by Amy Sparling
Mindy is very tan, and very cute, with long brown hair that has blue tips. She’s like a hot gothic girl, and if I’m recalling correctly, she’s also totally rich. I’ve never hung out in her friend group, but she has parties with her other rich friends a lot.
None of that bothers me, though. The very clear and present fact is that my ex left me for a girl who is very short. I bet he loves the way he can throw his arm around her shoulders and look down at her like she’s some stupid, tiny princess. He hated when I wore anything other than flipflops or flats because he didn’t want me looking taller than he was.
It’s not like I can help how tall my freaking bones want to grow.
“Rissa, stop it,” Livi hisses in my ear. Her fingers dig into my arm and she steers me down a side hallway, doing her best friend duty to pull me away from staring at my idiotic ex.
I sigh and lean back against the cool painted brick wall. “Thanks.”
“I got you,” she says. Livi is also short. It never bothered me until now. Now I hate every short girl ever. Okay, maybe not my best friend, but the rest of them.
“You, stay strong,” she says, unaware of my evil thoughts against short girls. “This is a new school year and we’re going to rock it. Don’t worry about that asshole and his stupid new girlfriend.”
I force a smile. “You’re right. I won’t.”
We break off when the bell rings and head to our homeroom classes. Mine is in a room in the art hallway, and the teacher, Mrs. Lin, is this older woman with extra thick glasses. She teaches a class on art history, so it’s like the most boring art class there is. You don’t make anything in here, you just learn. Luckily, I’m only here for homeroom.
Mrs. Lin stands at the door, smiling as we enter. “Your name is on your assigned seat,” she says to everyone who walks in. I head to the row with the few other V last names and find Vale written on a post-it note on the desk that’s supposed to be mine.
Only the asshole with Voss written on his post-it note is already sitting in the chair behind me, his big stupid feet laid out on my chair as if it’s his own personal ottoman.
He doesn’t even notice me stop in front of my desk and stare at him. He’s a jock, a soccer player by the looks of his stupid black hoodie with the soccer team logo on it. He’s chatting with two other equally stupid soccer players who are sitting in the next row.
I clear my throat.
He doesn’t even look over.
“Excuse you,” I say, loud enough to get his attention. “Your feet are on my chair.”
His eyes meet mine. They’re a bright blue, and would match his short brown hair nicely if he wasn’t a stupid jock douche. Shawn is a jock, a baseball player to be exact, and because of him I now hate not only every short girl, but every jock as well.
“What’s the magic word?” he says. He gives me this stupid smirk like he’s stupid enough to think I’m going to ask him nicely to move his feet off my chair. And to make matters worse, his stupid friends laugh like this is all some funny game. I’m tired of playing games with guys.
I sling my backpack off my shoulders, and swoop it down, using it to knock his feet off my chair in one quick motion. “The magic word is get the fuck off my desk,” I say.
And then I sit down, ignoring the laughter from his idiot friends.
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About the Author
Amy Sparling is the author of The Summer Unplugged Series, Ella's Twisted Senior Year, Deadbeat & other awesome books for teens. She loves coffee, the beach, and swooning over book boyfriends.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
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