One of the others raised his eyebrows when he noticed me watching them. “What?”
“Nothing,” I replied flatly.
“You got a problem?” Westly asked.
“Nope.”
He moved forward a step. “Then why are you staring?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
I stood up. “I’m just trying to watch the game.”
The guy in the middle smirked. “Pretty sure this isn’t really your crowd.”
“Pretty sure I didn’t ask.”
The other laughed. “Damn. Emo kid’s got an attitude.”
Westly stood. “You think you’re funny?”
I shrugged. “Not really.”
“Because you’re not,” he continued.
“Okay. Enjoy the game.” I could feel their stares on my back as I headed for the parking lot. I was halfway to my car when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Hey!”
I kept walking, but the steps sped up.
“Hey, freak. I’m talking to you.”
I turned around. Westly stood a few feet away, his friends fanned out behind him.
“You get pissed off easily, don’t you?” He laughed.
“Nope.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I turned back toward my car. “Whatever.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Westly taunted.
I kept walking toward my Elantra. I was almost there when he spoke again.
“Why are you even here?”
I spun around again, unable to just let things go. “To watch the game.”
“That’s a lie.”
I rolled my eyes. “Believe whatever you want.”
He gave me a once-over, taking in my black hoodie, the nail polish on my fingers, and the eyeliner I was wearing. “Man, you look like you crawled out of a funeral.”
