Wrote this a few weeks back, shelved it and then came back to it. I'm thinking about just scrapping it but I wanted second opinions. What do you think? Thanks. 
---------
“Can you finish our lab report? I have some stuff to do. Please?”
I stare down at the text on my phone in disgust. I knew this sort of thing would happen when the teacher paired me and Daniel Carter up as partners. No good can come of a jock with two first names. There’s me, super serious academic kid, and then there’s Daniel, slacker jock and all around low life. Naturally I knew I would be doing most of the work, but for him to ditch me straight up pisses me off. I skipped tennis practice (before a tournament no less!) to meet with him for this and he’s blowing it off. He better have a good excuse.
“Why?” I text back. I fume while I wait for his reply. The first day of our partnership, he dropped his backpack beside our table and sat there, staring at me expectantly. I sighed, brushed my bangs out of my face, and got down to business. “So I think we could split the work. I’m thinking we could do a gene model, or maybe swab some bacteria from different locations around town and compare them. The gene model would be easier, but the bacteria one would be more interesting.” I couldn’t help but getting a little enthusiastic at the prospect of a project, no matter how dismal my partner was.
He had just stared at my blankly. “Um,” he had said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Whatever’s easiest I guess.”
And it had just gotten worse from there. While I mixed paper mache to make the model, he doodled on the desk. When I tramped into the art room for supplies, he sat leaned back in his chair like he was on the couch at home and watched me. When I got paint all in my hair and on my face, he just laughed instead of helping me clean up. But he had sworn he was going to be here to help with the lab report and, like an idiot, I had believed him.
My phone buzzed and I opened his text expecting a good explanation. “It’s freshman initiation for the team. I gotta be there. Please cover for me?”
At that, I almost threw my phone across the library. He was skipping a project that was half his (and mine!) grade to beat a freshman with a lacrosse stick? Ridiculous. I could handle a lot but his inability to care about anything was too much. I couldn’t clearly convey my anger through text, so I called him. “Hey, Lindy baby,” he answered, shushing people in the background.
“I am not letting you slide!” I said without so much as hello. “And don’t call me Lindy baby! My name is Lindsey. My friends call me Lindy, but anyone who breaks a really important promise to beat up freshmen is not my friend!”
He sucked in a breath, obviously a little taken aback at how mad I was. “Look, Lindsey. I’m sorry. I know how important school and grades and crap like that are to you. Let me take you to P.F Chang’s to make it up to you?”
I thought about it for a minute. I really didn’t want to let him off the hook, but I did love P.F Chang’s and he knew it. “Fine,” I huffed. “But you’re still in trouble. Pick me up at the library when you’re done.”
“Okay,” he said sounding relieved. I decided to go ahead and work on the lab report. Might as well, while I waited for Daniel to get done with his random acts of violence. He finally showed up twenty minutes later, lacrosse stick in hand, backpack slung over one shoulder. I gathered my books and walked over to him. As soon as I got close, I wrinkled my nose. “What?” he asked, looking concerned.
“You smell like sweat,” I said taking a tentative sniff. “And fear.”
---------
“Can you finish our lab report? I have some stuff to do. Please?”
I stare down at the text on my phone in disgust. I knew this sort of thing would happen when the teacher paired me and Daniel Carter up as partners. No good can come of a jock with two first names. There’s me, super serious academic kid, and then there’s Daniel, slacker jock and all around low life. Naturally I knew I would be doing most of the work, but for him to ditch me straight up pisses me off. I skipped tennis practice (before a tournament no less!) to meet with him for this and he’s blowing it off. He better have a good excuse.
“Why?” I text back. I fume while I wait for his reply. The first day of our partnership, he dropped his backpack beside our table and sat there, staring at me expectantly. I sighed, brushed my bangs out of my face, and got down to business. “So I think we could split the work. I’m thinking we could do a gene model, or maybe swab some bacteria from different locations around town and compare them. The gene model would be easier, but the bacteria one would be more interesting.” I couldn’t help but getting a little enthusiastic at the prospect of a project, no matter how dismal my partner was.
He had just stared at my blankly. “Um,” he had said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Whatever’s easiest I guess.”
And it had just gotten worse from there. While I mixed paper mache to make the model, he doodled on the desk. When I tramped into the art room for supplies, he sat leaned back in his chair like he was on the couch at home and watched me. When I got paint all in my hair and on my face, he just laughed instead of helping me clean up. But he had sworn he was going to be here to help with the lab report and, like an idiot, I had believed him.
My phone buzzed and I opened his text expecting a good explanation. “It’s freshman initiation for the team. I gotta be there. Please cover for me?”
At that, I almost threw my phone across the library. He was skipping a project that was half his (and mine!) grade to beat a freshman with a lacrosse stick? Ridiculous. I could handle a lot but his inability to care about anything was too much. I couldn’t clearly convey my anger through text, so I called him. “Hey, Lindy baby,” he answered, shushing people in the background.
“I am not letting you slide!” I said without so much as hello. “And don’t call me Lindy baby! My name is Lindsey. My friends call me Lindy, but anyone who breaks a really important promise to beat up freshmen is not my friend!”
He sucked in a breath, obviously a little taken aback at how mad I was. “Look, Lindsey. I’m sorry. I know how important school and grades and crap like that are to you. Let me take you to P.F Chang’s to make it up to you?”
I thought about it for a minute. I really didn’t want to let him off the hook, but I did love P.F Chang’s and he knew it. “Fine,” I huffed. “But you’re still in trouble. Pick me up at the library when you’re done.”
“Okay,” he said sounding relieved. I decided to go ahead and work on the lab report. Might as well, while I waited for Daniel to get done with his random acts of violence. He finally showed up twenty minutes later, lacrosse stick in hand, backpack slung over one shoulder. I gathered my books and walked over to him. As soon as I got close, I wrinkled my nose. “What?” he asked, looking concerned.
“You smell like sweat,” I said taking a tentative sniff. “And fear.”