The Want of the Heart - R. G. (#Wattys2017)

3: The Girl With The Awful Brother

The next day, I notice that Roman isn't headed for his homeroom class. He always passes by me in the hallway to my own homeroom. In fact, he misses all of our run-in points. I never realized how much I noticed someone I didn't really know until we had finally come into contact.

Just when I think I am in the clear for the rest of the day, I see him sitting there at my lunch table. I look around, trying to make sure that everyone else is seeing this as well. I turn my head back to my lunch table then quickly walk to another table.

"Come on, pretty girl, you're supposed to be smart. You know I can just get up and move, right?" he asks.

I don't respond; I'm not going to egg him on this time. I take a seat and begin picking away at my food.

"Tsk, tsk. Didn't Mommy and Daddy ever teach you not to play with your food?" He walks over to my table and splays his hands across it, leaning over it. He hooks his finger under my chin and pulls my head up, forcing me to look at him.

I pull away and glare at him. "I liked you better when we didn't speak," I spit at him.

He smiles. "So, you did like me at one point."

I snarl. "You will change the meaning of anything to make sure it feeds your ginormous ego."

He sighs and rolls his eyes then takes a seat across from me.

I go back to picking at my food. While looking down at my lunch tray, I mutter, "I didn't say you could sit here."

"It's a free country. I can sit where I want," he replies. He reaches over and steals a french fry off of my lunch tray.

I grab my fork and stab his hand with it. He drops the fry onto the table and shrieks in pain.

"What the hell?!" he exclaims.

"I didn't say you could have any of my food," I say.

He glares at me and brings his hand back, holding it. He doesn't realize that his hand has started to bleed. "I can't tell if you're trying to scare me off, or if you're really that psychotic."

I pick up the fry and set it to the side. "I'm defensive when it comes to my food," I murmur.

He scoffs. "Really? You're going to waste a perfectly good fry?"

"You touched it. Who knows where your grimy little hands have been."

He gives me this annoyed look then rolls his eyes. Silence overcomes the table as I wait for him to finally get up and leave.

"I don't know why you're still here," I say.

"I'm still waiting for a name," he replies.

"Well, that's not going to happen, so I think you should quit wasting your time."

That weird grin spreads over his lips again. "Would you like me to just call you 'Pretty Girl' then?" he asks, leaning forward and propping his chin into the palm of his hand.

I slowly look up at him, matching his annoyed look from earlier. "I would much rather you not speak to me at all."

"Are you going to the dance?"

I look down at my food, starting to eat. "That depends," I say with a mouthful of food, "Are you going to be there?"

He smirks now. "I wasn't really thinking of going," he answers.

"Then I'm thinking about it."

"What if I said I was going?" he pressed further.

"Then I would say I wasn't going. Now, could you leave me to eat in peace?"