I get out and dry off as well before the guy who gave me the black eye comes up behind me and takes a towel, rolling it up and whipping it forward. I catch it before it hits me and turn around, facing the guy, "Get out of here, Sharp. I don't want any trouble."
He smiles cockily, "Don't think so, bird-boy."
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
'Hush, hush!' I whispered; 'people can have many cousins and of all sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the worse for it; only they needn't keep their company, if they be disagreeable and bad. — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights