Chapter Seven


You know what? I hate Tuesdays but I think my bad luck loves them.



1) Regina waking me up in the morning for a nice rejuvenating (and unfortunately mandatory) round of yoga. The yoga I could handle. I mean, hello, I am a model for chrissakes. I'm used to posing in a snap making me do it at 4 o' clock in the friggin' morning when I have had only two hours of sleep? (Stupid Adam. This is his fault. If he hadn't been on the net and kept buzzing me to chat, I would've slept earlier.) Not even I, with my extraordinarily long patience, can tolerate this…this…inhumanity. I was not alone in my vehemence. Eric and I were on the same wavelength and spent the whole morning shooting daggers at Regina and my mother – the two perky demons from yoga hell – as they told us to do at least the lotus position.

2) My mother, for once, winning our daily breakfast battle. Everyday, my mother tries to feed me one of her health dishes and everyday I escaped that horrid fate because I was going to be late for school. Unfortunately, today I was wide awake before the sun even shone (thanks to a certain yoga-loving model who will not be named). Experimental low-carb, low-cal, low-fat (and low-flavor) dish #44 tasted like soggy cardboard somehow.

3) Staining my 'Johnny Depp Is My Soul Mate' T-shirt with puke dish #44. My favorite, lucky t-shirt + glob of health barf #44 = Cataclysmic event of infinite proportions. Any questions?

4) Getting attacked by a certain perky model who, I'm beginning to think, has a fetish for red hair – or mine at least. She apparently feels that just a little bit of mousse will go a long way with my hair. Suffice it to say, despite my desperate attempts at clawing my way out of that mess, I was outnumbered by my mother and Regina (Eric has mysteriously disappeared during the course of this attack – the traitor). My hair is now sufficiently moussed and styled to perfection. I dared not to look in the mirror for fear of turning into stone. Not even when I met up with Adam in the lobby and he said that I still looked the same. His exact words were "hair care products are no match against your 'evil spirals'. (I feel offended – my spirals are not evil, they're just wild – but since he gave me bagels when I complained of starvation all's forgotten.)

5) Three words. Tristan. Dante. Torrington. That's not even a coherent sentence yet. Watch what happens when I add the rest of the sentence. Tristan Dante Torrington waiting for me at my locker. Gives you chills just reading them together, doesn't it?

And the last but definitely not the least…

6) Anne-Marie lurking beside him. Four words this time but they pack a punch in the gut just the same.

Okay. So that wasn't really five and Anne-Marie wasn't really lurking. If you haven't noticed, I exaggerate a little. Actually, by the looks of Tristan's posture (one side of his body leaning against the lockers, blocking my view of Anne-Marie) and how his and Anne-Marie's heads were so close to each other that they only need to whisper to hear each other – they're probably flirting.

There. Next to my locker.

Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

This will not do. I'm already having a bad day and here these two idiots are flirting right there in front of my stupid locker like they don't really care that this geek needs to get through.

Well, no way am I just gonna stand idly by doing nothing to help myself. Nuh-uh. I am gonna take charge. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do. Take charge of my own life from now on. And this will be my first courageous, monumental step.

"Excuse me." I said in a stupidly high-pitched voice. I winced, so much for my courageous attempt. "I-I need to get some stuff from my locker…"

They're not even looking at me.

"Hey…" I tried again, my confidence wavering along with my patience. "Could you two please move?" This time my voice rose higher than before but was successfully louder. They both turned to see where the mouse-like sound came from.

That's when Anne-Marie's eyes (looking for the pitiable mouse that shrieked - me) met mine. She stared at me – cold and calculating. The way a tiger would eye its prey's next move to sudden death and I saw a new layer of shiny plastic mold over her. (Note the exaggeration on my part. I just love the drama.)

"Good Morning to you too, Samantha Kristina Yvonne…" She smiled, enunciating my name as if there was an underlying meaning to it.

The school's warning bells rang and just like that Anne-Marie straightened from her position next to my locker, gave me another shrewd stare before turning to Tristan.

