The Werewolf I Hit With My Car

Alex

If the birds stop chirping, you notice. That's how you first know something bad is going to happen. That's what this feels like, Dahlia hasn't texted me back when all she ever wants to do is talk. I watched them walk her out of the cafeteria after a confrontation with that fucker Will. What an ugly plain ass name. Yes I just said that.

And I hope she's okay.

Never thought I'd be the one checking my phone every couple seconds instead of paying attention to Calculus. She wasn't at school yesterday, and today at lunch her circle table sat empty. Gotta admit, I was hoping she'd burst into the cafeteria to finish what she started on Monday, Will's been extra annoying recently.

I should've been there. I should've been sitting at that table with her, letting her drain her social battery on me.

And that traitor friend of hers Brook conveniently showed up to pull them apart. If I were there I'd be holding a water bottle and hot towel. It was almost like witnessing the Super Bowl. About to witness the fight of the century until Brook decided to fucking cut in.

I have a sneaking suspicion they're fucking. Brook and Will. Brook keeps throwing her colored pens at Will who sits diagonally from her, both of them in my Calc class. I wrap my fingers around the edge of my desk, watching them. Will keeps quietly snickering, shaking his head and looking over his shoulder with that cheeky-chipmunk looking ass smile. How has our teacher not said anything? I'd get yelled at if I snood up to grab a tissue.

Suddenly, Brook looks over her shoulder at me, her smile instantly deteriorating. I see her gulp, and she had the audacity to roll her eyes at me? What the fuck was that? Are we twelve?

I didn't do shit to her. Not even sure if she knows I'm an acquaintance to Dahlia— Brook's been absent for a month at least.

Will follows her gaze to me and I watch him lick his lips, his cheeks puffing up as he contains a laughing fit, I'm sure. Dahlia really found this weasel attractive? My grip tightens on the desk, the wood bending from the tension.

I let go of the desk and grip my own pencil. Our teacher sits at his desk. Mr. Finney is an older man, doesn't teach much. Mostly assigns book work with a test at the end of nearly every week. When he gets enthralled by whatever on his computer screen, he doesn't care about what happens in his class as long as we're quiet.

Glaring over to Will and Brook before fully thinking, I wind up my wrist behind my head, glancing around to my seat neighbors. None are looking my way. I launch my pencil straight into the back of Will's curly mop. His shoulders perk upwards, "Ow!" He turns around, his jaw dropped to Brook who is just as stunned.

Mr. Finney looks up from his screen.

"I didn't throw that!" She looks around, doing a double-take when she looks at me. "You..."

Will stands up in his chair, fists balled to his sides. He's a shortie. I grin, watching his chair fall from how hard he stood up. He's got a pristine white sweatshirt on with blue jeans, his gold watch sparkling. Bright red face too. He really thinks he wants to fight me?

I ignore him when the bell rings as others scatter out of the class. Will continues to stand there puffing his chest like an animal while I sit.

"Mr. Poulter?" Mr. Finney says with a sharpness. He shakes his head as he glances between the two of us. "Both of you leave my classroom. Settle down."

Cocking my head to the side, I raise my eyebrows at Will. He shakes his head at me, his lips twitching at he sneers. "Whatever," he mumbles. He shoves his chair back into his seat and snatches his backpack, flinging it over his shoulder. What a child. Throwing a tantrum in the middle of class all because a little pencil hit him. Probably didn't even feel it with that lack of brain and ugly ass hairstyle. I look down and realize I snapped my own pen.