It was growing increasingly irritating, the way you laid sprawled out on the floor, gluing and cutting and writing on a project you were supposed to have help with.

But what more would you expect from Nate Jacobs? I mean, you didn’t know him too well— you ran in two completely different social circles. But it was well-known how much of a dick he could be.

But the extent to which, you hadn’t expected as he sat at his computer with a headset on, playing some game with a friend.

“Fuck!” He nearly shouted, slamming his hand on the table. “You shoulda seen it coming! Now we’re fucking dead because of you!”

He was quiet for a moment, listening to whoever he was playing with.

“I dunno. There’s some chick here, so I—“ A pause, probably a suggestive remark from his friend.

“No, dipshit. For a project. Yeah, in AP Lit or something.”

It was pretty obvious that he didn’t intend on helping and was about to keep playing.