"We'll finish our talk later then, Tristan dear. Tata for now." Anne-Marie purred, trailing her hand up his arm and squeezing it before walking away.

Tristan, a normal 17 year old boy with normal 17 year old boy needs and urges, stared after Anne-Marie (and her swishing booty) walking down the corridor before she disappeared around the corner.

I banged open my locker hoping it would surprise him – it didn't.

"Watch your strength there, Kristina. The locker may not survive at the end of the day if you keep banging it."

"Hardy-har-har, Tristan." I scowled, grabbing the books I needed as fast as I could, scraping my knuckles in the process. "What were you two doing flirting anyway? Geez."

"Flirting?" He cocked an eyebrow as if he didn't know what I meant.

"Yes, flirting and in broad daylight too. What if a teacher saw you? He'd blame me for your inappropriate behavior! Me!" Of course, I was lying. The teachers only cared if you went explicit and started kissing and/or groping but whatever.

"Would you feel any better if I flirted with you instead?" He smirked.

I started to walk away out of disgust and annoyance. I'd reached the other end of the corridor, before someone grabbed my backpack.


"Tristan, what has my backpack ever done to deserve you? Is my bag secretly some axe murderer by night or something?" I twisted my neck to look at him. And although people were staring at us, they thought it not worth the risk of being late to class. Tristan ignored them all the same and smiled sardonically.

"Nothing really. You, on the other hand, I'm not so sure." I noted the smugness that rang in his voice.

"What are you talking about? Let go please. It's too early in the day for me to get harassed." I tried to wriggle out of my backpack but he held my shoulders instead. "We're going to be late, damn it."

At last, Tristan let go but before I could run like hell to the safety of Advanced Math – yes, I did just say that – he said something that had me rooted to the floor.

"You know what, you kinda remind me of someone." He said, musing. A harmless statement, I know. It could mean anything, absolutely anything not just what I feared. Nonetheless…

"Who?" I heard the warning bells ring one last time signaling that class was about to begin. Great, I'm late on top of being on the verge of being found out. I twisted around to face him again, setting my face into a sardonic mask just in case he was kidding. It didn't work to hide the tension that emanated from me though. I just hoped he wouldn't notice.

Tristan hesitated a moment, before smiling again. "My dog, I think."

I snorted in derision. I had worked myself up for nothing. "Thank you, I find that flattering. But now we're late."

"Mrs. Diaz will understand, I'm sure." Not likely, I thought and I tried to voice it as such. Tristan may think he's in tight with the teachers now for showing off yesterday but Mrs. Diaz was a stickler for punctuality. She'd never let anyone off the hook for being late to her class – never.

You'd think it would be alright for me to get detention. I mean, it's not that bad – detention, I mean – but it's not that I'm trying to avoid. My mother would blow a gasket off her pretty little head if she found out. Ladies never get detention. Never. If I got one now, I'm afraid I'll lose my hearing from the sermons (explicit emphasis on the s) she'll no doubt give me. I needed to do something about this. The last time I didn't listen to her it was bland tofu meals for a month.

"I have an idea, Tristan." I said, stopping feet from the door. "You have to do as I say, okay? If anyone asks you anything just say yes and go with the flow." I fixed my gaze at him, my face not showing a trace of the feelings inside me. "Okay?"

He nodded, too curios to object to what I had in mind. I continued to walk to class, suppressing the smile trying to surface. Yes, sweet revenge. Revenge for what I wasn't sure but I still feel justified for what I'm about to do. When we reached the classroom, I turned back to Tristan.

"Right, I want you to stay here while I talk to Mrs. Diaz. I'll tell her something and she'll let me in," I raised my hand adopting a serious, I-mean-it look. "Don't follow me in. When I get in you have to wait, say three to five minutes, before you follow. Got it?"

"That's it?"

"Yes. Problem?" I quirked my head to the side. Curiosity, confusion, doubt and suspicion clouded Tristan's face all at the same time. It was fun to watch him squirm.

"No. Whatever you have in mind, I probably don't want to know." Tristan said finally, shaking his head.

