The Bad Boy & Me

Chapter 3: First Day Of School

~Victoria's P.O.V.

"You're killing me, Victoria."

"Give me a minute." I squinted at the spider that stood between me and my breakfast banana. She and I are working out an arrangement.

"Let me do it, then. We're going to be late." Peter said.

He sure was getting his panties in a bunch at the thoughts. Mr. Perfect was always punctual.

"No. You'll kill it."

"And?"

"And then it will be dead."

"And?"

"Just imagine it," I spoke.

My eyes never leaving my arachnid opponent. "The spider family bereft of their matriarch. Her spider babies waiting in their web, watching for Mother for days on end before they realize she's been murdered."

"She?"

"Yes." I tilted my head at the spider. "Her name is Rachel."

"Of course it is. Take Rachel outside before she meets the Op-Ed section of the Wall Street Journal."

I scoffed. I turned to stare at Rachel, who had sidestepped an inch or two in response to Peter's threat. I held out the paper towel and reached for her, but recoiled involuntarily. For the past ten minutes, I'd been repeating this motion: reaching and withdrawing. I wanted to bring Rachel to freedom, to deliver her from our kitchen and lead her to a land flowing with the blood of myriad flying insects.

A land otherwise known as our backyard.

But it seemed I was not up to the task. I was still hungry, though, and wanted my banana. I reached for her again, my hand stuck in mid-air.

Peter heaved a melodramatic sigh and stuck a cup in the microwave. He pressed a few buttons and the tray began revolving.

"You shouldn't stand in front of the microwave."

Peter ignored me.

"You could get a brain tumor."

"Is that a fact?" He asked.

"Do you want to find out?"

Peter examined my hand, still suspended between my body and Rachel's, paralyzed. "Your level of neuroses will only find love in a made-for-TV movie."

"Perhaps, but I'll be tumorless. Don't you want to be tumorless, Peter?"

He reached into the pantry and withdrew a cereal bar. "Here," he said, and tossed it at me, but lately I was useless before noon. It fell with a thud on the countertop beside me. Rachel scurried away, and I lost track of her.

Peter grabbed his keys and sauntered toward the front door. I followed him into the blinding sunlight, breakfastless.

"Let's go," he said with fake enthusiasm. "Don't tell me you aren't psyched beyond belief for your first day of high school." He dodged the tiny lizards that scurried across the slate walkway or our new house.

"I wonder if it's snowing in Los Angeles right now?"

"Probably. That I won't miss."

Just when I thought it wasn't possible to get any hotter, the interior of Peter's Porsche Carrera GT proved me wrong. I choked on the heat and motioned for Daniel to open the window while I sputtered.

He looked at me weirdly.

"What?"

"It's not that hot."