Ms. Popularity

2 | Rules

Okay, so I did manage to finish my English paper. Only it was 75 words too short. Because of this, Mrs. Michaelsons 'excused me' from class with the strict command, and I quote; "To not step foot in this classroom until I finish the paper and learn the responsibility to take care of my work and keep up my grades."
Mrs. Michaelsons knows that I'm a very good student and she loves me for it, so I'm just going to finish the paper. Since English is my last class, I linger at the library section which I call 'Beauties'. All these books I have either read or have been wanting to check out.
Okay, I'm also avoiding Chris. Deciding that I don't need another book, but I do need to get to my locker, I leave the library. Since school ended around ten minutes ago, I missed my ride with Jessica.
"Finally, you're here. We have things to go over." Chris says loudly, as soon as I turn the corner.
"Don't you have a life to attend?" I sigh, getting my locker combination.
"No, it was taken away from me," he pauses for a second, "as you would say it, by Ms. Ex-Popularity."
"Oh, you know me so well." I exclaim in mock delight.
"For starters, I should probably tell you about me."
"I know everything I need to know."
"Oh really?"
"Really."
"Surprise me."
"Your name is Christopher Taylor Lawe. You love soccer, although you insist on calling it football. You always have sunglasses, even when it's raining outside, and you fix your hair more than the cheerleaders squad combined on a daily bases. You hate tomatoes, but seem to have no problem with ketchup. And everyone likes you, I suspect it's because of the confidence that radiates of you hiding the arrogance. And the only thing we have in common is...oh, wait. That would be Nothing."
"Are you stalking me?"
"You'd be surprised how much people talk about you. but then again, you do talk about yourself a lot." I smirk, seeing that he's secretly pleased and shocked.
"Okay, let's see how I do. You're Zoe Porter. You are atleast 50% European. You are very quiet and shy but also sarcastic and confident. You make killer chocolate chip cookies, and you love Caesar Salads. Everyone knows you're smart, but you hate compliments. You're creative and artsy. Oh, and you can't sing to save your life." He checks off each thing on his fingers.
I close my locker and start to walk towards the exit/entrance. I have to admit, I'm impressed by the details. Especially since we haven't really talked since fourth grade. Right now, that was enough socialising with the genius, so I'm glad we're halfway through the week.
"How are you getting home?" He asks, him being tall lets a few steps cover dozens of mine.
"I'm walking."
"I'll walk you."
"That's fine."
"It wasn't a question."
I groan in defeat, and slow down again. Chris falls in step besides me, and immediately starts talking again.
"What are the rules?" I cut him short
"Rules?" He says the word as if it were in a foreign language.
"Yes, rules. Like PDA, when is it over, can we tell anyone, sacrifices, boundaries," I list,"Like, if I'm going to be your girlfriend, you can't command everything. You need to start asking."
"Fine. But you need to let me introduce you to my sister. She's home for Christmas vacation, and she'll give you a makeover."
"Only if there is no crop tops and skirts. Oh, and do I need to spend lunch with you?"
"Yes. That should be enough. Speaking of rules exhausts me."

We keep walking in silence for a few more minutes, when Chris abruptly stops.
"We need to start tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I ask, uncomfortable with the sudden decision. Chris goes on to explain that Taylor Black is having a 'sick' party on Friday. And it is, apperantly, the first step to making our 'relationship' seem real. He also concludes that my appearance needs to change.
"I need to go home and do my homework, I'm not gonna fall behind." I say. Chris goes to protest but I give him a look that gets the message across.
"Why do you have to be such a goody-two-shoes? Whatever. Can you come over at 6?"
"Fine."
______
"Where are you going?" My mom asks as I put on my worn out boots. It's getting chilly since we're a week into December.
"Um, to a friends," I look down, I've always been horrible at lying to my mother,"We're working on a project."
"But your fathers coming home soon."
"Mom, dad doesn't stop his schedule when I had a school play or awards at school. I'm old enough to realise I don't have to stop mine for him."
My dad is a hardcore workaholic, he's always on business trips or late night conferences. He occasionally makes it home for dinner, but those are always awkward.
"Don't stay too late."
"I won't," I call, as I walk out the door."Don't worry." But I know she won't.