"Good. Now shoo. Go hide somewhere while I work my charms here." I watched Tristan retreat to a nearby row of lockers before marching up to the door and twisted the knob open.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mrs. Diaz!" Mrs. Diaz stopped mid-lecture and she and my classmates turned to stare at me. "I-uhm, I had to escort Mr. Torrington to the nurse's office."

"Oh dear, is he all right?"

"I'm not really sure, Mrs. Diaz. He wouldn't come out of the toilet when we got there. The nurse just told me to get back to class." I faked concern, making sure my expressions looked as sincere as possible. "I'm sorry I'm late. Should I go get a tardy slip from the office, Ma'am?" I volunteered, making a move towards the door.

Mrs. Diaz looked startled for a moment. "Oh, no need for that, Miss Evers. Please take a seat, you're excused for now dear." She gestured to the two seats left at the back.

Hook, line and sinker. I resisted the urge to smile and managed to keep a straight face by the time I'd reached the chair. I hoped Tristan remembered not to follow me directly in.

I tried to act as normally as I could, taking down notes and participating in the discussion but I kept glancing at the clock. It's already 8 minutes since I got in. Where was he?

As if just by thinking it, Tristan came in, looking strangely winded and his hair was wet. What the heck was he doing out there?

"Mr. Torrington! Back so soon?" Mrs. Diaz looked surprised and I kept my face as befuddled and as surprised as possible – an easy feat because of Tristan's appearance. She looked my way for a moment, suspicion glinting in her eyes but then she turned back and decided to grill Tristan first. "Are you quite sure you're all right now? Did the nurse say anything about your condition?"

Tristan's eyebrows scrunched together and I prayed to God he wouldn't glance my way. "Condition?"

"Yes, Miss Evers told us you were in the toilet for quite some time." Mrs. Diaz, her motherly side taking over, whispered in concern. "Food poisoning maybe? Diarrhea?"

And for all the thoughtfulness that Mrs. Diaz had by whispering everyone still heard her. I mean, I heard her and I was at the back of the room.

"No, ma'am. She didn't really care to explain." I knew Tristan was a born liar."She just gave me some medicine and told me it was okay to come back to class."

"I see, may I see the nurse's slip then?" Oh crap. I forgot about that detail.

"Slip?" Tristan looked confused. "I didn't know I needed one ma'am. The nurse didn't give me one either -should I go back and ask one?" He took a step back towards the door, strangely imitating me a while ago, and I saw Mrs. Diaz look alarmed.

Impressive, the boy can act as well as lie.

"Oh no! That's not necessary, dear. I'm sure the nurse just forgot. No need to go back, please take a seat now." She said, looking uncomfortable for even considering the notion of Tristan lying. Ah, his brownnosing had benefits after all.

Tristan nodded, looking solemn, and went to sit next to me as the class continued. We were reviewing our past lesson and it was after 10 minutes of doodling on my notebook and occasionally scribbling down a reminder or two that something hit the side of my face. The piece of paper skidded to the other side of my desk before I caught it.

What in Maeve's hip replacement was this?I glanced up to see if anyone had noticed the paper fly through the air before discreetly opening it beneath my desk.

What exactly just happened? And why do I have the feeling that I should be very angry - if not annoyed – with you?

Oh, Golly gee, Tristan. Whatever gave you that idea? I hastily scribbled down a reply. Sliding the note over to his aisle with my foot, I pretended to stretch my legs. Tristan noticed my actions and looked at me. 'Be subtle.' I mouthed and shot a glance at Mrs. Diaz at the front of the room.

He nodded and dropped a pencil. I looked away when Mrs. Diaz, glanced our way when Tristan bent over to pick it up, the note along with it. A minute later Tristan snorted before looking at me incredulously. I smiled. What on earth was Tristan glaring at me like that for I wonder?

My reply had been simple and truthful enough.

Oh, didn't you know? You apparently developed an affinity for the toilet and wouldn't come out for a long time.

And because I had nothing to do with it at all, I added, I'm innocent and you know it. 0:-).


What was up with the Wet-Hair, Catching-My-Breath look back there?

