Filed to story: Brace Face Betty Drama Story
“Done what?”
“Picking over me like I’m standing in a fucking line-up.”
“I was just looking at your tattoos, asshole.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“They’re hard to miss.”
“Try harder.”
“Try not to make yourself stand out from the crowd so much. Try not to cover your skin in artwork that invites people to look.” I throw my hands up in the air. “You asked for people to stare at you when you did that to yourself. Don’t get on my case because I’m a fucking normal, curious human being.”
His scowl seems to darken the room, even though the stark fluorescent lighting overhead remains constant. “I need a favor,” he rumbles under his breath.
“Hah!” I cast around, looking for the hidden camera. This guy has got to be joking. “You want a favor. You’ve ignored me for two solid weeks, after breaking into my car and insulting me for no apparent reason, and now you want something? You know, people usually try and ingratiate themselves with someone before they hit them up for something.”
Marcus’s gaze catches on the black lace of my top. His expression remains blank. I find myself straining against the urge to pull my hoodie around myself and zip it closed. “You want me to act fake? Bullshit you?” he asks.
“No.”
“Then excuse me while I don’t blow smoke up your ass. I need extra credit, but I’m not joining the fucking debate team.”
“So?”
“I need you to teach me to play guitar.”
I reel back, caught off guard. That’s not what I expected him to say. “I don’t think so, Marcus. I have a lot of shit going on, and this…this isn’t some kind of ‘
bad boy tutored by the outsider, cue cute makeover and the unlikely pair are suddenly an item’
situation. That’s far too fucking clich?. Plus, I don’t need a damn makeover. Or a rebel boyfriend.”
Oh my fucking god. Why did I even say that? That was probably the dumbest thing anyone has ever blurted out in front of a guy.
A detached, cold, hard look forms on Marcus’s face. There’s a cold, flatness in his eyes that suddenly makes me feel very, very stupid. “I’m not interested in you,
Argento. I definitely have zero interest in being your rebel boyfriend. All I want’s the extra credit and none of the fucking drama. If you think you can help with that, then great. I can pay you in cash. If not, no big deal. I’ll pay that Harriet Rosenfeld chick to teach me fucking trumpet instead. Makes no difference to me. Be under no illusions. You’re nothing but a means to an end.”
If he’d slapped me across the face, I’d feel less scalded right now. I roll back my shoulders, reeling through a mental Rolodex of insults to hurl at him, searching for the perfect one, but then it occurs to me that he’s probably expecting me to be hurt by the words he just flung at me, and I won’t play into his heavily inked hands like that. No fucking way. I grab my bag, pulling my cell phone out of the front pocket, then I hold it out to him.
“My rate’s sixty bucks an hour. I have time to teach on Thursdays and Mondays, right after school. Take your pick.”
“I’ll take both. Has to look like I’m learning fast on paper.” He eyes my phone like it’s an unexploded bomb. “Am I expected to do something with that?”
“Put your number in it. I have to send you learning materials, and you’re going to text me an hour before our classes to confirm that you’re coming. I’m not going to waste my time, waiting around on you if you’re not gonna show.”
He curves a dark eyebrow at me but takes the phone and taps his number into it all the same. When he hands it back to me, he catches hold of my wrist, and I fall still. Slowly, he turns my arm so that the back of his own hand is face up, clear for me to see now. He’s showing me the ink I was studying just now-it is a wolf. A fierce, angry looking, feral creature, with anger in its eyes. He drops his hold on me, letting my arm fall, but leans in a little closer, his gaze dipping down toward my black lacy top again. This time I can’t help myself: I instinctively cover myself.
“What the hell are you doing?” I growl.
A curved, almost cruel smile lifts Marcus’s mouth up to one side. “You asked for people to stare at you when you dressed like that, Betty. Don’t get on my case because I’m a fucking normal, curious human being.”
He slaps something else into my hand, then spins on the balls of his feet and smoothly exits the girl’s bathroom as if he had every right to be in here. I grimace down at the money he just gave me, then, numb and frankly a little shocked, I follow him out of the bathroom. Jacob and his crew are still standing there, taking up too much real estate in the hallway, acting like morons even though the bell’s about to ring. I watch as Marcus walks right up to Jake and stops in front of him, back straight, eyes flashing with sharpened steel. Surprised, I note that Marcus stands a good two inches taller than Jake-something that looks like it doesn’t sit well with the King of Ravenshire High. Jake laughs under his breath, glancing at his boys as if Marcus’s intense stare isn’t unnerving him in the slightest.
“Hey, man. There a problem?” He folds his arms across his chest. “You didn’t seem like you wanted to talk a moment ago. Now you look like you’re about to ask me for the next dance.”
“Tell your coach I’ll join the team,” Marcus bites out.