Page 7 of Sporty Girls Don't Fall For Loners

I lazily glance to my left and find Goody Two Shoes staring at me with a look that tells me she’d rather be partners with a chimpanzee.

“Go on, go on, partner up,” Mr. Ortiz says, waving his hands around. “You have until the end of class.”

She and I continue holding each other’s gazes, none of us moving. Considering I don’t give a darn about my schoolwork, I don’t care if I fail the assignment. At the back of my mind, I hear Ally telling me how important schoolwork is for my future, but I tune her out.

“Zoey Hastings.” Mr. Ortiz stops by her desk. His gaze moves to me. “And…your name again?”

“Kade.”

“Yes, Kade. Please work on the assignment together.” He walks off to another team, two girls who are whispering instead of reading the pages.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Goody Two Shoes—Zoey—pushes her desk closer to mine. “I guess we should read the chapter.” She opens her textbook to the correct page and starts reading. The jerk part of me figures she’ll read the stuff and write the entire assignment. But I don’t want to be a jerk, even though I come off that way. And Ally warned me that if I don’t keep my grades up, I’ll fail my junior year. I don’t want to stay in this place any longer than I need to.

So I read the pages as well. It’s a very short chapter and we finish within fifteen minutes. Now it’s time to write the essay. Zoey presses her pen to her cheek, giving herself a dimple. “We’re supposed to write about how this affects us today.”

I shrug.

She watches me for a bit. “Did you even read the chapter?”

“I did.”

“Any thoughts?”

“Nope.”

She clenches her jaw. “I’m not going to let you ruin my grade, so I’ll write the essay.”

I’m about to offer to help, but I press my mouth shut. Why bother? She seems like the studious kind. And bossy, like she wants things done her way and wouldn’t want my input anyway.

“You do that,” I say.

“That’s perfectly fine with me.”

She writes the essay, then we both put our names at the top of the paper. We’ve finished earlier than the other kids. She takes out another notebook and starts doing her homework. Math. She actually looks like she’s enjoying herself.

“I could have helped you, you know,” I find myself saying. “With the essay.”

She stops scribbling and turns to me. “I asked you for your thoughts and you shrugged. Besides, you don’t care about school and the last thing I need is failing because of you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know your kind. Look, we finished the assignment. We don’t have to talk to each other again.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I scoff. “That’s perfectly fine with me.”

She does her homework and I play with my phone. She must not realize that her desk is still pressed to mine and I feel the vibes she’s sending me. Like she doesn’t want anything to do with me. Why? Because I offended her aunt when I didn’t want to go to class? And what did she mean that she knows my kind? A broken kid with no home who has to depend on others—strangers—to take care of him?

She probably has a perfect life.

Her head lifts, gaze snapping in my direction. Her pretty brown eyes look into mine for a bit before she focuses back on her math.

I lose the high score on my game and curse under my breath. All my progress for the past few days flushed down the toilet. All because I’m distracted by this goody two shoes who has no idea what kind of hell I’ve lived through.

It’s not that I would want her or anyone to go through that—no way in heck—but I hate the way she and the others perceive me. Then again, I can also blame myself. I’m choosing to be a loner instead of trying to make friends here.

The bell rings and everyone leaps to their feet. Mr. Ortiz instructs us to leave our essays on his desk. Zoey makes sure to hand ours in before exiting the classroom.

As I pass the teacher’s desk, he says, “Kane.”

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