Tristan, despite my effort to warn and show him to be subtle at passing notes threw another piece of paper at me yet again. I gave him an exasperated look before opening the note. I mean, really, how many times must I get hit in the face?

I think I know why you have to wear a wig now. It's to hide the horns isn't it, Satan's little helper?


Wouldn't you like to know.

My gut clenched at what he wrote. Wig? He couldn't possibly mean what I think he meant. Could he? No way, how the hell would he have found out in the first place? I shook the silly notion away and wrote down something other than what I really wanted to ask.

Wig? My hair's all natural, you moron. Just like my horns. And 'Wouldn't you like to know?' What the heck are you talking about? Is today 'Be Cryptic to Kristina' day or something?

I glanced at Tristan while he read it. He was smirking now. Staring back to the front, I waited for his next note, letting my thoughts wander to the sickening thought I had a while ago.

Oh God, please, please tell me he was just joking. He doesn't know, right? I mean, how the hell could he find out? I've only taken off my glasses in front of him just once. He couldn't have noticed the similarities that fast, could he? Oh God, give me a sign. Please, I need to know if he knows or not. Please, God! Just answer me just this once.

The paper skidded across my desk and I caught it with my shaking hands. Trying to compose myself I had crumpled up the note and smudged it a little. But what I read made my heart stop momentarily.

I know.

Crap. God, I didn't really mean it that way. Please tell me that was just a coincidence.

"Miss Evers." Looking up, I saw that Mrs. Diaz had stealthily managed to creep up on me without my notice. "I wonder if you could share to everyone what you and Mr. Torrington find so urgent to discuss in class.

Double crap.


"So why?" Twenty-one. That was twenty-one times already and we were just about to go to lunch. My head was beginning to throb from his persistence. This boy just doesn't know when to quit. So I didn't show Mrs. Diaz the paper so what? He isn't the one who has the detention for doing that – I do. The persistent bastard just can't leave things be.

The voice still chattered beside me. And I let it just wash over me, the words an incoherent jumble.

Why had I not told my mother last night about him? I'm sure even with the Regina-is-being-stalked-so-she's-staying-over fiasco my mother would have time for this pressing matter.

The said pressing matter was currently waving a carrot stick in front of my face.

"Where'd you get that? I didn't see you order any carrot sticks?" Tristan smiled, happy to have finally caught my attention. He pointed to the lunch my mother had packed for me. "Who said you could take that out?"

"I took the liberty. Besides," He held the vegetable beside my hair. "It matches. See? Carrot stick." He gave it an extra wiggle. "Carrot top." He said, pulling on one of the many red spirals in my hair.

I grabbed the carrot stick but before I could chuck it back in his face someone else chimed in.

"Kristina isn't a carrot top. She has more red in her hair than orange." Brianna smiled exuberantly and sat down next to Tristan, Marissa and three other girls in tow.

"Totally. It's such an exotic color." Marissa agreed, giving my hair a scrutinizing once-over that I wanted to flinch. "Where'd you get it dyed?"

"Er, thanks." I wonder if it'd be rude to correct them. "But it's…"

"Really? That's dyed? God, how do you keep it from fading?" asked another girl, twirling her hair flirtatiously. I'd thought she was doing that for me but then I'd noticed her eyes stray toward Tristan. Of course, she'd be more interested in him but I vowed to still try to be friendly. I mean, it's not her fault that she finds him hot and more interesting than me - it's stupid Tristan's fault.

"Actually, it's not colored. My hair really is just like this." I shrugged but noticed that no one was paying attention to me anymore. They had already moved on to another topic concerning Tristan's opinion on whether or not redheads could wear red. So much for my attempts at friendship.

I stared back down at my sloppy joe - it was oozing a bit at the side - and I imagined it with a face. It would probably give me one of those You're-so-pathetic and/or What-a-loser looks I get whenever I generally embarrass myself.

If my lunch had a life it was certain that it would look at me like that.

I bit into my sloppy joe at the thought of being, yet again, frowned upon.

