Page 32 of Foolish Games

“Gee, thanks.”

He grins. “No prob, Princess. And remember, you’re the one who dumped him.”

“I didn’t dump him,” I admit. “We got in a fight. I didn’t know we were breaking up. I didn’t want to break up.”

I take a breath to gather my emotions before I can start bawling again.

“So he dumped you? Ouch. That is harsh.”

“He didn’t dump me, either. But he moved on first, so now he’s the more desirable one,” I point out, slumping back against the door this time. “That’s how it works. He was probably going behind my back with her, and even if he wasn’t, he already has a girlfriend, so he won.”

“That’s because you’re letting him,” Sebastian says, wiggling his brows. “If you were with me…”

“I appreciate the offer,” I say, carefully running my fingers under my eyes and drying the last traces of my tears. “But I can’t do that. No one would believe it. And if we convinced him and then he found out I faked the whole thing, I’d look too pathetic to live. It would only prove how desperate I was to impress him. I’ll just have to suck it up and pretend it doesn’t bother me. At least I’ll keep my self-respect.”

Sebastian just shakes his head and stands. “Your loss. Eight and a half inches is harder to find than self-respect. Just ask any girl I’ve dated.”

eleven

#1 at the Box Office: I Know What You Did Last Summer

Sebastian Swift

Since the cafeteria is the only place where the majority of the student body gathers every day, it’s the heart of the social scene. Unless there’s a pep rally. That takes precedence over everything else, obviously. I’m the object of adoration at most of those, so how could it not?

The next day is a Tuesday though, so nothing exciting is going on, which means the cafeteria is the only place where everyone can sit with their friends who aren’t in their classes, with minimal supervision. It’s also where the rumor mill turns.

Billy cuts in line to join me, throwing an arm around my neck. “I thought we were keeping this thing with you and the Delacroix chick quiet,” he says, punching my side.

“We are, so shut your face, dickhole,” I say, shrugging him off. Some girls already seated give us a dirty look when he knocks into their table, and he makes a big deal of apologizing and flirting until they’re batting their eyes and giving him their numbers. I leave him to it and move up in line.

The room is set up with a center aisle running between long rows of rectangular tables, with the food lines along the walls, leading into the kitchen where we grab our trays. The student population is divided roughly into six groups that form the social pyramid—jocks, preps, nerds, alt kids, gangsters, and losers—with smaller cliques within each group. There’s a little blending between adjacent groups, so someone could be a preppy jock, or a nerdy prep, but that’s about all the social climbing allowed by the established structure.

Rob cuts in line when he finds me, and Billy joins us again but keeps his mouth shut. We goof around to fend off boredom until we get our food and head to our table, where the football team holds court like royalty. Rob sits on my left, and Maddox sits on my right. Most of us are creatures of habit and sit in the same spot every day, or at least the same table. If there aren’t enough chairs, we just grab some from other tables and work them in like puzzle pieces, not worrying about untangling chair legs until later.

Billy’s a free agent who likes to spread the love, so he sits somewhere different every day, and today he heads over to sit with his cousin and the other girls with bad reputations in the losers’ section. Not many jocks would choose to sit with the Slut Club, though they might slum it with one of the girls if they need to wet their dicks without too much effort, but Billy doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.

“I heard what happened in the library yesterday,” Tommy says, dropping into the seat across from me. “Guess you’re not keeping Viv on the DL anymore?”

He and Randy laugh as Robert’s brows draw low. “What’re they talking about?”

“Nothing,” I assure him. “She just got into it with her ex, and I looked out for her.”

“Yeah,” Keisha says, snorting as she opens a mayo packet and drizzles it over her fries. “That’s what happened.”

Before Robert can figure out if he needs to kick my ass, there’s a murmur of excitement as shit starts to go down elsewhere. I sit with my back to the wall, which means I have a view of the room, but it takes me a minute to find the commotion. With as many different groups as there are in the school, you’d think they’d have beef each other, but most of the drama is in-fighting between cliques within one of the six bigger sections.

My table includes the football team and their girls and a few cheerleaders hoping to tame the players. If we get into it with anyone else, it’s the next table, where the basketball team and their girls sit. We never scuffle with the street crews who sit in a section of gangster tables, but they get into it with each other.

Today, it’s not any of the usual suspects, though. The drama is over near the wall, where the academic nerds sit. My eyes immediately fall on Vivienne, who’s standing with her sack lunch in her hand. Chiclet stands in front of her, gesturing to the one empty seat at their table.

It takes everyone else a minute longer to find the source of the commotion. As far as I know, the nerds have never gotten into any public drama, and if they have feuds between the mathletes and debate team and student council or whatever cliques they have within the larger nerd population, it doesn’t reach my circle any more than conflict between the ambitious, academic nerds and the kind of nerds who stay up all night playing video games, forget to shower or put on deodorant, and come to school wearing the same high-water jeans and Superman T-shirts every day. In truth, most people don’t care about other groups’ conflicts, but a fight is a fight.

That shit’s good entertainment, no matter who you are.

I watch Vivienne’s lips moving, but I can’t hear her over the chatter in the room. Before I know what I’m doing, I shush my table out loud. A few others around the room are doing the same, and pretty soon, the room’s quiet enough for everyone to hear.

As soon as I overhear them, I wish I hadn’t brought more attention to it.

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