Chapter Text
"I don't want to alarm you, but I think there's something wrong with Skylar."
A tentative finger poked my cheek and I snapped out of my trance. Zeke, one of my best friends—who was attached to the finger—popped into my view with a concerned smile.
"You doing alright Sky?" came from my other best friend, Emma, who mirrored Zeke's concern. A finger poked my cheek again before I swatted all the poking fingers away.
"Ugh! Yes I'm fine, I'm just practically falling asleep." I sighed and plopped my chin into my hands, hoping to catch a wink of sleep before class started. "Jack kept me up all night with his snoring and when I finally did get to sleep, it happened to be through my alarm." I rolled my eyes thinking about my beloved golden retriever who seriously needed his tonsils out. Do dogs get their tonsils out when they snore? Whatever. I sipped at the coffee I threw into a travel mug before rushing out the door in hopes of it perking me up.
The morning had unraveled into disaster before I'd even managed to sit up. The alarm that should have dragged me out of bed never made a sound. My phone, buried somewhere under my pillow, had died sometime in the night. And when I finally got my phone charged enough to turn on, the digits glared back at me: 7:19 AM.
As such, my morning consisted of much more scrambling. I scrambled to put together the semblance of an outfit to wear, I scrambled to tame my curly red hair, I scrambled to pack my things into my backpack, I scrambled to brush my teeth, I scrambled to grab whatever I could find for lunch and toss it into my backpack. You get the idea.
I managed to scramble all the way to school and to my first class without getting a speeding ticket.
My calculus teacher strolled in bright and cheery as ever and it took every ounce of energy in me to pretend to focus on the morning announcements. I just needed to power through until lunch so I could find a dark corner in the library and sleep my heart away.
A good plan in theory, until Mr. Wilson clapped his hands together—shocking me out of my daze—and announced "Pop quiz!" with way more enthusiasm than should ever be tied to those two words. The class grumbled while my panic returned. I hadn't studied. My eyelids would hardly stay open. My mind was sluggish. I wasn't in the right state of mind for this. My stomach twisted as the paper landed on my desk. Only 5 problems, thankfully. Or not thankfully? If I screwed up even one question the best I could get was an 80%. Not failing, but wrong.
I took a deep breath and willed my eyelids open and my eyeballs to focus on the problems. Except the numbers weren't numbering. My brain refused to cooperate. My fingers felt slow, my writing rushed. Halfway through the last problem, I realized I misread the third. I rushed to erase and fix my mistake and—
"Pencils down."
You have got to be kidding me.
I sat there, gripping my pencil as my quiz was passed up to the front to be collected and graded. I already knew I made mistakes and I wasn't even able to finish it. There was no way I'd even get an 80%.
Emma turned to me. My dismay must have been easy to read because she gave me a pathetic smile and a look that said "It'll be okay, it's just one bad pop quiz."
Emma was right, of course, but her words of comfort barely registered against the overwhelming fatigue and the sheer chaos of my morning; the last thing I needed was a poor quiz score to fuel my already frayed nerves. My bad mood was past the point of no return. My thoughts were quickly turning frustrated, a small part of myself embarrassed that I was practically fuming over a pop quiz.
Mr. Wilson went over the answers to the pop quiz which continued to feed my bad mood. He ended the class with a new assignment due tomorrow.
I hadn't had time to drop off the notebooks and textbooks I wouldn't need for today at my locker before first period, so I said a terse goodbye to Zeke and told Emma that I'd catch up to her in our next class. I barely held in my frustration as I shoved the assignment into my unusually full backpack. I fought with the stubborn zipper for a moment, the fabric snagging and resisting my efforts, until I finally gave up and left it partially unzipped, a testament to my dwindling patience. I hurried out of Mr. Wilson's class. Just three more classes. Just make it to lunch. Just—
I ran headfirst into a wall.
I stumbled back, my backpack slipping off my shoulder as my coffee tumbled from my hand. The lid popped off on impact, sending my coffee all over my books, my assignments, the front of my shirt. Lucky me. I muttered a few choice words under my breath and peeled myself off the floor with what little dignity I had left. I looked up to see what on earth I ran into—because walls don't just appear out of thin air, no matter how tired a person is.
I sucked in a breath. Not a wall, a person. A handsome, ridiculously tall wall-of-a-person at that. And he saw and heard everything.
Wall Boy, however, seemed far more concerned with the paper in his hands. Or what used to be a paper. There was an unfortunate amount of coffee that had spilled and it appeared that his piece of paper had been in the splash zone. He swore, "Damnit! You ruined it!
I was too busy assessing the damage on myself, from the hot coffee soaking through my shirt to the puddles in my notebooks and my ruined assignments, to immediately process his words. But then they registered.
I ruined his singular piece of paper while my entire academic career was steeping in my only saving grace this morning?