"I cannot believe you're eating that." A tray consisting of only salad and a small cup of yogurt was placed daintily to my right. "Do you realize how much calories those things pack?" I followed the hands that held it to the persons' face and froze like a deer caught in the headlights.

Anne-Marie, ignoring the fact that I hadn't answered her question and had chosen instead to gawk at her, greeted the rest of the people sitting with me. She greeted them with familiarity and warmness to her tone, something she's never bestowed on me. She was probably like this because Tristan was beside me.

Brianna, obviously feeling self-conscious in Anne-Marie's presence, smiled as sweetly (and as blindingly perfect) as possible. "Hey, Ann! We were just talking about hair color 'coz, like, Marissa is planning to dye her hair." She cocked her head to the side. "Even if she's fine the way she is, you know, the natural look. What do you think about red?"

The girl in question smiled just as perfectly (God, this school is a dentist's dream.) before frowning in obvious disapproval. "Red? I hate that color; it reminds me of hookers like that one Julia played in 'Pretty Woman.' Why would you ever consider that color? It is so passé." She said all this with no tact at all - as if there weren't actually any redheads in the vicinity. "Marissa, you're going for what look again?"

"The sophisticated, fun and sexy type, I guess." Marissa sneaks a glance at Tristan (who is just nodding his head not really caring because he's too busy eating my carrot sticks), waiting for him to disagree and go all "But you already are." Poor Marissa, I should probably tell her to just forget about it.

"Then you definitely shouldn't pick red. God, how tacky can you get?" Anne-Marie continued her onslaught of my hair color. Everyone in our table (except Tristan) was listening intently as if there life depended on it.

"Oh, well, what color should we pick? Um, you know, for Marissa, I mean." A blonde from my AP Physics piped up.

"Duh!" She flipped her hair before, calling attention to it. "Brown, of course. Brunettes are totally hot now."

"Ooh, like Anne in that movie about the brides!"

"No, I think it's more like Natalie Portman or maybe Jessica Alba."

"Jessica isn't a brunette. Both she and that Ashlee girl are blonde, right?"!"

"That's Jessica Simpson, Marissa!"

"What about that girl, Skye? She has brown hair and she's totally beautiful."

The whole table buzzed eagerly, Anne-Marie who had spent that time finishing her salad was moving on to her yogurt when Tristan joined in the conversation.

"She isn't that beautiful in real life." He said, leaning back in his chair having finished off my lunch.

Both me and Anne-Marie choked on our food at the same time.

"No way! How could you say that?" We both said and stopped when we realized how in sync we were just then.

"Because I've been up, close and personal with her." He shrugged. "She just isn't that pretty."

Perking up on some underlying message in that sentence, Brianna leaned across the table. "Exactly how close are we talking about here, Tristan?"

"Very, very close." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Oh this has got to stop. He is totally lying! "We met up at my welcome home party. She practically jumped me at first sight."

"Liar. ThatAll you did was because you stole thesteal gummy worms." I finally piped up.

"How would you know that?" Tristan looked surprised at what I had let slip. Crap, I'm not supposed to know this. The only people who know that stupid gummy worm incident are Skye and Tristan. Oh no, everyone is looking at me, even Anne-Marie.

Kristina, you are an idiot.

"Oh. Well, youYou know, my mother. She… she tells me about these things sometimes. She may have mentioned thatit in passing."

"Miss Evers told you that? Then you must know a great deal about Skye herself." A devious smile crept up Tristan's face.

This is bad.

"No, no. She doesn't really talk much about her clients. Only insignificant little tidbits, you know…"

"Really? Skye seems to know you." He said as nonchalantly as if we were talking about the school librarian knowing my existence instead of an international supermodel. "She talks about you sometimes."

"Wow." B. asked, leaning down even more, her silk camisole visible where she didn't button her blouse. "You and Skye are probably friends too, right?" Her big baby blues wavered from Tristan to glance at me.

"More or less, yeah." He grinned. "Emphasis on the more part." Oh this guy is so damn cocky! This totally sucks. I concentrated on filling my mouth with food so I couldn't randomly defend myself again.

