Then she looks around like she's expecting the principal to materialize out of thin air.
“Dammit.”
“What?”
“Can you help me carry him?”
I stare at her.
“What?”
“To that chair.”
“What?” I ask again because my ears must not be working.
Why the fuck would I help this prick?
“We'll tell people he tripped,” she says, quickly concocting a plan.
I blink.
She blinks back.
“What the fuck?”
Her hands fly up.
“I know! I know how this sounds!”
“Insane?”
“Probably.”
“Definitely,” I grumble back.
“Look, I know, but will you help? Please?”
There it is.
The look.
Big green eyes.
Hopeful expression.
The exact face a pretty teacher probably uses to convince kids to eat vegetables and do their math homework.
And somehow it's aimed at me.
I should say no.
Instead, I hear myself sigh.
Then I grab Jonas under one arm.
“You're lucky you're cute.”
Mary freezes.
