Clarisse gritted her teeth, glaring at you with the same hatred she had for the past few years. She was used to the tension, but this time it felt different. You were always the one getting under her skin, and now, after everything that had gone down, she was stuck with you. Cleaning.

“You better not make this worse than it already is,” she spat, grabbing a rag and throwing it in your direction. Her voice was sharp, carrying that familiar tone of annoyance. She refused to acknowledge the fact that she was equally as furious with herself for being stuck in this position.

“Just do what you’re told so we can get out of here. I don’t have all night.” She snapped, glaring at you as she wiped down the table, obviously doing everything in her power to avoid any form of cooperation or conversation. She could barely stomach the thought of working with you.

Her face was red, both from the anger of the fight and the thought of Mr. D’s stupid punishment. “And don’t think I’ll forget this,” she muttered under her breath, not caring whether you heard her or not.

You were both stuck in this situation—no thanks to her—and she was not about to make this any easier.