Page 34 of Hunter
Sorry, no pendejos allowed.
Hunter “Pendejo” Wilton:
What’s that mean anyway?
Me:
That you’re a fucking idiot.
Disrespectfully speaking.
Hunter “Pendejo” Wilton:
I am.
When are you done playing with sharp objects?
Stop saying cute shit before I throw my fucking phone.
Me:
Probably never, so stop texting me.
Hunter “Pendejo” Wilton:
You gonna go to the cafeteria after class?
Me:
Prolly yes, you fucking stalker.
That’s what people do at lunchtime.
Thanks for mentioning it and making me think about food. Pinche cabrón.
“I’ll say it again for those of you who weren’t paying attention.” The professor’s voice is loud through his mic, and I look up immediately, like he’s somehow only talking to me. I immediately feel guilty, like I got caught doing something bad, and shove my phone in my hoodie pocket like I’m hiding away evidence or some shit.
“I’m changing the reading schedule and will have my PA email all of you by tomorrow. Try to pay attention to that instead of whatever kept you from paying attention to today’s lecture. I’ll see you next class.”Oh Diosas, thatidiotadistracted me and I missed the whole fucking class.
“I was hopin’ he couldn’t see us all the way back here, but I guess he did,” the voice next to me says out of fucking nowhere. I snap my head toward the football player and scowl while staring at his face.Why does he look so familiar?
“His lecture today was borin’ as hell, looks like everyone tuned him out, even you.” It’s his accent. He sounds like Sloane…and he’s got red hair like her, too. Does she have a brother? I don’t know, I’ll have to ask her.
“You went from not knowin’ that your phone was vibrating to not puttin’ it back down all class, I’m Davis by the way. I’m new here, just started.” He sticks out his hand like he’s expecting me to shake it. I just stare at it instead.
“Why are you talking to me?” No one talks to me.
“Why wouldn’t I talk to ya, we’ve been sittin’ next to each other and I’m tryin’ to meet new people,” he answers with a look on his face like it’s fucking obvious.As if.
“I’m not people,” I tell him deadass.
“What are ya then? Your notebook says, Edison,” he chin points while eyeing the permanent marker lettering. This shit is mine, and I put my fucking name on all my stuff.
“I’m no one, and I’m leaving,” I tell him while standing up before grabbing my shit to go. I don’t trust people who act this friendly.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you goin’ camping with that big bag? Hold on, lettme help ya here,” he says, standing up and tries to take my backpack off my shoulders. I instinctively move out of the way and duck away from him.
“No me toques, cabrón,”I yell out, as his palms fly up and he takes a step back. “Don’t touch me!” The group of students in our section goes quiet and stares at us.
