Love Triangle

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Going to school the next day was kind of nerve wracking knowing that I accepted Cook's proposition at a moment of weakness. Truth is; I really do need a tutor and I need one fast or else I will flunk algebra. I mean I understand the alphabet and I understand math but both letters and numbers combined... wh4t?

Alright deep breath I told myself. Today is like any other normal day. But with a slight twist since you might be spending quality time with the devil. I walked into chemistry, determined to ignore Cook some more and prolong my moments of freedom and indifference. Who the hell even makes him the guy in charge of when we should tutor each other? Maybe if I stall he'll find someone else to help him with english and me someone else for math. I mean I'm honestly not that horrible in math. I might be able to manage on my own, I might of been exaggerating with the whole 'flunking' deal and what not. That's it! Rational Savannah is back.

I took my seat next to Ashton' and waited a few minutes after the bell before I concluded that he was not going to show up to class at this point. From the corner of my eye, I can see Cook advancing to my desk.

"Hey Sav," he started, using my nickname for the first time, "I'll meet you at the side parking lot after school."

"No you won't," I grumbled, trying to focus on my chem equation. I'm not meeting in the dark side parking lot, no way in hell.

"Why? You got plans?" he sounded curious.

"Not precisely," I answered, without looking up.

He takes my pencil from my hand.

"HEY," I complained, "It's rude to take someone's pencil while they're writing."

"It's also rude to not look at someone when they're talking to you," he replied, still holding my pencil out of reach.

I sighed annoyingly more at myself for walking right into that one. He was right. I was deliberately being mean.

"So? After school?" he asked for the third time.

"Yeah okay whatever. As long as you let me concentrate on my lab report."

I returned to my scribbling and calculations but felt Cook lurking over my shoulder.

I turned and snapped, "What?"

"You've got it all wrong love."

"What?" I repeated a second time.

"See here," he points at my page his index too close to my hand, "you were supposed to get o.5 moles instead-"

"What no? It's 3 moles," I argued.