COMPLEMENTARY [GxG]

Chapter 9 | She's Revolting

▴ Act Two | Passé et Présent ▴ 

That day, after school, I track Eris down in the parking lot.

She stands against her car—just as obnoxiously expensive as Axel's—and fiddles with her hair like she always does. But unlike earlier today at Montoya's office, she's smiling. Laughing. It makes me sick. I straighten my shoulders and walk toward her little group until I'm standing face to face with the devil herself.

Her smile fades. Her arms go from her hair to her pockets. Her gaze moves from my face and down my body and then back to my face again—as if I'm a dead rat a cat has just dropped at her feet.

"The fuck you doing here?"

"We need to talk," I say.

"Damn, didn't think you missed me that much already."

My jaw clenches. Her little girlfriend, the blonde whose name I don't remember, is glaring daggers at me.

"Did you get my note?" I ask. Earlier, I left one in her locker, saying just that—we need to talk. I would've texted her, but I don't even have her number, and I hate the idea of her being able to pester me whenever she wants.

"Oh, we got your note," the blonde says. "And she's busy today."

"Gimme a second," Eris says and walks away from the car, jerking her head to the side to indicate for me to follow her.

Once we're a good distance away, she crosses her arms over her chest and asks, "What do you want?"

I have rehearsed this. I spent ten minutes in front of the mirror earlier in the bathroom, practicing the perfect glare, the perfect tone of voice—aggressive, but not so much that it would make her feel threatened. I have the right words on my lips, but part of me is refusing to say them. Eris scans every inch of my face.

"I'm sorry about what I did," I begin. "But we need to win this competition. With the next painting, I'll let you call the shots. We can do your idea. Would you consider being my partner again?"

Silence. She blinks once. I put all my effort toward keeping a neutral expression with the maximum amount of eye contact so as to make her subconsciously know that I am the dominant one in this situation. She blinks again.

"You're fucking with me."

"I'm not. I've determined that, despite you being an unpleasant person—" what I really want to say is insufferable brat "—working with you will guarantee our highest chance of winning. You need to graduate." And I shouldn't, but I can't resist the urge to add: "With how often you skip class, you definitely need it."

She lets out a little scoff. "Why don't you go work with one of the dozens of other artists in this school?"

"They already have partners. And round one is already over, anyway."

"Pretty weird how no one even wanted to work with the second best artist here, isn't it? Why is that?"

"Second best?"

"I know. It's because you're an egotistical, controlling bitch. That's why. No one wants to deal with that shit."

I tell myself it's not true. There's no way people think I'm egotistical and controlling when I barely speak to anyone here. They know I'm a genius and not much else, but a lump forms in my throat. I did not rehearse this.