I blinked up at him, slow and disbelieving. His eyes (blue? green? whatever, unimportant) met mine for a second before landing on the mess on the floor. Did I say he was attractive? Well, I take that back. The jerk can suck it, choke on it, spit it out, and then suck it again.
"Wow. Rude and oblivious. Impressive." My voice came out sharp, laced with the kind of barely restrained fury only a girl who had just survived the morning from hell could manage. I stood there, hot coffee dripping from my shirt, my soaked assignments ruined beyond saving, while this idiot, this brick wall of a human, had the audacity to be upset over a stupid piece of paper.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but Wall Boy just stared at me with an unreadable expression.
"Hm? Nothing to say now? Figures."
I crouched down, gathering my ruined things, not bothering to look at him. The bystanders at least had the decency to help. Wall Boy? Not so much. After thanking them, I pointedly pushed past Wall Boy, my patience officially non-existent. I didn't make it more than a couple steps before the man of the hour, himself, spoke.
"Hey."
I turned, expecting an apology. Or maybe even an awkward introduction.
Instead, his expression remained unreadable. "You should be more careful next time."
What the hell kind of drugs was this guy on?
An incredulous laugh bubbled up from my throat. "I'm sorry, what did you just say to me?"
"I said..." He swallowed, eyes flicking away before meeting mine again. "You should be more careful next time."
Oh, hell no.
"Oh, of course!" My hand flew to my mouth in mock horror. "I wouldn't want to disappoint..." I took a deliberate step back, giving him an exaggerated once-over as he shifted under my gaze. "His Highness."
I gathered the skirts of an invisible dress and curtseyed low, unable to suppress my shit-eating grin. When I straightened, I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder, and, for good measure, gave the jerk a less-than-friendly gesture as I turned around again and walked away, dignity mostly intact. Or, at least, as intact as it could be with coffee soaking through my shirt.
By the time I reached the bathroom, the smug satisfaction had faded, replaced by the cold, clingy reality of my situation. I grabbed an absurd amount of paper towels and started dabbing at my books and assignments, hoping for minimal damage. My homework was a lost cause—smudged ink, crinkled pages, the works. My textbooks would definitely cost me at the end of the year. With a sigh, I tossed the trashed calculus assignment and an old French worksheet my teacher never collected before stuffing everything back in my bag, making sure to actually zip it this time.
That just left me.
I turned to the mirror. My books and all that had taken the brunt of the spill, for better or for worse, but I still had a fair amount of coffee soaked down the front of my shirt and jeans I had thrown on in a rush this morning. Of all the days to wear white. I dabbed at the stains with cold water, but the damage was done and all I was succeeding at was making my shirt see-through in addition to stained and my jeans wet. I combed through my red hair with my fingers and attempted to tame the wild curls back into a ponytail. As for the dark circles under my brown eyes and the general exhaustion on my freckled face, there was nothing I could do.
I shot my haggard reflection a pair of finger guns and walked out of the bathroom to face the rest of this train wreck of a day.
When I emerged, the halls were empty save for a few stragglers hustling to their classes and the school's resident weird, overly intimate couple. I'm pretty sure they were making out at the moment. Gross. I scurried away from the couple to my next class half way across the school, deciding I could stop by my locker later.
I wasn't even halfway to my class when the first bell rang. Great. Another thing to add to the dumpster fire that was today. My phone dinged in my pocket and I made a mental note to turn off the ringer as I fished it out. Emma had texted.
Em [8:43 am]
Bruh wtf where are you? Late bell's about to ring any minute
Sky [8:43 am]
almost there
some idiot ran into me in the hall and i spilled my coffee
Em [8:43 am]
Any longer and Ms. O'hara will perform a citizen's arrest on you
She's in a bad mood already
That quickened my pace. If there was anything Ms. O'Hara was known for, it was her temper. If you thought my temper was bad, you ain't seen nothing yet. A kid in my class once got detention for calling her 'Mrs.' instead of 'Ms.' on the first day. She's even admitted she wishes she could bring back the old-fashioned ruler punishment. How that woman even got hired is beyond me.
Which is why I hurried my ass across the school to my English class, grateful for the empty halls that allowed me to move quickly despite the weight of my backpack. I had just barely turned the corner into the English wing when the late bell rang. My heart sunk as Ms. O'Hara shut the door, locking me out with a dooming click. No. No. NO. If I'd only zipped my bag up properly, or if that idiot in the hall hadn't ran into me. If, if, if.
I rushed to the door and through the small window my eyes met Ms. O'Hara's dark, disapproving glare. She was standing at the front of class, probably already collecting the essay on A Separate Peace due today. I begged silently with my eyes. Come on, I'm your best student. You can't do this to me.
Something in her gaze softened, barely, but I still thanked every higher power when she begrudgingly shuffled over and opened the door. I mumbled a quick thanks and hurried to my seat, face burning. Emma raised an eyebrow at me, and I shot her a look, trying to telepathically explain my insane morning. Emma's eyebrows furrowed and I was about to whisper to her that I'd explain later when I was interrupted by Ms. O'Hara.
