Cliché

chapter 19. we

I would like to think that I'm a fairly confrontational person (if not by nature, then because finding out that I was living in a fictional world completely threw me off the rails and crushed any little bit of social restraint I had left in me). After all, if I hadn't become completely unafraid of confrontation, I wouldn't have been able to talk to my love interests the way I did the first few chapters of the story.

So when I find that Evan is giving me a death glare every second of every single day for the next week after the prank, I immediately do what I do best: confront him during lunch.

"Hey. You trying to burn a hole in my face as a revenge prank or something?" I mutter, waving a hand in front of his face.

He doesn't even blink.

"Brie, I'm scared," I half-joke, turning to her with a frown.

"You should be," Brie states, dead serious. "Last time Brandon and I tried to prank him, our clothes smelled like sour milk for two months."

I grimace. "Should I even ask?"

"No."

I dramatically chug my chocolate milk, slamming it down on the table top like I always do,  imitating a melancholic dead-man-walking at a bar (except with a milk carton and at a school cafeteria). "This is all your fault Brie. You should have stopped me before I dove headfirst into whatever white people sh-t this is. I've been hanging out with you guys too much."

"Sorry. I was distracted," Brie rushes out awkwardly. "Thinking about things."

"Ah. I'm just joking," I laugh, leaning my head against her shoulder. "But please, protect me from him."

Brie shrugs. "No promises."

-⚘-

If she had promised me, it would have been broken very quickly.

The next day, when I step onto campus with a whining Jasmine by my side, I can already feel that something is wrong. It's the air. A degree too frigid with the chill of Evan's wrath.

That cold feeling stays with me as I walk the halls, arrange the things in my locker, then head to drama. And it turns into full on hypothermia when I enter the classroom and see Evan smiling at me.

I'm f-cked, aren't I?

"Hello, Irissa. Isn't today a great day?" Evan greets enthusiastically as I cautiously take the seat next to him.

I stare at him. "Stop it. You're being way too nice right now."

"Am I?" He shrugs, an amused smile etched upon his lips.

I nod. "You are."

Soon, I find out why. The drama teacher lugs a mannequin from the back room to the front of the classroom, patting its shoulder once she finally places it down.

"Irissa!'' She calls out happily. "Evan told me that you had trouble kissing onstage and wanted some practice."

My eyes widen in horror as I look between the teacher, then Evan, then that horrid mannequin, then Evan again. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

"No, no, no, no, no," I repeat frantically, shaking my head so much that it feels as if it's about to fall off. "Dude, I haven't even had my first kiss yet."

"Then better get to practicing, right?" Evan giggles giddily, gesturing towards the front of the classroom where the kissing activity awaits.

I sigh, staring long and hard at the face— or, lack of a face— on the mannequin. But then— maybe I'm imagining it in my desperation to escape this situation— a speck of gold whizzes past in the air.