Page 33 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

“The guy?” She leans in, one brow arched. I can already tell she’s getting ready to be a sarcastic ass.

“Theguy.” Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead and her eyes widen.

“Oh, that guy. Theweedguy,” she says mockingly. I flatten my expression and cross my arms over my chest.

“Real funny, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re the one who texted some guy who’s number you found in a bathroom stall. Drug dealers kill people,” she finishes with a look that says, ''I'm a raging idiot.”

Which I might be. Texting some random person about drugs isn’t the smartest thing in the world, but I want to have some pot to celebrate my birthday. It was over the summer when Foxy and a bunch of other people were out of town, so we are celebrating it now. Really, it’s just another excuse to party. I don’t want that many people in my house or around my stuff, but my parents want me to have it.

There won’t be any booze, so I’m hoping we can pregame beforehand and get high. No opportunity to ask my parents for Mary Jane has presented itself, so I’m taking it upon myself to make sure we at least enjoy the event.

“Don’t be presumptuous, Foxy. I’m sure not all of them are crazy murderers. It’s just pot, anyway.” I shrug.

“Yeah, from some rando, you dingbat. And why are you texting with them now? The party is like forever away,” she reminds me, clutching her textbook to her chest. Jensen prances by her, looking her up and down, then winking.

She gives him a sexy nod that to the outside world looks like she’s saying what’s up. What she’s really saying is how hot she thought that wink was and making a list of all the nasty things she’s going to do to him when they finally hook up. And I meanwhen, because with those two, it’s inevitable.

“Sorry if my drug buying skills aren’t up to par, bestie. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to obtain the goods, so I wanted to be prepared.” She rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head.

“You are ridiculous, Charles.”

“Like you could do better.” She laughs at me and leaves me standing by my locker. By now, the hall has emptied and some leftover kids bolt to make it before the late bell rings. I’m in no rush to see Riggs yet, so I mosey on toward class as the bell chimes.

“You appearto be doing better today,” I hear Riggs mumble so low that I’m not sure he’s talking to me. I risk a quick peek over my shoulder and, sure enough, he is looking at me. Like, he’slookingat me. Not glaring or glowering, just casually placing his eyes in my direction.

After a few seconds of me sitting in astonished silence, he dips his head a fraction and roams the room with his gaze until it lands back on me. Is he ashamed that he’s talking to me and doesn’t want anyone to notice?

“Did you say something to me?” It’s obvious he did, but I have to clarify. Surely he isn’t still being nice today. That had to have been a fluke because he was at work and didn’t want to get in trouble. Hell, I didn’t even give him a reason last night for him to continue to be nice to me. I was glib when speaking to him.

I shift, uncomfortable, not wanting to meet his stare after everything that transpired in the hall yesterday. He deadpans, trying to decide if I’m serious or not. Eventually, he gives in. I don’t expect him to say it again, but he does.

“Yeah, I’m better. Thank you.” I’m not sure where to go from here. Usually when I keep talking, the conversation turns sour, so I’ll just keep my interaction with him short and sweet. No need to give him any other reason to be a dick to me. Plus, I’m not in the mood.

When he says nothing else, I turn back to the front of the class. Professor Jones is handing out graded assignments and listing off our homework for the night. Then she is going to turn the rest of the class over to us so we can get started on it if we’d like. I won’t complain. I have a super long practice tonight and the extra time will be useful.

I’m settling into my homework when Riggs pulls his chair in for once, places his elbows on the desk, and clears his throat.

I notice because I’m acutely aware of everything he does at all times when he’s around.Girls gotta be prepared. I never know when I’ll be in his line of fire. Plus, he’s sexy as hell and everywhere. He’s not as big as Jensen, but that doesn’t mean his long, lean frame doesn’t take up ample room.

He slips a piece of paper from his notebook and with two fingers, guides it over to me. When I move my gaze down to it, I see it’s the questionnaire from our creative writing assignment.

“I finished this last night. Thought you might want it to get a jump on your poem.”

Judging from the amount of writing scrawled out on the paper, it seems like he took answering the questions seriously. I knew his schoolwork was important to him, but I was sure he was going to make it a living nightmare to work with him. It’s not quite a meeting where I can ask him questions I wanted, but it’s a decent gesture.

I feel somewhat like a jerk now because it was the one assignment I wasn’t interested in focusing on last night.

“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’m filling yours out right now.”

“No rush.” He shrugs, leaving me questioning his motives. Did someone body snatch him last night? Am I talking to some sort of alien that traded souls with him?

“‘Kay, great.” Aware I’m not being very nice, I give him an exasperated smile. It’s not like we’re friends or anything. I’m treating him how one would an acquaintance when I could be catty and start an argument for how he’s treated me so far this year. I don’t owe him a damn thing.

We fall into another silence, only this time, it’s awkward. It’s almost as if he’s shelling out some sort of olive branch and because I am who I am and want everyone to get along—my incessant need for people to like me—I take the bait. “How did you have time to fill this out? You detailed some of these answers.”

They’re generic questions, not much meaning behind them, but they’ll help.

---