"Bitch, I wish I could be better than the government," he sputtered, voice taking on the 'low and menacing' tone. "Then they wouldn't slack off so much about stacking you with your gook traitor parents five foot high for sandbags." He was wetting her face with saliva. Have some restraint.
Juliet's stomach pulled. If only he'd said something else. Something about her, maybe. She'd taken a lot of stupid insults her way. She would be happy to kiss him then, snog him, stage-whisper "Oh Harris, you're so…dangerous!" and smirk at his erection, at his bewildered, turned-on expression. Make a mongrel, why don't you? Take me here and now, Harris! Take me!
But he had to say something about her parents.
Mom, Dad, Simon, I love you.
And how she hated him right now. Harris Van Allen. Think you can talk like that?
But he could. Always could. But your parents were traitors Ms. Suthers would say sweetly. Harris just feels the need to express that rather…strongly. He'll grow out of it, I'm sure. And her stupid, stupid, stupid smile. And I'm afraid, as far as we can tell, you started this ugly confrontation. I know you're troubled, Juliet, but public displays of affection are a little…tasteless. Followed by a stupid, stupid smirk, a dismissal.
Mom, Dad, what do I do now?
He pushed her away, squeezing her hips, copping a feel. Hard enough that she had to put a foot behind her to stop herself from skittering across the hallway. Juliet has excellent balance, the dance instructor had said.
So now she was standing in front of Harris, her hips red from his squeeze, her face covered with spit. She wiped the saliva with her sleeve.
I hate you. She didn't say it. It was too much. But her face spasmed into anger. Harris probably got a lot of satisfaction out of that.
Don't hit him. Don't hit him. Please don't hit him.
But he had such a stupid, stupid smirk on his face.
Don't hit him.