"As I was saying," Ms. O'Hara's voice cut through my thoughts. She gave me a long, displeased grimace before continuing. "I will be collecting your 'A Separate Peace' essays. I hope you all have gone over the feedback you received from your peers on Friday and made the appropriate edits." She made sure to glare at each of us over her glasses before continuing. "Another announcement: we will have a new student joining us today, so I expect you all to accommodate him and decide which one of your peer-writing groups he will join."
A collective murmur rippled through the room. No one liked the idea of adding a stranger to their group. These groups were make-or-break when it came down to our grades. Each group had been decided like a dodgeball team in a gym class and, though we all hated it at first, each one had achieved their own delicately balanced ecosystems. A balance we were all realizing could very easily be thrown off by unforeseen factors. Factors including, but not limited to, the addition of a new student.
My own peer-writing group eyed the empty seat that sat in front of me, knowing we were likely doomed to be the group that would have to accept the new student. Emma and I exchanged a long, suffering glance before a knock sounded at the door.
Mrs. O'Hara answered the door and ushered in the new student. "Class, this is Hunter. He just moved here from Virginia."
She presented the new student like an old, bitter Vanna White, stepping aside as all eyes turned to assess him.
I, however, did not need to assess him.
Because I already knew him.
Because standing in the doorway, looking just as broody and unreadable as he had in the hallway, was none other than Wall Boy.
Of course. Of course this was happening. As if my day hadn't already descended into irredeemable chaos, the universe had apparently decided to add insult to injury by permanently installing His Highness into my English class. My victory in the hallway earlier suddenly felt a lot less victorious.
Hunter's gaze swept across the room, casual, detached, until it landed on me. His expression didn't change, but I felt his amusement. Still feeling all out of sorts from all of today's unfortunate events, I became painfully aware of myself. Was I sitting weird? Was my shirt still partially see through from trying to wash the coffee out? Why did I even care? I squirmed under his gaze and felt my cheeks blooming with heat. Was he smiling at my discomfort? He was definitely smiling at my discomfort.
Hunter practically sauntered down the aisle to the empty desk in front of me, not breaking eye contact. "Nice to see you again, Shortcake."
Sirens blared in my head. Shortcake? The little anger emotion-person in my brain yanked on my control panel, sending the other little emotion-people into a frenzy. My face burned. Not in the flustered way, but in the murderous way. I could practically feel steam coming out of my ears. He scoffed at my dumbfounded response and sat down in the seat.
My eyes were glued to the back of his head and I wished they were little lasers so I could burn a hole right through it. Emma kicked me under the table, rendering my attempt to set his hair on fire with just my eyes useless.
She gave me another furrowed brow look. I shot her another desperate look in response, but before we could resume our silent conversation, smack. Ms. O'Hara's ruler came down on my desk, interrupting us. I flinched and sat up straight. "Essay." She held out her hand, face tight with impatience.
My stomach dropped.
I bent down, unzipping my backpack with growing dread. I shuffled through the damp notebooks, textbooks, and papers. A horrible realization tore through me as I looked in my empty English notebook. I had left my essay sitting on the table last night. The essay I spent two weeks writing and all weekend perfecting for Ms. O'Hara's class. On the table. Right next to my backpack. So that I wouldn't forget to bring it with me. Like an idiot. Shit.
Every possible excuse raced through my head, but none would work. I had nothing. After the incident this morning I had less than nothing, actually.
"I—" I swallowed hard. My voice barely worked. "I don't have it."
Silence.
The atmosphere in that classroom shifted in an instant. Silence so deafening fell as each student watched with morbid curiosity and bated breath to see what Ms. O'Hara would do. That moment before the other shoe dropped seemed to stretch on for eternity, the clock on the wall ticking to my inevitable doom. All the while I could practically feel my skin searing under Ms. O'Hara's furious gaze. I opened my mouth to say more, to explain away the sin of forgetting my assignment. But before I could make any words come out of my mouth, someone else spoke up.
"Because of me."
And just like that, I was spared from Ms. O'Hara's red hot glare as she turned on Hunter. I sagged in relief, but shot Hunter a questioning look.
"I..." He trailed off and made eye contact with me. "We..." He averted his gaze and tried again. "Ran into each other in the hall. She dropped all of her stuff and spilled her coffee on it. It was ruined."
Ms. O'Hara didn't seem entirely convinced and her red hot glare jumped between me and Hunter, as if trying to decipher what kind of con we were pulling. More than once her eyes took in the state of my still-drying shirt. I, meanwhile, was trying to figure out why the hell Wall Boy had just bailed me out. What was his angle?
She pursed her lips, considering. Then, finally, she snapped, "Have it on my desk tomorrow. First thing."
And just like that, the axe didn't fall.
Hunter leaned back in his seat, inscrutable, while I sat there, reeling.
What. The. Hell.