How to Seduce a Punk

Step 3. Tell Her It Was a Good Punch

By Monday, I could tell that Becca was sick of me. I'd spent all of Saturday evening after the party smoking cigarette after cigarette. Even Melissa would have been disgusted, and that only made me more angry. I hauled myself back to our dorm room at about three o'clock in the morning, and didn't get out of bed until the smell of pizza woke me up at lunchtime. I proceeded to spend the remainder of the day moping and watching Supernatural reruns.

I woke, on Monday, to Becca throwing a pillow at my head, and yelling, "Get your lazy arse out of bed and have a shower! This place fucking stinks of your cigarettes."

Admittedly, I felt less like a walking corpse by the time I'd come out of the shower, and with the addition of some clean clothes and a gust of painfully-cold September air (oh, I loathed the UK sometimes) I felt like I could make it through another day of classes without going insane.

***

By some miracle, after being given another three essays that I was somehow expected to complete between archery lessons, swimming sessions, horse-riding escapades and gymnastics recitals, I made it out of my last class without having punched anyone else in the face.

I made my way over to the on-campus extra-curricular centre. Upon walking in, I noticed the huge array of brightly-coloured posters advertising the upcoming gym competition—in which I was supposed to be leading the university's team to victory.

"Catherine," said an irritatingly sweet voice behind me.

Oh, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I would be hitting someone else in the face today.

After taking a deep, calming breath (a cigarette, a cigarette, my kingdom for a cigarette) I turned around, plastering a smile across my face.

Behind me stood all-smiling, all-perfect, all-bitchy Amy McAnders, blonde hair tugged up into a high-school-style ponytail, flashing her teeth at me.

I'd say I hated her because she was a despicable person, but that would be hypocritical. Of course, she was a two-faced bitch, who people either loved or loathed, but she had everything going for her. Amy was smart, her family was rich, she had a boyfriend (or was it fiancé now?) who she seemed to have been with since forever, and she had no idea that the world could be as horrific and harsh as it was.

Unfortunately, Amy was also an exceedingly valuable asset to my team, and I couldn't afford to drop her just because I felt the distinct need to cartwheel along her spine every time she opened her mouth.

"Hi," I said, trying my best not to sound sarcastic. "How're things?"

I was fairly sure I failed miserably in my attempt, but, being Amy, she merely smiled wider. "Great! What about you? I haven't seen you yet this year. How was summer?"

A miserable, miserable reminder of all the trauma of my past.

"Not very summery," I replied airily. I didn't ask her the same question in return, and instead went with, "Anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, I was just letting you know that I booked the hall for rehearsals on Wednesday evenings."

I raised both eyebrows at her. "I didn't see you sending out an email to check with the rest of the team."

She shrugged delicately. "You hadn't emailed us either, so I thought someone should do it before the bookings are all taken up."

Did I mention that I spent most of my time wanting to throttle Amy, when we were in the same room?

"We don't rehearse on weekdays because people have night classes, and it's two weeks into the year. People haven't got their schedules sorted yet. I'm here to write up some trial times for first years, and find a booking space. It won't be Wednesday evening. I've got a night class on Wednesday, and I'm not cutting our rehearsal time short." I gave her a tight-lipped smile. "There is a reason," I told her, "we vote for our captains and our organisers. There is also a reason that I've been in charge of this team for two years. And, Amy, there's a reason that despite your attempts to make me look incapable, and your attempts to credit yourself, you're still not where you want to be."