![]() Guess sometimes blind shots do hit their mark. “Why are you late?” she replies as a nonanswer, and my head snaps up. “You being late wouldn’t have anything to do with Stone, would it?” Stone’s her brother and the question’s a shot in the dark, but I don’t want to miss the chance to keep conversation with her going. #The book a long way home how to#Angry at myself for not figuring out how to fix us. She doesn’t see me like that anymore and it pisses me off. Used to see me as someone who could help solve her problems. She’s silent and frustration rumbles through me. It’s a respect thing for her, something her dad taught her, and Violet may never listen to another living soul, but she listened to her father. Marches to her own drummer, but she’s not the type to be late to class. We were friends, always friends, until one day, we weren’t just friends anymore. We were born only a few weeks apart and we learned to crawl on the sticky floor of the Reign of Terror clubhouse. Violet presses her lips together and looks away. I could ignore you if that’s what you want.” Some people, like me and Violet, don’t know how to be near each other when we do part ways. Some people, like me and Violet, aren’t supposed to break up. Since she broke up with me last spring, things between us have been tense. My lips tilt up because she got me, and on top of that, Violet made a joke. “Yes, I can see how slamming your hand against a locker didn’t hurt at all.” Red silky hair flowing over her shoulders, a pair of ripped jeans that look like they were tailored for her curves and enough bracelets around her wrists that they clank together when she moves.ĭo I feel better? Not really, but I nod anyway as I try to judge if being alone with Violet causes more pain than having my balls ripped off. Violet leans against the lockers as beautiful as ever. Doesn’t matter how many times I see her in a day, she still manages to take my breath away. I slam my hand into the nearest locker, almost relishing the sting.Ī glance across the hallway and I freeze. Nowhere in that stupid poem did it mention there was good and bad to both paths and that sometimes it’s best not to choose, but to set up camp at the fork and do nothing at all. Two pathetic paths and I could only travel one. If I’m not so lucky, she won’t open the door at all. If I’m lucky, she’ll open the door after the quiz that I’ll receive a zero on. Whitlock points at the clock over her desk. I don’t see gorgeous-all I see is seriously pissed off and the person standing between me and playing. He practically runs into walls when she’s around because he’s too focused on checking her out. Whitlock, late twenties, and he’s a walking hard-on for this woman even though she would never give him the time of day. I’m the scum of humanity, so let my ass in so I can play football. Whitlock does look my way and she grants me the type of glare reserved for people who kick puppies. She starts for the whiteboard and I knock on the door again. She is one of the hardest core people I know and my grandfather is the president of a motorcycle club. The entire class turns their heads in my direction, but Ms. If she doesn’t let me in, then she’ll mark me as absent, the front office will think I skipped, and that means I won’t be able to play at tonight’s football game. ![]() I’m not a tail-tucked-between-my-legs type of guy, but this lady is one of the few who can reduce me to begging. That means she’s in one of her moods where she’s refusing to let anyone in. From the back row, my best friend Razor meets my eyes and shakes his head. Whitlock stands in front of her desk in her patented white button-down shirt, gray pencil skirt and dark-rimmed glasses. I round the corner, then peek through the small window in the door of my class. Which is great, since my English teacher hates late students like I hate riding my motorcycle in forty-degree weather while it rains. I didn’t just get my ass chewed out, his tirade made me late for English with no tardy note. I just ran into Coach on the way to English, and he ripped into me for my sorry decision-making skills when it came to me choosing to stand up for the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club instead of a member of my football team. THE INSTRUCTIONS OF the English homework I didn’t do hang out from the top of my folder: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both.Īccording to my football coach, I chose wrongly on the two crap paths I had to face last week. ![]()
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