glitched | ✔️

f i v e

Amara POV
The lunch bell rang after an hour of endless lecturing from Mr. Quinn.
Another second and I might have burst.

Peter followed me out to the lockers, and I shoved my science books into that metal box like they were infected with disease, earning myself an amused glance from Mr. Serious himself.

"Cafeteria is this way."
I tapped Peter on the shoulder, before beginning my usual expert maneuvering through the crowds, not looking over my shoulder to check if Pete was following.

Pete.
Huh.
Totally forgot I was supposed to be using his codename this whole time.
Tyler.
I snickered to myself.
What if I had blown his cover? Than Liberty for the Bounded would take him back and he would probably get in trouble....
But I wouldn't get Destiny.
I sighed.
A great plan, ruined.

I was so lost in my scheming that I wasn't watching where I was going.
So when I collided with the wall, you can imagine it came as quite the surprise.
Peter's annoyingly attractive laugh reached my ears and his hand rested on my shoulder as he steered me into the loud, smelly cafeteria.
I couldn't help but stiffen at his closeness.
I could smell his cologne.
Nutmeg and Cinnamon.
He smelled like nutmeg and cinnamon.

Good God, how was he affecting me like this?

I pushed his hand off my shoulder and tightened my hold on my lunch bag, thankful beyond words that Larissa packed me lunch every day.
The food here was poison.
The meat was practically still alive, the veggies and fruits tasted as if they had gone rotten a decade ago, the cheese was always fake... you get the idea.
I noticed with a smirk that Peter had a home packed lunch as well.

"Not interested in sampling the wondrous culinary masterpieces of District Two-Eleven High?" I drawled, gesturing grandly to the food bar.

They were serving a familiar dish, yet I couldn't place my finger on what it looked like...
Oh.
Pig slop.

Peter's face scrunched up in disgust, somehow making him look rather adorable.
Ew, Amara, this is Pete we're talking about.

"Yeah... I'm going to pass."

"Aw, c'mon, why not just one little taste?"

"No, I know how school food tastes, Vickie."

"Ty-Ty pleaseee!" I widened my eyes imploringly, having forgotten what we were arguing about.
Just enjoying arguing.

"Ew, you need schooling in proper nicknaming." Peter muttered.

I grin inwardly, knowing the nickname will stick. He has no say on the matter.

I batt my eyelashes at him.
"I need schooling on a lot of things, Ty-Ty."

Peter looks at me silently, his gaze emotionless. I really need to stop my habit of flirting with everyone.
Because this got awkward.
Fast.

Peter coughs, clearing his throat.
"Why don't we find somewhere to sit?"
I nod, grabbing his arm and pulling him to my usual lunch table, where there are seats for both of us reserved.
Of course.
The table is surrounded by other teenagers, watching us as we walk towards the table.

They all want to meet the 'hot' new kid, who half of the girls are probably in love with already. Nasty.

I take a seat and Peter squeezes onto the bench beside me, looking irritatingly calm and confident.
I roll my eyes, taking out my salad.
I miss my old school, sitting with Chelsie and laughing with our group of school friends.
Here everyone is so... so fake.
I can't really connect with anyone.

An annoying voice shreds my veil of brooding thoughts.

"So, like, where are you from?" Jamie (stereotypical white/popular girl of this appointed era. Loves pink, crop tops, booty shorts, Starbucks, guys, and says the word 'like' in every sentence) asks Peter, chewing her gum noisily.

I want to pull her stupid bleached hair to make her stop those disgusting smacking noises.

"Oh, I'm from District 1345, in what was California," he replies, winking ever so slightly at me.
I look away, irritated.
He doesn't get to wink at me, even if it was only a 'you-know-I'm-lying' wink.

"And, like, you're, like, Native American? Like, that's super, like, cool ya know?" Jamie blabbers on, gesturing to the purple color of Peter's shirt.
He nods.
"Many different tribes in my background. That's all they could get out of my ethnicity test, the rest is just jumbled. But I'm not complaining... purple brings out my eyes," he jokes with a stupid(ly charming) grin.

I can only gag.

"So, like, are you and Vickie a thing?" Cassandra (wildly energetic and also a huge gossip, says like a lot but not as much as Jamie) asks, her tone silky smooth.
I snap to attention.

"What?! No! Heck no! We're not even friends!"
A thing?
More like 'The Beauty & the Stalker".

I avoid looking at Peter and casually try scooting away.

Cassandra laughs. "I was asking Tyler, Vickie," she says.
Like he will give a different answer.

Peter shifts uncomfortably next to me.
I give him a pointed look.
He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah. Um, Vickie and I aren't together," he mumbles.
Jamie looks elated, while Cassandra looks disappointed.

I grind my teeth together.
As much as I don't like Peter I don't want Jamie making a move on him.

I give her a meaningful glare, hoping that I managed to convey all my threats in the murderous look.
Nobody gets with my babysitter without my permission.

Jamie smiles sweetly back, as if to say 'aw, sorry, hun, but if you don't like him then he's all mine,'

I clench my fist so hard my nails pierce the skin, drawing blood.
A few deep breaths later I unclench my fists, resolving to just call Jamie nasty things in my head.
Honestly.... i know it shouldn't matter that much to me, because I don't even like him that way.

But who am I kidding?

I force a smile back.
If that's how you want to play, girlie.

•••
Whoo!
That's been a lot of Amara POV writing, the next chapter is Chelsie!
Hope you enjoyed and happy new year!
1/1/20 :)