“Get out,” hisses Bryce.
The kid stammers as he backs up and then takes off down the hallway. Bryce isn’t that stupid; he knows someone is going to say something. Gradually, he lets me go, but I sense his hostility. He’ll be on me again if I try anything.
I pick up the note.
First, I give him a dirty look, as if that’s going to do anything. And then I bend down and pick up one note. I unfold it.
Stacks. After school. No excuses.
I ball it up and chuck it across the room. Bryce watches me and waits for my reaction. He knows I’m going to have one. But I sit quietly and glare at him. The scrawny kid appears at the door. And points at us. I shake my head at the unnecessary hysterics.
“That shit happened all the time at my old school. It’s what happens after school that counts.”
“You will not ignore me again.”
I scoff at his threat. “Five hundred doesn’t buy a lot.” I’m not shaking anymore when I stand up from my desk. I straighten my corny shirt, and with my back to him, I run my hands down over my skirt, making sure there are no creases as I slowly run my hands over my ass.
The scrawny kid is hyped up and pointing when the teacher walks into the room. “Them,” he says.
I breeze past, ignoring that shit as I step out into the hallway. I’m not squealing to a teacher. That wouldn’t fly at my old school, and I know it won’t fly here.