Two Ways to Spell Blake

{Chapter 8}

I dread seeing Blake. Or the rest of the guys for that matter. Mainly because I do feel a smidge bad about punching Blake. Don't get me wrong, he was being a jerk. But I maybe I shouldn't have punched him. And I still don't understand why he made such a big deal about the drinking thing. He and the guys accepted my no cussing policy....

Could he have done it because he was drunk? He didn't seem drunk. But, then again, he did kiss me without making a joke afterwards. Maybe, if he was drunk, he won't remember who punched him.

I walk into school with my head down. No one knows that I punched him. But, even though they don't know who punched Blake, they have noticed that he has a shiner. I make my way to my locker where Olivia and her lackeys are gossiping.

"Did you see him? The black-eye makes him look even hotter and gives off the bad boy vibe," Olivia gushes.

I quickly close my locker when I realize they're talking about Blake. Walking into first period, I bury my nose in Cinder.

"I see you actually got a new book. But it still doesn't have intellectual value. Like anything could make you smarter," Carlos sneers and I sigh.

"You're right. Nothing could make me smarter," I agree and he smiles in satisfaction. I continue, "Because I'm already the smartest person in the room."

"You and me both know you aren't the smartest person in this room," someone from behind me says.

Oh...this should be interesting.

"Dylan," I  say sheepishly.

"Not. Cool," he wags his finger at me, scolding me.

"He. Deserved it," I mimic the way he's talking.

"Could you please inform me what is not cool and who deserved what?" Carlos asks.

"No," we say in unison.

"Ooh, did Blayke do something bad?" Carlos raises on eyebrow.

"No, and I wouldn't tell you if I did," I snap, shutting him up.

"As I was saying, you shouldn't have done that," he shakes his head disapprovingly.

"As I was saying, he deserved it," I bark.

"Okay, maybe he did deserve it. But in his defense, he was drunk," Dylan says biting his lip.

"Do you agree with my actions?" I ask with a smirk.

"No, no I don't," he nods his head and smiles.

"Way to be discreet," I mutter.

"You have a pretty good arm, for a girl," he says and I take it as a complement.

"If you grow up with an older brother, then you have to learn how to defend yourself," I shrug and he laughs.

"Is he mad at me?" I avoid Dylan's gaze.

"Who?" he asks, playing dumb.

"You know who," I punch his arm.

"Voldemort? Well, you aren't Harry Potter so I don't think he's mad at you," he chuckles.

"Hardy har har. You are so funny, Dylan. Now answer my question," I demand.

"Why don't you just find out for yourself? Text him," he says when I give him a confused look.

"No," I shake my head many times. "It's easier to ask you."

"I'm not going to tell you," he says in a sing-songy voice.