Perfection - Mathewson R. L. - Страница 71
- Предыдущая
- 71/71
"I spit in that you know," he lied.
She simply shrugged when most women would have probably screeched, gagged, and shoved it back at him. Not Rory James. She made a show of taking a huge sip of the cocoa.
"I think I've been immune to your germs since the ninth grade," she pointed out, making him smile.
Ah, good times. For six months he'd found ways to spit in her food and drinks without her and her little band of geeks, nerds, and dorks finding out about it. His friends of course did their part by distracting her so he could break into her locker and of course take pictures of the act.
On her birthday he'd placed all those lovely pictures into a small box, gift wrapped it, and placed it in her locker. Then he leaned against the locker across from hers and waited with all his friends and half the school for her to open it. Everyone watched as she opened her locker, waiting for her reaction. She first looked surprised at finding the present in her locker and of course that to turned horror as she flipped through the pictures. She couldn't hide that little gag sound she made.
Everyone laughed.
He remembered standing there cocky as hell, waiting for her to finally react like a girl and cry. Instead she calmly put the pictures back in the box, gagged louder, and returned it to her locker. She grabbed the lunch that he and all his friends spit in, hey it was her birthday after all, and walked over to him.
Instead of crying and screaming at him or even threatening to tell her daddy and her rather large brothers she kneed him in the balls and when he was down on the ground she forced half her lunch down his throat while his friends fell over themselves, laughing their asses off, but it had been worth it. Even the month of detention that followed couldn't take away the joy he received from that little prank.
"Mr. O'Neil? Miss. James? He's ready for you."
********
For updates about this novel or any novels by R.L. Mathewson visit,
www.rlmathewson.com
- Предыдущая
- 71/71
