Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

smile is more parental, small but still reaching his eyes to crinkle
up the corners. He leans across the table to Nicole and whispers,
“Miss Matios, the last student who tried to zap Philosophy out of
their schedule spent a week as a pile of sand.”
Then, without another word, he stands up and walks away, surveying
the lunchroom like a General watching his troops.
“Man,” Nicole says when Damian’s out of earshot, “I’m glad I’m
not you. I wouldn’t want Petrolas for a dad.”
“He’s not my dad,” I snap. I feel instantly guilty. It’s not her fault
I’ve been tossed into this little dysfunctional family. “Sorry. My real
dad died a long time ago. Damian is just my stepdad.”
She shrugs like I haven’t just bitten her head off or she could
care less that I did. I’m just relieved she doesn’t make a big deal of
the dead dad thing. I’m not always so touchy about it—therapist
Mom head-shrank me through the whole grieving process—but I’ve
been thinking about him more than usual since the whole stepdad
thing started. Having a fake dad makes me miss my real one more.
Great, another thing to look forward to for the next nine months.
At least Nicole doesn’t seem to care if I’m a moody psycho.
Something over my shoulder catches her attention. “Travatas!” she
shouts across the dining hall, waving her arm in the air to catch
someone’s attention.
At the head of the lunch line is a cute boy—blond and wholesome
in a Chad Michael Murray kind of way—with dark gold hair
and wearing a MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE T-shirt. He looks up at Nicole’s
shout and smiles.
“Hey Nicole,” he says, carrying his tray over to our table and taking
the seat next to mine.
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