kisses

°2°

As in, I've never had a conversation with him. I don't think he likes me much, considering the faint sneer that's always on his face when he watches me.

And he watches me a lot.

I don't understand why. I avoid eye contact with him as much as possible, but every once in a while, I stare into his icy blue eyes and I see nothing but disgust.

Nothing but hate.

Why? What did I ever do to him?

Sidharth Shuklais too much. Too moody and too dark and too quiet. Too handsome and magnetic and smart. I don't like how I feel when
his eyes are on me. All shivery and strange. The feeling is completely unfamiliar and only happens when I'm in his vicinity, and it doesn't make any sense.

I turn down the corridor that houses the English department, eager to get to class early, so I can secure my seat in the front row, direct centre. When my friends come into class, I always make sure they sit by me, so no one unsavoury can. Like Sidharth.

Knowing him, if he had the chance to sit close to me, he would. Just to rattle me.

I think he would enjoy that.

Our teacher, Mr. Figueroa, doesn't assign seats, and he has a very relaxed attitude in this class. Considering we're seniors and he hand picked each student to be in his advanced class before the school year started, he trusts us not to act out or cause trouble. He just wants to "mould young minds," as he says, without restrictions or boundaries. He's my favourite teacher, and he's asked me to be a teacher's aide for the spring semester.

Of course, I immediately said yes.

I enter the classroom, coming to a sudden stop when I spot Figueroa in an embrace with someone. A student, because she's wearing a plaid uniform skirt and blue blazer. Her hair is a deep auburn, a shade I recognize, and when he gives her a nudge, she springs out of his arms, turning to face me.

Maggie Gipson. My friend. Her face is streaked with drying tears, and she sniffs, blinking at me. "Oh hey, Shehnaaz."

"Maggie." I go to her, lowering my voice so Fig won't hear us. That's what he tells us to call him, though all the guys make fun of the nickname behind his back. I figure they're all just jealous of the relationships he has with us girls. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She sniffs again, shaking her head. Which tells me she's not fine at all, but I can't press the situation. Not when we're in class. "Just...I got into another argument with Franklin last night."

"Oh no. I'm sorry." Franklin Moss is her on-again, off-again boyfriend, and he seems very demanding. Always pressuring her to do things with him sexually. She just needs more conviction within herself, so she can tell him no, and mean it.

But she never tells him no. She's already had sex with him multiple times, and it doesn't matter. He doesn't love her like she wants him to.

I think it's because she gave it up to him too soon, but she won't listen to me. Once we entered our junior year and sex became more and more rampant, one by one my friends sacrificed themselves to the boys who begged them for it. At least that's the word my father used for it-a sacrifice.

The majority of them got nothing but heartache to show for it, and the words I told you so are always on the tip of my tongue when they complain to me, which isn't too often. Not anymore.

They know how I feel. They know what I might say. They'd rather avoid me versus hear the truth.

"You'll be fine, Maggie. Keep your head up," Fig says, his voice soft, his eyes glowing as he takes her in.