Tutoring the Quarterback - Sample

Chapter Three

Brooks

"Jesus Christ, girl. You look like shit," Macs states first thing when she meets with me in front of my locker.

"Thanks," I grumble, rolling my eyes.

"I can see that your mood isn't different from your shitty look," she mocks, bursting into laughter. "What's up with your socks? Is that a new fashion trend I'm not aware of?" Her eyes lock on my socks as her lips curl into an amused smile.

I instantly look down, taking in the colorful socks sticking out of my sneakers. The fact that their patterns don't match at all is nothing when compared to their different lengths and textures.

"Oh, for God's sake," I grunt, annoyed, as this morning couldn't get any worse. "I didn't sleep last night, and when I finally dozed off, my stupid alarm woke me up minutes later like a freaking siren screaming in my ears. You know how grumpy I get when I'm sleepy," I explain, fishing my books out of the locker and slamming the door shut afterward.

"Which means I'm keeping my distance from you today because sleepy Brooks means bitchy Brooks." Macs laughs out loud.

"Be my guest, Macs. I would stay away from me if I could," I smirk.

"Explain to me again why you're looking like shit today, Brooks." She points at my messy uniform and my unbrushed hair that looks like a cheap mop of some sort. "Because I need to figure out what measure I should take next to make you more presentable to society."

"I told you already, I—" I shut my mouth abruptly when I see the Evans twins walking by with Zoe and a couple of other girls. Memories from last night rush back into my mind, especially the quarterback's blue eyes that have been haunting me since I first encountered them.

"What is it?" Mac frowns, inspecting my pale face. "You still look like shit, but a shit that is seeing a ghost."

I blink several times and avert my eyes from the popular crowd as though hiding from their sight, although they must have forgotten me by now. Whether I want to admit it or not, I'm just the food truck girl who served them a couple of burgers and fries, nothing else.

"How was work last night?" Mac asks nonchalantly as we start making our way toward the homeroom.

I shrug in response because I don't want to tell her about the Evans twins incident. If I do, she's going to give me a hard time and ask for all the details, such as what they were wearing, what they ordered, if they were hanging out with other girls and stuff. I'm certainly not in the mood to talk about them, and to be honest, I'm not in the mood to talk about anything right now because I can't stop thinking about my bed and Timothée's blue eyes—argh, not about Timothée's eyes, for God's sake.

As we walk past the twins and their friends, I keep my head down and gaze fixed on the floor. Mac, on the other hand, makes sure to gawk at the boys like a freaking pervert and stalker, much to my embarrassment.

"Why am I best friends with Macs again?" I think.

"You are hot, hot, hot," Mac tells the twins. "Feel free to join me in my bed anytime you wish," she adds, winking at them flirtatiously.

"Oh, gosh," I murmur, hiding my face behind my hands and shaking my head.

The Evans ignore my best friend's bold invitation, but their friends don't. As their snickering grows louder and more offensive, I hold Macs by the elbow and drag her away from this toxic environment, only stopping when we reach the homeroom door.

"What the hell, Macs? Are you insane?" I snap when I get to catch my breath, and the adrenaline from moments before is replaced by nothing but shame and fury. "You're turning us into a target to the popular crowd, and believe me; my life is miserable enough without their mockery and stupid comments about how losers we are," I hiss with gritted teeth.