16. Petra #2
“Oh yeah, dude. Fuck, that was sick!” chimes in a guy named Chris.
“And then, and then you got stuck.” He is clutching his stomach and wheezing, like he’s about to utter the funniest lines in the history of situational comedy.
“Coz you were trying to be all ‘Spider-Man.’ Dude, Mr. Wallace was so mad!”
Another round of laughter follows, and I force a smile, trying to appear interested as well. It’s pointless, though, and I might as well not be here at all.
That’s fine, I’m a grown girl, and I can suffer through this tedium for a while longer if it means we get to discuss the assignment later and make some real progress.
As Sin and his friends chatter away about their thrilling lives, my thoughts drift off to less juvenile musings.
I know that I just want to get the project done without getting sucked into Sin’s complicated personal life, but at some point, I have to deal with my own big news. I think about the Planned Parenthood pamphlet I have hidden in my cavernous closet that only I am allowed to organize.
Of course, my parents can’t know, and neither can Amelia, for reasons I’m not sure of yet. I need to figure this out alone, but the more time I spend with Sin, the harder it is to ignore.
“So Petra,” says another snobbish-looking girl in the group. “How’s it feel to suddenly be hanging with the ‘cool’ crowd?”
I stiffen, unsure how to respond.
But before I can shoot any clever quips at the snooty bitch who’s smirking at me—her name’s either Drea or Daisy or something silly like that—Chris snickers.
“Yeah, it must be a change from burying your head in books all the time,” he says, like he’s thrown the dankest shade of all time.
Okay, that’s it. Time to teach these brats some lessons they won’t forget in a hurry.
Just as I open my mouth to rain hellfire and brimstone on these morons, Sin says, “Knock it off, guys. Petra’s smarter than all of us combined. She doesn’t even need to be in your group.”
All the snickering voices fall silent at the same time, and the stiff-lipped hoe—Deidre? Dodo? Duckface?—stares at Sin in shock.
But the relief is short-lived as her friend, the flawlessly made-up piranha from before, leans forward. “By the way, saw you getting all cozy with Harry in the library earlier. New boyfriend?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “It wasn’t like that,” I say quickly, but it’s already too late. Sin tenses beside me; I can feel it.
“Harry?” he repeats the name with instant scorn, eyes narrowing. “What were you doing with Harry?”
“We were just talking, Sin,” I reply tersely, irritated beyond measure that I even have to dignify such an intrusive question, and that too in front of a whole bunch of Sin’s groupies. “Not that it’s anybody’s business,” I finish in an icy cold tone.
But Sin either doesn’t pick up on my haughty voice and the tightness of my expression or he chooses to ignore both, because his eyes glint with jealousy.
“Really?” the horrible girl, the wench who set the ball rolling on this terrible invasion of my privacy, continues. “It didn’t look like that. Looked like you were cozying up with him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I snap back, my patience thinner than the lace dress on that she-wolf. “And again, it’s none of your business. Any of you.”
Sin frowns, his face sporting a possessive and unsettling expression yet again. “It is my business if people are talking about my project partner.”
“Your project partner, not your property,” I retort, pushing back my chair. “You know what? I’m done with this. I’m going home.”
“Petra, wait—” Sin starts, standing up and grabbing my bag.
“No, Sin. I need some space,” I say firmly and turn around to leave.
Tears fill my eyes and almost roll down my face as laughter erupts behind me and the kids start making jokes again, but I will not turn around.
Even when I hear Sin running after me and calling my name, even when I hear a voice say, “Oh, c’mon, Sin, let her go. She’s just too stuck-up for the likes of us,” I don’t stop.
As soon as I’m outside, I frantically wave down a cab. The night air is chilly and stings my cheeks, but I’m in no mood to tarry around.
Right as a cab pulls up to the curb, Sin comes barreling out of the restaurant.
“Petra, stop! Let’s just talk about this.”
And for a fraction of a second, I hesitate, actually thinking of stopping and hearing him out. But the impulse passes when a mixture of confusion, anger, and the need to be anywhere but here takes over me instead. I open the cab door and slide in.
Sin reaches the cab just as it starts to pull away.
His hand slams on the door on my side, and his eyes are desperate and angry. “Petra, please!”
But it’s too late. I can’t—I won’t—deal with this right now. The cab speeds down the street, and I watch Sin’s figure grow smaller in the rearview mirror.
At last, I slump back into the seat and let loose the torrent of tears I had tamped down since my mishap in the washroom. My life keeps on whirring into one fateful collision after another. And I let go of the steering wheel a while back.
As the cab maneuvers the bustling streets, I close my eyes, trying to bring my breathing under control.
One thing is clear: My priorities need to shift. I have to find a way forward with my personal and academic trials without the distractions that incessantly tag Sin.
For now, I just need to get home and breathe.