A Walk by Dragons

Mr. Asshole

When class ended, and I made it out to the rich-ass hall of my new rich-ass school, with its high rich-ass ceilings and rich-ass windows facing out on the rich-ass trees, I pulled out my phone and hesitated. It would do no good to read Skyler's texts. He was all the way back in Nevada. And even if that weren't the case, what could I say to him when I had promised myself not to say anything?

I silenced the phone without opening it and moved to check the map for the whereabouts of my third-period class.

It showed how little my dad knew me when I found Anatomy on my schedule. Since it's my motto not to be a whiner and take things like a boss, I found a corner chair next to the rich-ass cabinets rather than stomping on to the rich-ass front office. Besides, I had to get over my squeamishness eventually, and exposure therapy was all the rage these days.

I was just examining the floating organs in jars and wondering if I would end up barfing when someone cleared their throat. A tall guy with high cheekbones and a clean-cut mop of thick, brown hair scowled down at me. Ugh, how irritating. Jerk didn't even know me and he was already giving the face?

"What?" I asked.

"You're in my seat," he said.

"No one told me they were assigned."

"They're not. Just move."

I blinked. "Huh." Asshole.

He continued giving me the stink eye (the most hard-core stink eye I'd ever seen; he probably practiced in the mirror, the freak), so I shrugged, picked up my book bag, and moved around the corner adjacent to him. Best not to start a fight on my first day of school. He still glared at me as though he had wanted me to flee the premises entirely rather than just move over a chair, but he sat down. He flipped out his laptop, a sleek, expensive-looking thing, and booted it up.

Since it was either talk to him, stare at the nauseating jars, or yell across the two empty seats beside him to the nearest person, I asked, "What's so special about that seat?"

"I like it. I can work undisturbed by idiots."

Ooo, I got that. He meant idiots like me. Couldn't leave him be, then. That'd be rude.

"What are you working on?" I peered around to his screen. All I could see was a blank page full of code. I recognized it. "Hey, is that C++?"

"No," he growled. "Do you mind?"

"Not really." The class had started, but the paunchy-looking Anatomy teacher was still busy setting up his presentation. So, as I got out a pen and notebook, I asked, "What are you programming?"

"I'm scripting."

"Yeah, I got that, what is it?"

"Stuff."

I snorted. "Let's pray it's good stuff."

"Stop talking."

The open hostility of this dude astounded me. Was he like this towards everyone?

_______________________________________

...is that a giant mushroom growing under that tree outside my window? Ho...I should go poke it with a stick.