,” she snaps. “You never smiled at your phone when you were texting me.”
I meet her eyes without blinking. “That’s because texting you was about as exciting as watching paint dry,” I say flatly. “And you were never that good a fuck anyway.”
The table falls into dead silence. A few girls laugh but quickly recover, stuffing hands over mouths and looking away.
Nicole’s face first drains, then floods red so quickly it creeps down her neck. Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to recover.
“You’re such an asshole,” she spits, voice sharp but cracking at the edges.
I shrug.
“And you’re fake as shit, Nicole,” I say. “You spend half your day pretending you’re better than everyone here and the other half begging for attention from guys who wouldn’t even look at you if you stopped opening your legs. Now go obsess over fighting Tia for your little queen crown. I’m sure that’ll fill whatever void you’re trying to patch up.”
Her eyes shimmer with tears she’s too proud to let fall.
Nicole presses her lips together, struggling to hold onto whatever dignity she believes she still possesses. Her throat convulses with each swallow, her shoulders clenched tight, nails digging into her arms so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t draw blood.
She opens her mouth, likely about to spit out some recycled insult she heard from one of her idiot friends. But she never gets the chance. Another voice pierces through the cafeteria.
Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Chairs scrape to a stop. People freeze halfway to their tables with trays in hand, mouths hanging open. Even the lunch ladies behind the counter halt, leaning forward over the sneeze guards to see what the hell is about to happen.
Every head turns, mine included.
Aubrey stands across the room. Right between Tia and the freshman girl Tia was tearing down a minute ago, Aubrey’s shoulders are squared, chin lifted, and her eyes are locked on Tia with the kind of quiet fury that usually ends with someone leaving this cafeteria bleeding. Her hands hang loosely at her sides, but tension coils in her frame, ready to spring.
Here we go. Round two, baby.
A slow grin spreads across my face before I can stop it.
