"I think I'm failing biology," Caleb groans from beside me, his head in his hands.
"Then why did you sign up for AP classes?" I question, raising my eyebrow. We're in the middle of reading through our textbooks, and Caleb is about four or five pages behind me.
"I started the school late so I need it for my GPA," he says, sighing heavily. "And I'm certain that it'll be the death of me."
I laugh, and as I do it he sticks his head up and smiles with me, eyes squinting. "You should laugh more often," he says, turning back to his biology book.
I turn to him, frowning. "Why'd you think that?"
He shrugs, trying to play it off. "You look pretty when you smile."
And that practically sets me on fire. I can feel redness slam into my cheeks, which just causes him to laugh harder, almost like the sound of bells.
"You can't say things like that," I mumble, trying to use my dark hair as a barrier to cover the redness of my face.
"Why not?" he asks, lifting his head and frowning confusedly.
"Nobody says things like that out loud," I reply, biting the inside of my mouth.
He runs his hand through his hair, still staring at me with fascinated eyes. "It made you happy, did it not?"
I knew I shouldn't have said anything, because he has this insistent stubbornness to continue the debate, meaning I'm fighting a losing battle.
I breathe carefully, trying to decide what to say, but all that comes out is a tiny whisper, "Nobody has called me pretty before, that's all."
And by the change in his expression, from intrigued to puzzled, I know that he heard.
Great.
Another reason to feel completely and utterly humiliated.
But he doesn't laugh, or make a joke out of it, instead he shakes his head slightly, and changes the conversation, with which I'm glad. "You know, if the police find me dead in this biology classroom three years from now, just a corpse lying on a pile of textbooks, I'll make sure they hold you personally responsible. You're officially the worst partner ever."
I smile, grateful he changed topic. I open my mouth in dramatic shock. "How?"
"You should be helping me," he explains, rolling his eyes and shifting his attention to the book again.
"Caleb, you can't teach the unteachable," I reply, and laugh at his mock-offended expression.
Before he can respond, Mr Belk brings the attention of the class back to him.
———
After calculus, I make my way to the cafeteria with a slight skip in my step. I don't know who Caleb is, or why he chose to talk to me out of all people, but he has a way of making me feel...content. Even for just a little while.
I buy a soda and a slice of pizza, and then make my way to my usual table beside the wide window.
I can't see Caleb anywhere in the cafeteria, so instead of searching for him, I turn my attention to my lunch, taking a bite out of my pizza.
But as I place it down to take a swig of soda, I notice someone approaching me at an alarming rate.
A feeling of dread mixed with danger slivers down my spine, and I immediately look up, only to be stared down by Phoebe, her group of shadows behind her. They are all glaring just as much as Phoebe, but her glare is something else altogether. Something I have never quite seen before on another human being.
The thing is, I have never made Phoebe personally mad, she just enjoys picking on me because it brings her a sense of joy. But today, something is different, and I'm not quite sure I want to know why.
I gulp.
She clamps her hands onto her lean waist, leg strutting to the side. Her nose is crinkled, like I'm the bag of garbage she's been asked to take outside. "What were you doing with the new guy yesterday?"
"Caleb?" I ask, butt staying planted in my seat. I find myself unable to move.
"Duh, who else?" a skinny girl with tanned skin says behind her.
Phoebe shoots her friend a look, before turning to me as the girl shrinks in place. "Have you bribed him to speak to you or something?" she interrogates, lips pouting.
I scoff. "No. Unlike you, I don't have to pay for my friends," I snap.
She leans back a bit, raising her pencilled eyebrows and opening her mouth in disbelief. I had never spoken to her like that before.
Things are changing. And I know who might be responsible for it.
"Then why was he talking to you?" She is close to yelling now, but is clearly undergoing an internal battle to keep calm.
"Beats me." I shrug.
"I already called dibs on him. He's mine," she snaps.
"You can't own a person," I reply, beginning to stand up from my chair. Most of the cafeteria is gathered around at this point, muttering quietly to each other.
The motion surprises her, but she quickly gathers herself, hissing in return, "Everyone wants me, though. Why would he be any different?"
Not inching my firm gaze from hers, I recall every name she has ever called me, every time she tripped me up in the halls, or when she told everyone I had herpes in sophomore year.
And just by thinking of these things that she has done to me, I bring up the courage to answer, "Maybe this time, he's different. Things are changing, Phoebe. But also..." I lean forward and say in a hushed-tease voice, "maybe he just doesn't like you."
Her friends behind her gape at me as a firm, tight grin spreads across my face.
Not having anything to say as response, she scowls and grabs a tray from the closest table. In a split second, the cheesy fries that the tray had once contained are all over my shirt. She then clutches my soda can and dribbles the liquid down my head, wetting my hair with the sugary water.
Everyone bursts out laughing, while I stand there, frozen in place. The sound of laughing diminishes and is replaced by a constant ringing in my ears.
I grab my bag and run from that room, far from it, trying to stop the tears from submerging my cheeks.