Jesse's Girl

Chapter 4

The other day, I was watching a movie with a bunch of fighting, and I saw a scene that caught my attention so much that I had to make it my own. So if you guys figure out the movie when you read, kudos to you. You deserve a cookie for knowing. ♥

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     For some reason, I automatically assumed she’d be mad for my meddling into whatever love life Jesse would have given her. But when I saw only surprise on her face, a part of me relaxed.

    She didn’t know he’d been waiting for her. She probably didn’t even know he’d been in the works of making her his next conquest.

    I struggled for a plausible excuse to keep it that way. “He was, uh, you know…wondering if I had a…pencil,” I sputtered out. Only a second after realizing how utterly ridiculous I sounded, I gauged her reaction to see if she’d caught on to my lying.

    However, there wasn’t really anything to gauge when she only gave me an uneasy smile. I noticed her eyes shift behind me, and I hastily moved out of the way so she could get to her locker.

    Watching her as she arranged her things, I began to seriously question her silence. Yielding to my curiosity, I leaned against the locker beside hers and asked, “You don’t like him or anything…do you?”

    Katrina blinked. “God, no,” she said, sending me an aghast look. “I mean, yeah, he’s hot—but no. Guys like him aren’t the kinds that you should even—just—just no. No, Carson. Just no.”

    I smiled, instantly reassured at her words. “Yeah, you’re right.”

    “I was just surprised you were talking to him.”

   “Me, too.” Although, I doubted practically insulting him every time I said something to him classified as “talking.”

    When Katrina’s locker clanged shut and the bell rang, whatever peaceful state of mind I was in as I journeyed my way through the halls to my first period was automatically shut down as soon as I remembered what awaited me in my first class of the day.

    The devil himself.

   Standing outside the door of my English class, I peered in through the small window inset in the classroom door and scrunched my eyebrows together when I saw that Jesse was already inside.

    English literature was the only class we had together in a closed space. We had P.E. together also, but with the way it was set up, it might as well not be counted as a shared class. Still though, I blamed the similarities in our schedules on the small amount of 11th graders. And I also blamed the school’s ludicrous rules that no student was allowed to switch class schedules unless absolutely necessary.

    Not having any choice but to go in, I used the last minute before the tardy bell rung to ruffle my hair up. Following a group of students into the classroom, I made my face as gloomy as possible. I figured that looking as though I’d just gotten into a fight would keep Jesse at bay.

    As soon as I walked in though, I noticed him sit up in his chair out of the corner of my eye. I hoped it was because one of his many friends crowded around him said something interesting and not because he saw me and realized we’d even had a class together.

    I had a feeling it was latter though.

    I quickly scurried to my seat, thankful that it was on the opposite side of the room from where Jesse was. While the teacher—a middle aged, dark haired woman that preferred her students to call her, Ms. C—organized the worksheets on her desk, I leaned back in my seat and kept my eyes trained out of the window beside me. A few minutes passed before Ms. C realized that the tardy bell had rung, and when she did, she only stood up to address the class about half-way through the hour.