“Hey demon-child,” Mike comments as I pass him. I grimace, “Shut your face, Mike.”
He rolls his eyes, “So bad tempered all the time.”
“Whatever.”
I go over to my desk and sit by Alex, who smiles at me briefly before continuing his conversation with the Junior who sits in front of us, Isaac. They’re arguing about which is better: Swimming or Track.
Personally, I think swimming, but that’s just me. Mike turns in his chair to face me, his desk is diagonal to mine, “So why are you so pissed off anyway?”
I frown, “What, exactly, about being called a demon-child is supposed to please me?”
“You called me immature,” he counters.
“Like two weeks ago,” I frown deeper, “And you were spinning around in circles on the wheely chair. That is kind of immature behavior.”
“You,” he tells me, “should really chill out sometime.”
I snort, “Right. Sometime between Piano, Saxaphone, Voice, Guitar, and, oh yeah, five honors classes.”
He sighs, “Seriously. You do.”
I sigh with him, “I know.”