The Ivy League

The Ivy League Part 40

          “What?” Jake asked nervously.

          “Nothing,” I responded, widening my eyes.

          “Uh-huh,” was Jake’s knowing answer. He didn’t take his eyes off me, warily sliding his chair back, just in case I decided to kick him in his no-no spot underneath the table.

          “Some trust wouldn’t hurt,” I frowned at him.

          “Um, yes it would,” Jake pointed out. “And it would hurt a lot.”

          I thought about that. “True.”

          “So, going to Chemistry next period?” he asked.

          “Nope,” I replied, surprising both of us.

          “And I’m the one that gets busted for skipping!” Jake complained.

          I smirked. “It won’t be skipping. I’ll be walking, too.”

          Jake grinned. “So you heard that? I thought that was rather clever of me.”

          “You know what I love about you, Jake?” I interrupted. “Your modesty.”

          “What’s that?” he asked, and I grinned, too.

          “Ah, we could do this all day,” he said in satisfaction, and I rolled my eyes.

          “I’m not feeling very witty today.”

          “Do you ever?” he asked, still relaxed. “Oomph!” he grunted, as my foot collided with his knee. “Ow,” he complained, “The level of your violence never ceases to amaze me.”

          “Prepare to be further amazed, then,” I scowled.

Jake hastily raised his hand.

          “Mr. Vector? Sir, could I change seats? The current location is hazardous to my physical and emotional health.”

          Mr. Vector walked over, scowling. “No,” he said bluntly, thrusting Jake’s test at him. “I don’t cut slack to people who try to skip my class.”

          “I told you that I was clearly walking,” Jake muttered underneath his breath. Then his eyes brightened as he looked at his test.

          “Hey! I got a 100! Nice,” he complimented himself smugly. “What did you get, Courtney?”

          “Huh?” I asked, “Oh. I didn’t look at it yet.”

          I flipped over my test, and scowled.

          “So?” Jake’s annoyingly persistent voice asked me.

          “A 69,” I replied, peeved.

          Jake snorted. “Well you can always laugh.”

          “How about I shove it down your throat instead?” I suggested.

          “All right, all right,” Jake responded in an injured tone. “Jeez.”

          Moodily, I flipped through my test, flipping each red X the bird. Jake tried reading it upside down.

          “I cannot answer this question due to religious beliefs”?” Jake asked, laughing at one of my answers to a question I didn’t get.