Page 8 of Crybaby

Besides, I’m sure he has secrets of his own, like whoever’s house he was creeping out of last night.

He is the epitome of a “bad boy,” and I’m pretty sure all the girls at this school secretly have a crush on him. They would never admit it, though, because he’s the arty weirdo who would leave dirty Polaroids in your locker just for fun.

He crosses his ankles and leans farther back in his chair, unfazed by anything, as Miss Knox hands out a pop quiz to the class. All the guys are ogling her indiscreetly but not him. He merely yawns when she places his quiz on his table, facedown, not interested as she all but shoves her E cups into his face.

I can’t help but snicker as I turn back around, but it’s too late as Miss Knox has caught me laughing at her expense.

“We have a new student, class,” she says, drawing attention to me like the bitch she is. She places the quiz on my table and smiles sweetly. “How about you tell the class a little about yourself?”

“How about not,” I mumble under my breath but stand reluctantly.

She gestures that I’m to stand in front of the class, like I’m giving a Noble Prize speech or something.

With a sigh, I hold my head high and pass the rows of pupils who look at the new girl with interest, distaste, and boredom.

I don’t cower because, like sharks circling their prey, they will strike if they smell a wounded animal. And I don’t intend on being anyone’s prey.

“Hi,” I start, refusing to look at the one familiar face that makes my body burn. “My name is Darcie. And I transferred to this shithole from Declan Valley High School.”

Miss Knockers looks unimpressed with my introduction. “Class, does anyone have any questions for Darcie?”

I refrain from eyeballing the fuck out of her and instead look at the faces of my uninterested peers. A group of guys catches my eye, one in particular, and that’s because he seems to be one of the only students remotely interested in what I have to say.

He is the quarterback, judging from the blue-and-yellow varsity jacket he wears over his uniform, and he looks how you’d expect every star athlete to look—blond and muscled with a jawline that could cut glass. His eyes are an icy blue.

The crowd he sits with looks like your typical meatheads, but this guy appears different. He watches me closely, and I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Miss, didn’t a pupil getexpelledfor setting the gym on fire at Declan Valley?” asks a girl in a sickly sweet voice, instantly breaking the weird stare-off with the quarterback.

My attention shifts to her, and she grins smugly as she leans over her desk to whisper something into the quarterback’s ear. She may as well cock her leg and mark her claim here, now. But I have no interest in her trophy.

He chuckles, looking directly at me, hinting whatever the girl said was about me.

“You’re right, Giselle. I read it online,” says a red-haired guy with freckles and a toothy smile. He pushes his silver-rimmed glasses up his slender nose. “Was it you, new girl, ’cause my pants are on fire?”

Seems he’s the class clown.

The class erupts into laughter while I bunch my fists behind my back. A paper plane soars past my head, hitting the blackboard behind me.

“Yeah,new girl. I bet it was you.” Folding her arms arrogantly across her chest, Giselle snickers, challenging me to take the bait. “Do we have to hide our lighters in case you’ll setourgym on fire? What do you think, Carson? Do you think she’s going to be trouble?”

The quarterback has a name—Carson.

“All right, Giselle, that’s enough,” Miss Knox snaps, deciding now is the time she should act the role of concerned teacher.

But I know what this is. If I don’t bite back, if I surrender, they will see it as weakness.

Staring into Giselle’s eyes, I reply blankly, “If anything were on fire, it would be your pussy from fucking the entire football team.”

The boys around Carson fall into silence because perhaps I’ve hit the nail on the head. Carson shifts in his seat uncomfortably, clearly ruffled that his friends might be sticking their fingers in his honey pot.

Giselle’s eyes narrow into slits, and I know I’ve just made an enemy.

“I don’t know why you’d think I care. Friends are only good for long treks in the snow. Just ask Alfred Packer.”

His comment from last night suddenly crosses my mind, and a grin spreads from cheek to cheek, merely infuriating Giselle further.

“You’ve made quite an impression for your first day, Darcie. Back to your seat.”

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