Thirty Reasons Not to Date a Player

14. He'll Pull on Your Heartstrings

Dedicated to my bestie, @shangalangalang for being fabulous and you guys should totally check out her new story on wattpad, "The Color to My Ink" :) 

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"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I shriek, when Ryder sits down next to me in AP Lit, first thing Monday morning. Maybe I'm being unfair for assuming that he had something to do with what happened on Friday, but I'm past the point of caring. 

"Whoa," he breathes, "calm down."

The teacher hasn't entered the classroom yet, so I think its the perfect time to have my little meltdown.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Care to explain why you're bitchy ex-girlfriend paid me a visit at my job?"

"The ice cream place?" I can tell he's suppressing a laugh.

"Duh," I say, making wide eyes at him.

"Exactly who are we talking about?" Until now, I wasn't sure if it was even possible to be this stupid. 

"Nicolette," I groan. "How many ex-girlfriends could you possibly have?"

"Wait, don't answer that," I say promptly, realizing that he's probably lost count at this point.

"Did she want something?" he asks.

"Other than to insult me and make me feel like crap, I have no idea." I add, "But I'm sure you know her better than I do." 

Ryder winces at my comment, but lucky for him, Mrs. Samothrakis walks in before he gets the chance to answer.

"Today we're going to be analyzing themes and motifs in Lord of the Flies..." she explains, placing a large pile of papers on her desk. I don't listen to whatever else she's saying for the next two minutes because I'm too busy focusing on Ryder and his annoying pencil-tapping.

He's holding a yellow Ticonderoga pencil between his middle and forefinger and repeatedly hitting it against the wooden desk. "Quit it," I hiss. He immediately stops and surprisingly, apologizes.

"Sorry, it's kind of a habit."

"Yeah, well it's annoying," I inform him, coldly.

He puts the pencil down, only to pick it up thirty seconds later. I roll my eyes, but I don't waste any calories scolding him again.

Once Mrs. Samothrakis is finished blabbering, she hands out sheets of construction paper, which we're supposed to use to create a Venn-diagram of some sort. 

Ryder leans over. "I hope you were listening," he says, "because I didn't catch a word." 

I roll my eyes. "Figures." 

I promptly explain the instructions for the—group—assignment, before coming up with several ways to kill myself over having this idiot for a partner. 

"I'll tell you what to write," I say, sliding the paper over to him. He looks at me in disbelief.

"My handwriting is shit."

"Mine too," I retort, "but I'm obviously the only one who's gonna do any thinking around here, and you need something to do."

He doesn't argue.

With Ryder's cooperation—a rare occurrence which should possibly be taken down in history—we're actually able to finish the assignment with the allotted time. As a matter of fact, we get done early, leaving me another chance to bother him about this bitchy-ex business.