Faster Than Your Bullets

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Pamela slams her fist down on the table.

"That's it. Tell me where he's at. I'm gonna break his face." Pause. "I've got a baseball bat somewhere." She adds dangerously.

We're in her house, and I've just told her in whispers (which draw her annoying sister's attention) about the incident at the party.

"I don't know where he's at. And his face is already broken." I remind her. "We saw him, remember?" Brody's face today can be in the dictionary for the word "painful" and every of its synonyms. Limping in English, he made up a story to a horrified Mrs. Black about tripping over his dog's toy on the top of the stairs and fell three stories down. One of his eyes was black, the other had a purple bump in its close vicinity; his cheekbones were both covered in marks that looks so painful it makes my hair at the back of my head stand on its edge. Obviously I didn't stop the fight soon enough. Next to me, Drew could not wipe the satisfied look off his face. When Brody saw both of us looking at him, he quickly dropped his lids and muttered something about sitting in the front row today and quickly choose the seat furthest away from us that was luckily available. At that point, my expression mimicked Drew's.

By the second period, about five dozen people had asked that same thing as the English teacher, and all got the same answer: he fell down the stairs. It seemed like Drew threat had worked beautifully. At lunch, I chose to sit between Drew and Peter, whose bitchy girlfriend kept asking loudly across the table and showed extreme sympathy for Brody, who just nods at his food, stealing occasional glances at me until he caught Drew's eyes glaring at him. Drew made a good bodyguard and Peter seemed deeply interested in "this newly blossomed relationship" – as he put it. I silently thanked God that he didn't ask me about Brody.

The only real problem was Pamela. She kept nagging me all day since I accidentally slipped out that the injured Brody had something to do with me. But I couldn't tell it at school, it was too risky and I hadn't had to witness someone beaten the crap out of just to be overheard in the end. This made her stood on her seat all day.

"Still, I would like to see it so fucking twisted he'd never be able to get a girlfriend again." Pam cracks her knuckles, looking murderous. Though I am always aware that she has a nasty temper, just like me, it is a little scary when she acts this way. On the other hand, it is touching and amusing to watch her planning Brody's death.

As I agree halfheartedly with her attempt to disconnect his male member from his body, my phone buzzes. It's from Peter.

'Let's hang out'

'Cant' I reply.

'Why? I want to make it up to you :-)'

I frown. Okay, something is wrong. First, he never uses an apostrophe in a text. Second, his smiley face doesn't have a nose. Third, if he wants to hang out, especially in these situations and for these kinds of reason, he would definitely call me.

Unless.

Unless...

Poor Scarlett doesn't have the slightest idea about her boyfriend. I've known him for years, not just a few weeks. Seriously, who does she think she is? And more importantly, who does she think I am?

"Are you even listening?" Pam snaps, irritated. I show her the text and explain my theory. Her furrowed eyebrows immediately turn up dramatically.

"What a bitch." She comments at last. "Just ignore her."

"Okay."

But when I'm about to type her an answer declining the "hang out", Pam snatches the phone back from my hands.