Chapter 11: Ricky

My heart is officially a pile of charred rubble. Roxie George isn't just a girl; she’s a force of nature, and currently, she’s the devil in a designer skirt. She thinks she is better than me? Fine. Let her enjoy the view from her ivory tower. I will show her. She might be breathtaking, but I loathe her with every fiber of my being. I am done caring about what she says or what her icy blue eyes think they see when they look at me. I’m taking my brother’s advice and being my own person. I hate it when that middle-schooler is right, but Georgie hit the nail on the head. I need to stop being a fanboy and start being a rockstar.

"Hey, umm... Ricky? Can we talk for a second?"

I heard her voice—that smooth, dangerous silk—coming from right behind me. I slammed my locker door shut with a metallic thud that echoed through the hall and turned to face her, leaning back against the cold steel with my arms crossed.

"What did I do now?" I asked, my voice dripping with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "Did my presence offend the hallway’s color palette? Am I breathing too loud for you?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"I wanted to say sorry... for the car thingu."

What?!

I stared at her, completely caught off guard. She was looking into my eyes with an expression that actually looked... sad. Or guilty. I couldn't tell if it was a sincere apology or just a very well-rehearsed performance, and I had no idea how to handle it without tripping over my own feet again.

"Did I say something wrong? You’re looking at me like I grew a second head," Roxie asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

"No, I’m just... confused. And surprised. I thought you only communicated in insults and eye-rolls," I responded, pushing off the locker.

"Well, don't get used to it," she snapped back, though the edge was softer than usual. "To make it up to you, I'm inviting you to Fran’s Halloween party. Consider it a formal apology."

I blinked, my brain trying to process the shift in the atmosphere. "Wait, really? You're inviting the 'creepy van guy' to the party of the year?"

"Yes," she said, a small, mischievous smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "And after the party, I can go back to hating you with a clear conscience."

"What's in it for you, Rox?"

"Don't call me that. You don't get to."

"You don't do anything without a motive."

"I told you—I’m making it up to you for running over your foot—"

"My big toe," I corrected. "It’s a very vital toe."

"Right, whatever. The offer still stands. Take it or leave it."

I raised an eyebrow at her, a deep sense of disbelief settling in my chest. I might be the new guy, and I might be a little naive, but I'm not a fool. I wasn't going to let the queen bee play with her food before she finished me off. I didn't trust this olive branch for a second.

"Plus," Roxie added, stepping closer until I could smell her expensive perfume, "we talked about it, and we decided to let you and your band be the entertainment. It’s Rising Moon, right?"

The lie tasted like copper in my mouth, but I nodded anyway. "Yes. That's the band name. Of course. We're very... in demand."

"Sure you are," she teased. "Look, you obviously need the gig to build some 'cred,' and I can make up for the medical bills I almost caused. Then we'll be even."

"Right. And you can go back to hating me without feeling guilty, and I can go back to hating you right back."

She furrowed her eyebrows, looking genuinely puzzled. "You hate me?"

"I hate your face, your attitude, and this whole 'Miss Perfect' act you put on for the peasants," I said, my voice low and filled with all the angst of the last two months.

She actually chuckled, shaking her head as she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"What's so funny?" I asked, feeling my face heat up.

"You hate me because I'm cool, and you're just some guy trying to find a seat at lunch, it's sad."

"You think you're all that, but you're not," I shot back. "You're just a girl with a mean streak and a nice car."

"I hate you too, Roxie George."

"Drop dead," she snapped, spinning on her heel and marching away. I watched her go, scoffing in disgust even as my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. This was going to be a very long year.