Dear Estella,

38. borjuazee

"Damn it." I toss my pencil down onto the table before grabbing an eraser once again. "How do you spell bourgeoisie?"

"B-O-R-J-U-A-Z-E-E." Asher spells the word out for me, but I don't write it down because I know there's no 'J' in bourgeoisie.

Devin spells the word out for me as I write it down once again, this time tracing over it with a thick black marker. It's a little crooked now that I look at it, but it's also too late to re-write.

"Get off your phones," Devin mumbles as she adds bullet points to our poster. "You guys aren't doing shit."

Aaron, Asher, Devin and I sit around a large rectangular table in one of the many study rooms on campus. Mr. Sanders assigned us to work on a poster board explaining the social classes in the eighteenth century. Boring.

Aaron begins looking through Devin's textbook, seemingly searching for more facts we can jot down on the poster we'll be presenting to the class after work time.

"Give me a marker then." Asher pockets his cell phone as he stands up, hovering over me. I hand him the black marker I was using. "'Scuse me, 'Stella."

I move out of his way, watching as he scribbles something onto the board. I angle my head to get a peek at what he's adding onto our poster. He stands up from his crouched position, smiling as he returns the marker to me.

"Really, Asher?" Devin gives him a bored expression as she points to the small stick figures drawn at the bottom of the poster.

"The bourgeoisie." He shrugs. "Family of 'em, actually."

"You're so stupid." Aaron sighs.

I smile, looking at the little stick figures. They're kind of cute, if you ask me.

My eyes travel to Asher, who sits beside me. He already has his gaze set on me with an expression I can't decipher. I quickly look away from him, still highly aware of his stare in my peripheral vision.

"Jacob's been talking so much shit about you," Aaron says, shaking his head as he scrolls through his social media. Asher and I share a glance. "What happened on Friday, anyway? I didn't even know you guys still had beef."

Please don't tell him.

Asher shrugs. "He was getting on my last nerves."

"And no one took a video?" Aaron shakes his head in disappointment. "I'd pay to see you beat the living hell out of him."

I pretend like I'm not listening to their conversation, unreasonably laser focused on tracing over Devin's neat handwriting.

"Estella, how'd he do?" He asks me. "On a scale from 1-10. What would you rate his skills?"

His question takes me by surprise. "Um... I don't know."

"I think we should just stop talking about it already." Devin shrugs as she draws a line across our poster, underlining the large title written at the top. The line comes out perfectly straight. I have no clue how she does it.

"I just don't get it," Aaron continues. "All I know is that there was a fight. No one's saying why it happened or who started it or who the fuck won."

"Who cares?" Devin interjects. "We all know Asher and Jacob have never gotten along. It's happened before and if we're being honest, it'll probably happen again before we graduate."

I lean back in my chair, silently thanking Devin for steering away from the topic I'm so over talking and hearing about.

During passing period, I had to explain to Madison and Vanessa that everything that happened last weekend was all just a huge misunderstanding. Jacob Matthews never laid a hand on me. He and Asher fought, that's all. There's no need to tell anyone about Friday evening's events.