How To Be The Best Third Wheel

Tip Two: Restrain Yourself from Attacking Couples

It's not that I hate couples.

But when I'm trying to get through a packed hallway with limited time available to get to my next class, I would rather not see space being taken up by people who are trying to copulate against the lockers. Passing the second set of PDAers, I avert my gaze immediately. As I quickly make my way to the staircase, any intention of not looking miserable is swept away once I almost bump into freshmen not yet accustomed to the rules of speed walking. Ugh.

At last I make it to the biology classroom down on the second floor. After grabbing a new textbook from the pile, I sit at a desk in the front row, near the side of the room. Unlike other classrooms, the back walls are lined with laminate countertops and cabinets holding glassware. The arrangement of test tubes and flasks pleases my inner science geek and may be the only thing giving me an ounce of joy today. However, if there's one thing in Toronto that might cause a shocking explosion, it's me in a lab. Luckily, chemistry is a next-semester problem, and the biggest danger I'll face this semester is holding a scalpel.

Setting my backpack on the floor, I begin to reach for an empty binder when there's a loud thunk of somebody sitting in the chair next to me. My eyes widen. His dark-brown hair is in messy waves and he smells like oranges: Jameson freaking Bryer.

"Sit somewhere else." I groan.

"Why? Last time I heard, Canada was a free country," James states, his face getting closer to mine.

I try not to grit my teeth to the point of erosion. "Well, maybe you should use that freedom to relocate, because your lack of distance from me is offensive."

"Really?" He leans back in his chair and bites his bottom lip before continuing, speaking louder this time. "You weren't saying that last night. In fact, you seemed to enjoy my closeness." He smirks, clearly proud of the dirty and untrue accusation, while I turn a lovely shade of pink.

I wince, narrowing my eyes at him and praying that the tsismosas of the school are asleep. "Please, I wouldn't have sex with you if you were the last living organism on this planet."

"Sweetheart, we need to stop pretending that you don't want a chance with—"

"What?" I stand up from my desk and head to the closest cabinet, grabbing the smallest glass test tube that I can find and raising it. "Please, James, your little friend would probably fit in this and there would still be wiggle room."

The class snickers, along with a few of his teammates, and now it's his turn to become a tomato. Before I can say anything else to him, the sound of heels clicking fills the room and Ms. Perez arrives, slamming a big binder on the front counter. "Ms. Dela Cruz, put my equipment back and return to your seat!"

I scurry back to my desk because if there's one thing that scares me, it's Ms. Perez. I had her for biology last year and she doesn't like anything fun so in her class, we get Lara 2.0: the A plus, work completing, honor roll, Catholic girl. And likely enough, James just helped ruin my halo reputation.

***

After class, I grab my math binder and slam the locker door shut so loudly that the dude with the locker next to mine gives me a concerned glance before escaping. Yes, James can piss me off with his name calling and tripping and dirty jokes, but this is another level. I simply cannot be in biology class with him because if he annoys me, I will inevitably retaliate, which makes me look bad too. And if Ms. Perez is frustrated with me like she was in class today, my grades are absolutely, positively, doomed. And if my grades are bad, I'll feel bad because I thrive off of academic validation. Plus, you can't scam universities into giving you "congratulations" money with low marks.