One Big Cliché

Chapter 11

Nicole

          Dustin acts really peculiar when I open the door for him. His hand grips the back of his neck, his face flushes, and he chews the inside of his cheek, peering down at me. Huh. I warily step aside, cautious of what's going on inside that head of his. He doesn't meet my eyes, just steps in and heads for the dining room to start his homework. Huh. I follow, my steps more controlled than usual. Carefully, I sit down across from him, not saying anything as he pulls out his books and pen and starts getting to work. As soon as the first problem is written down, he snaps his head up, glaring at me.

          "What?" He asks, his tone sharp.

          I shrug, giving him a watchful look, "I don't know. You tell me."

          He mutters something and just keeps writing down problems, not even complaining when he has to scribble over his mistakes and rewrite the problem. I just sit there with my hands folded on the table, staring openly at him. He's about halfway through the problems when he throws his pen into his book, shouting, "What?"

          I don't waver my gaze when he glares at me, just lift an eyebrow and repeat myself, "I don't know. You tell me."

          He's about to retort something, but the front door opens. Shoot, is she home already? I start to panic, staring at him, then his book, then toward the general direction of where the door should be.

          The Wench's voice carries through the house, "Nicole? Whose car is parked in our driveway?"

          Shootshootshoot. I stare in horror at the dining room entrance, the jangle of her keys in my ears. Before I can say anything, she's walking into the dining room, stopping short at the sight of Dustin.

          He blinks at her, "Hi."

          "Oh," she says, startled. "And who are you?"

          "Dustin," I answer before he can, scooting the chair back and standing up. "The guy I've been tutoring. We're working on Calculus right now."

          She stares at him, "You look familiar... You don't happen to be related to Dillon Collins, do you?"

          "That's my dad," he answers, giving her an apprehensive look. "Why?"

          She purses her lips, an annoyed glint in her eyes. "I dated him all throughout high school. Then he left me for your mom." She turns to me, adding, "If he's anything like his father, I'd watch out. He'll leave you at the next pretty face that comes along."

          "Yeah, that'd be good to know if he were my boyfriend, but he's not," I remark, not trying to hide the attitude in my voice. This seems like a pretty good time to make an exit. I shoot Dustin a glance, willing him to pick up his stuff and follow me out, but he's still staring at her guardedly.

          She completely ignores me, focusing on Dustin when she asks, "Has she tried throwing herself at you yet? It wouldn't surprise me; she walks around in her bra when our mower is over. As you saw the other day."

          "Will you give it a rest already?!" I shout before I can stop myself. It's no use covering my mouth, so I keep going. "I'm not throwing myself at anyone, I'm not sleeping with anyone, and I sure as hell am not going to sit here and listen to you make false accusations based solely on the fact that you're a haughty bitch!"

          She gapes at me, and I just glare at her, not sure at what point I chose that exact insult, but it fits. My hands slam on the table after my spiel, emphasizing my point. I take a deep breath and look straight at Dustin, who's staring at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw.