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  It was now my turn to play the fool for this idiot and appear weak. People thought I was weird and creepy already and this guy was leader of the lot. To be honest, I was tired of him throwing things at me and calling me names like Butthead and Scum Bubble. Unfortunately, I couldn’t waste my secret on this imbecile so I let him be the gooch.

  “Quit it,” I mumbled.

  “What was that, Taylor Swift?” he quipped.

  Taylor Swift? What did that even mean?

  “Hey, Mini Albert Einstein, turn around so I can talk to you.”

  Frank wanted me to turn around so he could see my expression as he insulted me. Little did he know I could see his every movement and didn’t need to alter my positioning. Staring ahead, but in my mind’s eye watching his every move, sensing his presence. I looked towards the chalkboard like a poker player not giving away what’s in his hand. I could see his smug face on his dirty blonde head. He was looking at his buddies for approval. He was holding a pencil in his right hand. It was a matter of seconds before the pencil would be routed in my direction.

  I was tired of allowing him to hurl things and just taking it. It was time I took a stand. I could see Parker looking at me and, to be honest, I didn’t want to appear wimpy after my big show on the drug addict the night before.

  I was going to do something, and it would be subtle but would make my point. It was just a matter of waiting for Franky Spanky to throw the darn pencil, and just like in a bad script for a John Hughes film, he flung the pencil at my head. Without looking, I caught the pencil somewhere near my neck, spun it once in my hand, and flipped it back at him. The graphite tip whistled one inch past his fat head and stuck into the wall.

  “Holy crap, did you see that?” shouted someone from the back. “He flippin’ caught the pencil and threw it back without turning around.”

  “No way, dude. That’s impossible,” a long-haired stoner sitting next to Frank responded.

  Now it was time to turn around. I’d had enough fun using the eyes-behind-my-back trick, which I had recently mastered to obvious perfection.

  Frank, I think, was having a hard time processing what had just happened. He looked from the pencil, which was still wobbling in the wall like an arrow in a bullseye, to me. Finally, he said, “Did you throw that at me, putz?”

  “Throw what?” I asked, as clueless as a class nerd could sound.

  Frank looked at his buddies seated around him. “Did one of you douche bags throw that?”

  They all shook their heads. Frank pulled the pencil out of the back wall and scoped it to see if it was the same bit of lumber he had just tossed in my direction. I think his worst fears were confirmed. Some of the color drained from his face. He slumped back in his chair and waved me off. “Just turn around, Nancy Pants,” he said. “Nobody’s talking to you.”

  I did just that and grinned my ass off. I looked over to my left and there was Parker looking at me, shocked. She mouthed silently How? I just shrugged my shoulders as if to say, I got lucky!

  The bell rang. I grabbed my backpack and went straight to my car. I’d DVR’d “Real World Road Rules Challenge” on MTV, which was my weekly treat. I wanted to hurry home and for once in my life just veg out.

  I made my way to the school parking lot. The parking lot was pretty small, which made sense since it only housed 20 students at night. I reached into my left pocket and took out my keys.

  “How did you do that?” Parker asked me from fifteen feet away. I had sensed her following me at a distance, too nervous to get too close.

  “I got lucky.” I liked the sound of that. Maybe it would be my little catch phrase. Every hero needed one.

  “No one is that lucky. Are you some kind of circus performer?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I said sarcastically. “I’m a circus performer by day and a high schooler at night, because I promised my parents I would get a proper education. And clown school was full.”

  “Okay, maybe not a circus performer, but there’s definitely something more to you than you’re letting on. Not every high school student goes by the name of Spider, either,” she smiled. “Let’s get some coffee.”

  “We might have a problem. I think there might be a shortage of coffee shops around here.”

  “Very funny.”

  It was funny because Seattle is the coffeehouse capital of the world. But she understood. Jokes are better when you don’t have to explain them, and she’d finally caught on that I’m a witty guy. At least when I’m not ripping somebody’s neck open and sucking out their life.

  “C’mon,” she said. “I know a place called ‘Bo Knows Coffee!’”

  “Who’s Bo?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess he was some kinda sport’s star from the 80’s.”

  “Alright, I’ll go. But let’s make it quick.”

  “Oh, does the Spider have a web to weave?” she joked.

  “Not exactly, I just want to watch a TV show.”

  “Are you kidding? You would rather watch a stupid show than spend time with a beautiful woman?”

  I snorted. “Beautiful woman?”

  “Well, what would you call me?”

  I smiled. She wasn’t a woman yet, but she was half right. I never had a girl care if I thought she was pretty.

  “You’re cute,” I said, patting her head, “like a tarantula.”

  “Man, you’re weird.”

  “They don’t call me Spider for nothing,” I said. “Get in and let’s go.”

  Bad Blood

  is available at:

  Amazon Kindle * Paperback

  Audio Book * Amazon UK

  About the Authors:

  Scott Nicholson is author of 17 books, including the bestselling Kindle thrillers Disintegration and The Red Church. He also portrays the comic book character The Digger and spends spare time revising his own epitaph. Learn more at www.hauntedcomputer.com.

  J.R. Rain is an ex-private investigator who now lives in a small house on a small island with his small dog, Sadie, who has more energy than Robin Williams. Please visit him at www.jrrain.com.