Nicholas Hart, all swagger and no substance, had come marching into the Laundromat after spying Illyana perched on the row of dryers as she idly waited for a load of laundry to get done. She gave him a curious frown as he entered. She didnâ€™t think he needed to do any laundry away from home.
â€śSo, you signed up for the Battle of the Bands then?â€ť he casually leaned on the wall and asked.
â€śYeah I did. Whatâ€™s it to you?â€ť she grinned, anticipating his annoyance.
He gave a scoff, â€śYou know my band is playing in that gig!â€ť
How could she not? On the last day of school the idiot had been blathering on and on about how all the girls would fall in love with him once his band won the competition. He was good at playing, she had to admit but Nick needed to be taken down a peg.
â€śSo?â€ť She didnâ€™t see his problem with a little healthy competition.
â€śSo, I thought we were friends. Why even bother trying to play?â€ť
The dryer buzzed and she slid off the top of the dryer to retrieve her clothes, shaking her head at his ridiculousness. He was such a big baby sometimes. She knew just what to say to push his buttons.
â€śAre you afraid my band will beat yours?â€ť She raised a brow and looked over her shoulder while pulling fresh and warm clothes from the dryer into her basket.
He gave a loud, derisive laugh, â€śPlease, I just donâ€™t want you to embarrass yourself. Have you ever heard your
guitar playing? It sounds like tortured cats!â€ť
Illyanaâ€™s expression turned cold and stony. She remembered now why she held little respect for him anymore. She shoved the last of her clothes into the basket and made her way to get out of the Laundromat as fast as she could. His words stung her more than she cared to admit, â€śMaybe we arenâ€™t friends after all.â€ť