CHAPTER TWO #2
That rancid hotdog would haunt me the rest of my life. ‘You can control the amount of perfume you douse your body in. I mean, seriously, do you bathe in pure lemon juice?’
‘It’s better than the chemical reaction you’ve got going on.’
‘I wear Armani,’ I argued.
‘Just because you wear it, doesn’t make it good.’
My fists clenched and I swallowed the growl grumbling in my throat.
‘We’re going to take a break.’ The teacher turned the screen off and gave us a pointed look.
Everyone grabbed their bags and shuffled to the door.
‘You coming, Corey?’ That junior dickhead blinked at me with his wide, young eyes.
‘When I’m ready,’ I grunted.
‘And no manners,’ Nora spoke to herself quietly.
My head whipped around; my index finger pointed like a compass of rage. ‘Let’s hash this out, now.’
She blinked lazily, as though the words coming from my mouth were no more interesting than if I were reciting the first page of the dictionary. The scattering of freckles across her nose danced as it twitched.
‘I’m starving.’ She crossed her arms in defiance.
I swear to God, if she mentions that damn hotdog again, I’m going to throw myself out the window. ‘Great, dinner’s on me.’
I couldn’t ignore the perfect opportunity to bury our insults and move on with our lives.
It was ridiculous how our feud had snowballed after a few data input suggestions I’d offered on our first day.
It had been a bloody pissing contest ever since with me trying to prove my knowledge while she tried to outdo me.
She slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Lead the way,’ she purred.
She followed me out the door to the right and down the narrow hall past other classrooms. At the end of the corridor I opened the thick white door into the cafeteria and her citrus skin floated past me to a table in the right-hand corner.
‘What do you want?’ I asked.
‘Lots of money, a car, and an apartment with floorboards that don’t moan louder than me in the bedroom.’
My pupils widened at the image, but I cleared my throat and expanded on my question, ‘To eat.’
‘Oh. Something hot.’
I waited a few more moments for her to specify, then gave up and went to get spaghetti. When I returned, her fingers were flying across the keys of her laptop as though she’d injected caffeine directly into each phalange.
‘Is everything okay?’ I placed the food to the side so she wouldn’t send it across the room.
‘Someone like you wouldn’t understand.’ She slapped enter with force and slammed the laptop shut.
‘Look, I know we’ve spent the last few months…’ I hesitated, trying to find the right words.
‘I can see how you got your job. Great vocabulary.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ My fork clattered against my plate.
‘Look at you. Late twenties like me and somehow scored a respectable position with an obviously respectable wage—’ she glanced at my Rolex— ‘yet you’re still studying the same course as me.’
‘So? I’m qualified and good at my job.’ I didn’t mention the position was basically a birthright – or inconvenience in my case.
‘Yeah?’ Her pupils dilated with rage. ‘So am I. Damn good at it. Yet Freddie,’ she spat his name, ‘managed a promotion after five short months.’
I wiped her saliva from my cheek. ‘I don’t know who Freddie is, but maybe he’s good at his job, too.’
‘Or maybe it’s because there’s one similarity between the two of you.’ She grabbed her laptop and directed her gaze to my groin for clarification.
‘Don’t you wanna eat your pasta? You said you were starving.’ My plan to put aside our juvenile jabs wasn’t working.
‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She picked up her bag and stormed a few steps, then backtracked. ‘Actually, I’ll eat it later.’ She grabbed the plate, tipped the pasta into a free to-go container, and left without looking back.
Her refusal to put aside our differences left me with no choice but to indulge her ill-cast judgement and crucify every word that fell from those ridiculous, rosy lips.
If she wanted to keep playing this game, I’d take every piece she tried to put on the board.
Consider them hotdogs, I’d take the lot.
I returned to my seat in front of her in the classroom and prepared to challenge every question she answered like the disgraceful scum she considered me to be.
‘Do you mean a spreadsheet? A regular formatted table wouldn’t work with that specific formula.’ I raised an eyebrow.
Nora mumbled something about how she didn’t need to clarify her answer for me, but her pink cheeks of anger were like a sticker for my reward chart.
‘What if you had a power outage? Could you still prepare the report?’ I again interrupted as Nora demonstrated how she prepared her financial statement for the class.
Next, her forehead turned pink; another sticker for me. The teacher tutted his tongue and raised his finger in warning at us before we broke out in another argument. The subtle shake of his head showed he couldn’t wait for class to end, either.
‘Oh, a junior role wouldn’t need to worry about something like that, anyway,’ I assured her a few minutes later.
‘A data analyst is not a junior role,’ her voice rose an octave and her nostrils flared.
Even her chin was pink now. My reward chart was almost full of pink stickers.
When the teacher dismissed us, I caught her reflection in the window where she dabbed a tissue against her nose and blinked back some tears.
A block of concrete sat heavy in my stomach as I realised, I’d pushed her too far.