Chomp, chomp, chomp. Chew, chew, chew.

"Are you two an item or something? Why haven't I heard it on E! already?" Marissa frowned playfully. "Oh, is Skye asking you to keep your love a secret? That would be so romantic!"

No, that would be so pathetic.

"But I thought she was dating that guy…. Um, the lead singer in that band that covered on Rolling Stones last month."

"Ooh, you mean him? But didn't they break up? She's with one of the male models in her agency now, I think."

Tristan looked intrigued at the mention of my many beaus. "She's got a lot of exes, doesn't she? She didn't seem the type."

"Hmm… that's probably why she's able to lure man after man, I guess." Brianna said slowly. "Kinda makes her sound like a slut now that you think about it." The girls looked thoughtful.

"But she's nothing compared to that other supermodel, you know, Regina Reinhart." To my surprise (and horror), Anne-Marie was defending me. "Now she's a slut."

With newfound veracity, I ate my sloppy joe silently. A mouth full of food won't spew things you're not supposed to say. So just eat, ignore the people insulting my friend. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

"That Regina person sounds like Anna Nicole Smith."

"Oh yeah, totally! She even has a bodyguard now coz she's there are rumors that she's being stalked."

"Seriously? Oh my God! She is such a whore!"

"I know. She should work as a porn star instead of being a supermodel. I'm going to replace her anyway as soon as my agent gets me a go-see for Belle Laide."

"Congratulations, Bri! I'd bet you'd make a great supermodel! I'm sure modeling will be really easy."

"Of course it is. If that Regina Slut-at-heart can pose and look semi-pretty, I sure as hell can. Smiling for the camera isn't that hard when you've got the look." Brianna smiled and winked at Tristan sweetly despite her harsh words "And I've definitely got the look."

A miracle has just occurred – I've lost my appetite. I think it was better when they were backbiting me instead of Regina. I'm the slut here not her. I went on those dates with those two guys and all the other ones I can't remember to deflect all those lesbian rumors that have been floating around. It's not my fault those stupid boys thought we were exclusive. God, I hate it when plans backfire.

"As if it were that easy." I muttered to myself before gulping down my bottled water.

"And what makes you say that, Kristina?" Shit. I choked on my water in surprise. I thought nobody had heard me. I looked to the person at my right. God, why'd she have to sit close enough for her to hear me? Anne-Marie's tone was cool and rather indifferent but her eyes glinted curiously at me. The conversation around the table had already ended and the ones closest to us – Brianna and Tristan – listened in. My cheeks started to grow hot but I know this is my chance to protect Regina. I won't be made a stammering fool either.

"Well, a model's work is more serious than what people normally think. It's not just smiling for the camera." I glanced at Brianna. "You have to be physically fit for anything so that means workouts and exercises to improve your flexibility, to sculpt this, to flatten that. A model needs all that and more just to be ready for whatever a job demands whether it's 4 hours of runway practice, suspending from wires 20 feet in the air, posing underwater in nothing but a silk and saffron gown for hours nonstop…" I stopped enumerating all my past experiences when I saw that I had Marissa and the other girls' attention. "You'd have to do all that and still look as beautiful and graceful as your employers want you to be." My mouth started to run away along with my common sense but I didn't stop until I noticed that all of them were staring at me in rapt attention.

Oops, I forgot who I was with.

"You sure know a lot about modeling, Kristina." Marissa leaned across the table. "Did your mother tell you all that too?"

"Um, yeah. She's very passionate about her job and she used to be a model as well. SO she knows pretty much everything there is to it." I manage to smile albeit tentatively at her. "She tells me about the stuff over dinner…"

"I would've thought otherwise." Tristan interrupted. Staring at him, I realize he has a devious, scheming aura about him. "It sounded like you were talking from experience." He smiled and looked over my head to the person seated next to me. "Don't you think?"

"Aack!" I screamed more in surprise than actual pain when something hit me square on the head before landing on my tray, right on top of my beautiful sloppy joe.

"OMG!" The girls squealed in unison. How they're so in sync, it's starting to creep me out. "What is that?" Marissa squealed all by herself (good for her), pointing at the foreign object on my tray.

