First Comes Like #Wattys2020

2

TWO

I blame my mom. And Nina, I guess, because she was the one who did a project on climate change or whatever and got Mom to help her. My mom is all about car pooling now. Dean's has this (I hate to admit) super sexy black car and he (very reluctantly) said it was OK if I travelled to school with him. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Hell, I know. But as much as I detest Dean Pinkette, I'll take the ride any day over the bus.

I'm examining the gold studs on my bag as I wait for Dean on my porch. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of saying that I made him late when it was obviously his hair. The boy spends so much god damn time on his freaking hair. It's hard to believe that he even gets to school in the first place.

It's only the first day of school and I'm already dreading Valentine's Day. My school goes all out every year. Well, they try to. Every year, Valentine's Day ends in disaster. It's so ironic. I don't know why it's such a big deal in the first place, but I think it's got something to do with the fact that our school was founded on February 14th maybe half a century ago.

OK.

Thinking about it now, that's probably the reason.

I startle when I heard the a loud toot from a car. It's Dean and I don't know how he got past me without me noticing. He sticks his head out the window.

"Hurry up Poof! I'm going to be late." he yells as he checks himself out in the rear view mirror and runs his hands through his hair. UGH. I roll my eyes but hurry anyway. Dean's car is sooo shiny I can almost see the details of my winged eyeliner. I pull open the shiny black door and hop into the back seat. For the first time, ever, I really don't want to sit shot gun.

"Suit yourself Poof." Dean says putting his leather black bag back on the front seat. As if I'd ever let anyone ever see me in the front seat of Dean Pinkette's car. It's not that he's lame or has a bad reputation or hated (except by me) or anything. It's simply because if people see me they'd think we're friends and I just can't let that happen. Don't ask.

He starts the engine and then we're off. We live about a fifteen minute drive away from school. I convinced myself this morning that that wasn't so bad. Fifteen minutes was about one quarter of my History class, and if I could sit through that then I could survive anything. Even a car ride with Dean. It's only been five minutes (silent minutes because Dean's stereo system isn't working) and Dean can't stay quiet.

"So. Poof." He says, all casual, "What's up?"

"We don't talk." I remind him.

I hate that he calls me poof especially when I spent a lot of time taming my hair this morning. Just brushing took forever. And then I had to get all my hair into a ponytail. I don't know why I bother. By fourth period, I'll have it wrapped up into my usual bun. It actually took me years and years to learn handle my hair all on my own. It's super curly thanks to my mixture of genes. My dad's black and my mom's white. Simple as that. Lucky for Nina, Mom still combs her and pigtails are still cute at her school.

"Sheesh." Dean says, "I mean, if we're going to travel together every day , we can at least make small talk. In fact," Dean overtakes two cars in front of us, "That's the rules for traveling with me. You've got to say something." He gives me a pointed look in the mirror.

"That was only one rule." I say, looking away, "Can you even count?" Dean slams the breaks suddenly and my body jerks forward. I have to wonder if he did that on purpose. Good thing I'm wearing my seat belt.

"Rule two." Dean says, "No smart-ass comments."

"Fine." I say. Then, "Nothing's up."

"Expected." Dean says. I clench my fist so I don't strangle him right there and then.