Good Girls Gone Bad (A Luke Hemmings Fanfiction)

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I sat down at the lunch table, slamming my tray onto the table top and falling onto the bench beside Ashton. He grinned at me before noticing my mood. He asked me what was wrong as I stabbed at the olives in my salad savagely with my plastic fork. I looked over at him with a mouth full of Greek salad.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would something be wrong?” I questioned, knowing my mouth was still full.

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re brooding.” He smiled as he took a bite out of his monstrous burger. It was almost bigger than my head and the insides were spilling out and getting on his plate, thankfully.

“I am not brooding.” I insisted defensively.

I was, however. I was still pissed about what Luke had said to me before second period. He threatened me and had blackmail looming over my head like a storm cloud. As I sat there violently eating my salad in a very unlady like fashion, Zoe came walking across the caf, holding a tray filled with a chicken burger and fries. She sat down across from me and looked around the cafeteria nervously before taking a bite out of her burger. She immediately gagged but managed to keep it down.

“If you’re going to ask someone what’s wrong, ask Zoe.” I grinned, teasing him slightly.

He gave me a look before asking her what he had previous asked me. She seemed to be waiting for that because she jumped into a long winded rant about how she was avoiding Michael like the black plague because of what had happened the other night. I knew this was going to happen, because after I had filled her in on what had happened, she turned the colour of a fire truck and hid her face in her hands, refusing to look up.

“He couldn’t possibly have gotten any idea, Zo.” I reassured her. “You were both hammered.”

“You don’t know Michael.” She said miserably, slamming her head down on the table.

“Oh, come on, girly. He’s sweet and cute too. You’re lucky it wasn’t Jasper.” I said, mentioning the boy in our French class, a short boy, covered in acne and sporting greasy stringy hair.

She shuddered at the thought and nodded reluctantly. We continued to eat our lunches, talking about seemingly important topics. After what seemed like five minutes, we went to our classes, promising to talk to the others after school.

“I’m home, mama.” I called, putting my bag down.

She came walking over to me awkwardly and limping. She had gotten a prosthetic fitted and could walk again, though it was difficult for her. She engulfed me in a tight hug and went back into the kitchen, me following her. She asked me how school was, what had happened, if I had any tests. I answered all her questions before helping her make dinner. I cut some carrots and put them in a pot before peeling the potatoes. I made her sit down as she cooked, not wanting her to strain herself. She had only started standing again a few days ago and she thought she was ready to run a god damn marathon. As we prepared dinner, my dad came home with Rae, who he had picked up from school. Rae ran to our mother and wrapped her arms around her upper thighs. My mom had always been short. I had shot past her when I hit my growth spurt when I was 11 and was now five inches taller than her. My dad, however, had always been taller than both of us, at 6’3.