I would like to let you know that Southern Belle is a finalist in the Watty Awards Humor: On the Rise. I would appreciate it if you voted for me :* (well, if you like the book).
**Remember to vote and comment**
I was stressed over the kiss and the whole ball in general.
Now, normal people, when stressed would take a calm, soothing bath and listen to music. Because I was such a weird person, I rapped to clear my mind.
"Yo, man, man, uhh, bitches ain't shit, and they ain't say nothing. A hundred mothafuckas can't say notin'. I beez in the trap. Beez in the trap," I rhymed while throwing on a red cap backwards. The words were barely audible since the grill on my teeth prevented me from speaking clearly.
Pulling up my sagging jeans, I gave a peace sign to my imaginary audience before continuing my performance. "I beez in the trap. Beez."
My fingers formed another peace sign, and my knees dropped, causing my body to slid on the soft carpet of my guestroom. The audience applauded my interesting move, and I inhaled loudly, attempting to gain enough air to finish the chorus of the song.
"Uhh...I don't know what to say to this," a cocky, confused voice said, which ended my performance. Shooting an apologetic look to my audience (a group of Teddy bears I found in a closet), I dropped my microphone, a toothbrush, and got back onto my feet.
Leaning on the door was no other than the star of the ball, Nicholas Monroe. The guy that made my life a living hell for almost six months. The guy who made my life even more complicated about an hour or two ago.
He ran a hand through his tousled mane. From his appearance, he looked like he had just arrived home from the ball--his tux still reeked of alcohol and pastries, his cheeks were a bright red from dancing all night, and black bags were prominent under his blue eyes. Smiling sheepishly, he enquired, "Do you dress up as rappers on the weekends? Should I be worried?"
Shrugging nonchalantly, I replied, "I was just getting into character. No biggie."
The sheepish smile faded from his face, and the tone of his voice matched his veneer. "Okay, enough with the small talk. Why did you rush out of the event? I kissed you once, and you ran out so fast that even Usain Bolt couldn't catch up."
"Blunt much?"
He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Tell me what's up."
Did he really not understand why I was so shaken? For the entire school year, we were bickering and insulting each other every free moment. Now, randomly, he decided to shove his tongue down my throat. How did that make sense to him?
"What's up with you kissing me. I thought we hated each other," I spat at him, eyeing the queen-sized bed in front of me. The fuzzy pillows were taunting me; I really wanted to just hide under them and sleep my problems away.
He snorted. "Hate is a strong word. We weren't fond of each other. There's a difference." He stepped about two feet forwards, and I retreated based on his movements.
"What made you kiss me?"
This apparently was a difficult question for him to answer. He closed his eyes; his forehead crinkled in concentration. A palpable tension filled the air, and my need to hide intensified. If he didn't say something in five seconds, I would run off into the nearby bathroom with one of the Teddy bears.
"What made you kiss me? This isn't a hard question," I prompted once again, gesturing for him to continue.
A loud sigh escaped his lips. "Yes, it is."
YOU ARE READING
Southern Belle
HumorBelle Wilkes is miserable living in her small town in the south. Unlike her family and friends, she actually wants to make something out of her self, and she isn't content with what her family considers 'normal life' after graduation. When an accept...
