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“Then you rate pretty girls rather generously, sir,” Jason replies.
In another world, I might have just fainted to hear myself called pretty by him, but I know it’s meant as an insult right now—he might as well have said I’m an airhead. He didn’t mean it one bit.
“Nadia’s forgetting the type of man Juliet's father was. He beat Juliet for merely suggesting she didn't want to wed his chosen man. Her father wasn't reasonable enough to have accepted a proposal from his enemy’s son."
I pause because what I remember of the play suggests he might not be entirely wrong. I guess the irritatingly good-looking asshole behind me is more than just a pretty face. How does he know the play so well? I had to study it in a performing arts class I attended last summer, but I couldn’t reconcile my idea of Jason Alden with a Shakespeare lover.
I’m frowning when I find an argument, now unwilling to let this go. It would feel too much like losing. I might rank much lower than Jason in our school ecosystem, and in the real world, too, but here, in AP Literature, I’m supposed to be in my domain. Besides, I feel protected by Mr. Green's silent encouragement. Nothing can happen to me in a classroom, right? "Juliet's father wasn't unreasonable as much as he was sexist. Who knows? He might have listened to a man."
Mr. Green claps his hands together once, and then rubs them greedily. I have to admit, he’s rather endearing now that I can tell how much of a nerd he is. He’s loving this. “Now this is exactly the kind of discussion I want to hear later, once everyone has read the play. Read the play,” he stresses, turning to the rest of the class. “I do not want you to watch any of the movies.”
I’m free—this stupid debate is over. I don’t have to glance back or speak to Jason again—directly or otherwise.
My heart is racing. Why does it feel as if I’ve just run a marathon? All I did was verbally spar with Jason freaking Alden.
After threatening him earlier this morning.
Whose life am I living? It doesn’t feel like mine. For two entire years, we haven’t interacted, and now, we’re enemies, in and out of class.
Mr. Green calls out the name of another student and asks them to read the prologue. He fumbles and stumbles his way through it, and I cringe, barely able to pay attention to the words. I wish our teacher could read it himself.
Something small and hard presses between my shoulder blades. Fully aware of who sits behind me, I ignore it for as long as possible, but the uncomfortable pressure turns into pain, so I shift uncomfortably.
It was a fountain pen.
Who the fuck writes with a fountain pain?
Jason freaking Alden, that’s who.
Just as I’m about to ask what he wants, Jason leans forward and passes me a note.
I rush to accept it so our teacher doesn’t see us. When Mr. Green has his back to me, I risk opening the note. In a rushed but perfectly elegant scrawl are the words, “These violent delights have violent ends.”
I close my eyes, willing this nonsense away.
That makes the third threat I’ve received in as many hours.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When the bell rings at the end of class, I’m ready. I’ve spent the last half hour ruminating on what I should say, and my speech is near perfect in my mind.
I gather my things as fast as I can.
Too slow.
Jason and Cain are both already heading out, joining Lee and the other baseball jocks.
Fuck.
I need to catch them and soon, before I lose my mind.
From one moment to the next, I rerun through everything that happened this morning between Judith and the four, either reasoning that things can’t be as bad as I thought for me, or deciding I’m screwed.
I can’t catch up to them physically. They’re all over six feet tall and my reasonable five-five can’t match their pace, unless I jog up to them, which would be too humiliating for words. I give up for now.
I meet Sophia at our usual spot, between the cafeteria and the entry hall, and we head inside the cafeteria, chatting about our respective classes.
“I think you’ll like Green.”
