Chapter 9

9. Here she comes again!

I can’t help but screw my eyes at her in anger as she makes her way towards me, looking sheepish. Now that I’m aware of who she really is, her beauty diminishes in my eyes. I wonder what she’s doing here, trying to humiliate me again? What the hell was with girls and me lately? It had never been like this. Normally, girls are nice to me, and other guys are hostile.

Now, everyone is hostile regardless of gender.

Maybe there was something in the water which is making everyone see me as a target. Maybe it’s my face. I’ve heard some people saying that certain individuals have faces that make them want to do horrible things to them. Does my face look like that too? Is that why everyone is picking on me?

Man, I’m too tired of all this drama.

“What do you want now?” I ask her in a hard, cold voice as she comes within hearing range, “Want to rub salt in the wound more? Call out the guys here so they can make it a real public humiliation?”

Coraline gulps and looks ashamed, but I don’t let that deter me. I’ve seen crocodile tears too much to believe her.

She takes a deep breath before starting in a gentle voice, “I’m sorry for what I did in there,” she points at the restaurant with her thumb, “You really shouldn’t have come to the meeting, none of them wanted to see you or play nice with you. They just wanted a clown for the evening, and you were the chosen one for it. They wanted to bully you and make fun of you.”

“Yeah, I figured,” I snap back, “you know when they actually did that and you joined in. In fact, I would say that you led it.”

“I’m sorry,” she mutters again, “I just wanted you to get out of there as soon as possible. You’ve misunderstood my intentions.”

I stare at her as her words sink in, without having a doubt that my expression must look as boggled as I feel. Does this girl even hear what she’s saying? That’s a total of one-eighty from her attitude within the restaurant. What does she mean that I misunderstood her intentions? How the hell do you misunderstand someone slapping you and demanding you get out?

“Coraline,” I say, “when you want someone to do something, you ask them to do it like a normal person. If you wanted me to leave, you could’ve just told me to. As far as I’m aware,” my voice is getting angrier, “we both speak the same language, which means we can understand each other when we talk with the said language. If you want someone to leave, you ask them. You do not slap them and get your friends in on an attempt to bully them!”

Coraline’s lips thin into a bloodless line and she cringes away from me as my rant progresses. She looks and sounds sincerely remorseful, but I’ve been fooled too much in recent times to trust her. Her story is just too stupid to believe in. The Coraline I knew was much smarter than that.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs again, sounding like she’s near tears, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Before I can retort to that, the waiter comes back running towards me, my card held reverently in his hands.

“Here you go sir,” the waiter huffs, “we refunded the whole thing and swiped the card again to only charge the relevant amount.

We promise that this kind of error would never happen again, and urge you to not let this impair your judgment should you dine with us again. We hope you had a pleasant time during your stay.”

“Nah, bud, I don’t think it was that much of a pleasant time,” I mutter before drawing out my wallet to take the card from the waiter and push the card into the empty slot.

“Wait a minute,” Coraline exclaimed, “You got an Emerald credit card? You?”

Her voice sounds so incredulous I wonder what’s wrong now.

“Yeah, I do,” I reply, “so, what? Is that a crime or something?”

“A crime? No, no, no, it’s just,” she gulps as she gestures at the card still being held in the waiter’s hands. “It’s just that Emerald credit cards are really rare. In fact, there are only a thousand of them issues all around the world.”

“Huh,” I mutter. Of course, my father owns a couple of those thousand cards. How very typical of him. In a way, it would be a miracle if he hadn’t gotten his hands on one. My father loved to own rare things, it was a hobby and an obsession of his since I was small. It is kind of reassuring to know that the habits had not changed much over the years.

Had I known that this specific card was so rare, I might not have used it for this. Rather I’d have used a normal card, just to avoid people questioning it.

When Coraline looks at me next, her eyes are narrowed into slits, “Whose card are you using?” she demands in a hostile tone.

I blink at her, “Pardon?”

“This card,” she points at the card in the baffled waiter’s hands, “whose card is it?”

“It’s mine, who else should it belong to, Jon?” I reply sarcastically, wondering what she was up to now, “I mean, considering how the card in question got my damn name on it, it shouldn’t be that much of a mystery who it belongs to.”

Before I can take the card from the waiter, Coraline snatches it.

I feel the anger in me spike again.

“What are you doing? Mocking me is one thing, but this is crossing the line. Give it back!” I try to snatch it back, but Coraline dances away from my grasp.

“This is not your name!” she shrieked, her eyes flashing angrily, “This card doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to Jace Greyson!”