I rubbed the top of my head, the blow didn't hurt but that was probably because my hair was so thick and springy that everything that lands on it bounds back up.

Tristan picked up the offending item from my tray so I could get a good look at it. Half-encrusted in meaty goodness was…

"A muffin." Anne-Marie deadpanned. "Somebody just threw a blueberry muffin at you."

The girls leaned across the table again and stared at the muffin like it was an alien life form. I wouldn't blame them. Who the hell would waste a perfectly good muffin so they could hit me in the head with it? Looking behind me, those nearest to our tables were the only one who noticed. A flash of movement caught my eye and I saw near the exit, crouching behind a potted plant the culprit – Kylie.

And beside her, looking confused and amused at the same time (while still looking hot btw) was William Love-of-My-Life Ashbury.

Oh could this day get any better?


"A muffin." I glared, my voice scolding. "You hit me with a blueberry muffin to get my attention."

"Technically, William hit you with the muffin since he threw it."

"Ah yes, because you forced him to." Kylie for all her worth did the smart thing and looked guilty. 'And you couldn't have just texted me because…?"

"We're not allowed to use cell phones inside the school premises."

"So is throwing muffins at unsuspecting people." I hissed, exasperated.

"But William threw it!" Kylie wailed. The sound bouncing off the tiles in the girl's bathroom, it was making my head throb even more now. "You should go scold him, not me! This is total BFF discrimination. Just because he's the love of your life doesn't mean he can get away with murder!"

"Stop being so over-dramatic. Don't you know it's the evil mastermind that gets it in the end not their henchman? Why'd you do that anyway?"

"Well, I'm not really that talented at hitting random things from across the room, am I?" She cracked a smile but froze when I kept up my glare. "And, um, you know, because he is the captain of the basketball team, so I thought why let him do it...?" She looked up again and her voice grew feebler. "That's all."

I narrowed my slits at her, concentrating on the steady thudding at the side of my head. I wasn't really mad at her, in fact, I was glad that she'd interrupted that tense atmosphere a while back. It was just fun to tease Kylie like this. I let slip a chuckle and Kylie instantly perked up and hugged me, happy to be let off the hook.

"Sorry, Krissy! I promise I'll never get your attention by throwing pastries at you."

"Nice try, Kylie. You mean, force someone else to throw pastries or any other paraphernalia at me." I said, pulling back.

"That too." She grinned. "Now, on to important matters. What was Anne-Marie doing in my seat?"

"You tell me. At first I thought she was just there for Tristan but they hardly talked to each other."

"New flirting technique? I mean, Anne-Marie does seem to have the hots for Tristan as well as William."

"I don't think so…" She hadn't said a word that would fit that theory. All she really talked about was Regina and Skye. And Tristan just then… No don't think about this now. You're just paranoid. "Paranoid or going crazy." I muttered.

"So d'you wanna come with me?" Kylie had moved on to another topic, oblivious t the fact that I wasn't exactly listening anymore.


Kylie pouted – one of the few signs that preceded The Look. "Come on, please! I promise you won't get humiliated again! Maeve didn't mean to leave her oatmeal on your seat. It really was an accident!"

Oh. She's visiting Maeve again.

"I can't, Kylie. Mrs. Diaz gave me detention." I never thought there'd be a bright side to this.

"You got detention?" Kylie looked surprised and I realize how much of a goody two shoes Kylie must take me for if she – Queen of the Goody Two Shoes – holds my honor in such high esteem. "You're bluffing! What'd you do?"

"Disrupting the class and all that jazz. You know how she is on Tuesdays."

She nodded obviously still shocked. This must be new to her since she's never ever gotten a detention much less scolded by a teacher.

"I'll try to make it next time, okay? For now just tell Maeve that I'm sorry I couldn't come." I'll have to get my revenge next time, Maeve-darling.

"Oh! Before I forget, Maeve made something for you! Here." She pulled out something green from her bag and held it up for me to see.

It was a green crochet sweater. Oh God, that woman is evil.