You have got to be kidding me.

I ram my keys into my "vintage" car and let the engine roar for a hot minute before it dies again. Nothing. People shoot me weird looks as I wrestle with my car so I try my best to pipe down in embarrassment. My dad and Joie must be cruising on their way home by now and here I am fighting with my car.

Does this count as karma? Because if so, karma is a-

"Need a ride?" I hear. My body pauses as Lola Greene walks over to where I'm still attacking my car like Crazy Steve outside the bagel shop.

For some reason, her existence intimidates me despite the kind look on her face. I don't know, teenage girls scare me in general.

"Thanks but I'll just call my parents," I manage to respond.

The second the words leave my mouth, I realize that my mom thinks that I'm studying at a friend's house.

I can say with confidence that my mother is extremely strict. She thinks that girls shouldn't spend time going to games and parties but should instead on, well, studying.

"Um. Actually, I could use a ride... if that's okay with you."

Lola smiles at me. "No problem."

I tell her my address as we get into her sleek black convertible and she simply nods, her full-lipped smile ever-present on her face while driving just at the speed limit. It's going well until she turns in the opposite direction of my house.

I feel like I should correct her but my social anxiety spikes, holding me back. My brain searches for excuses. She's probably just taking another route or something. All of my hopes are squashed when she parks outside of a house in the middle of an unfamiliar street.

I can hear crazy laughter and booming music from a block away.

"Um...where are we?" I ask as we get out of her car. She pulls her wavy brunette hair out of its high ponytail and flounces it a little.

"The after-party," she answers cheerily in a 'duh' voice. My eyes start to blink rapidly.

"Wait, what? I thought you were going to give me a ride home?" I ask awkwardly.

Lola stops and her lips form a perfect O.

"I'm sorry. I thought you wanted a ride to the party." She glances over at the house then back at me with a smile. "Well, since you're here, have some fun." With an encouraging look, she walks off and straight into the arms of Jaden Brown.

Oh no.

---

I thought the game was uncomfortable... That was nothing compared to this. Music that I can't understand pounds at top volume, overpowered only by shrieks of girls' laughter as guys take body shots off of them. Everywhere I look, there's a couple hooking up. The whole house reeks of weed and sweaty gym socks. When I first entered, I grabbed a drink and I've been taking mindless sips out of it ever since. I thought it was juice but the way my vision is starting to blur makes me think it's not.

I'm searching for a trash can to toss the drink when a random football player swoops me into a slobbery kiss.

"Ew! Get off of me!" I spit as guys hoot and holler at him. The alcohol intensifies my anger, which I can usually control well.

My first kiss ruined.

Seeking revenge, I grab a drink to pour on his head when a hand grabs my wrist mid-air, stopping me.

I don't even look at the owner. "Let go of me!" I demand as I wrestle my hand away.

Finding that I still have one mostly-full drink in my hand, I try to toss it again only to be stopped a second time.

"You don't wanna do that," a low, velvety voice warns. My head turns slowly to finally get a look at the guy. Oh geez. He's Harris Lee, the fastest runner on the team. He looks down at me like a carved statue, high cheekbones and sharp jawline. He's frustratingly gorgeous.

He's a menace.

I pull my arm out of his grip. "Disgusting," I mutter, shooting a glare at the guy who kissed me, and begin to walk away.

Harris grabs my wrist again. "I know you," he says with a glimmer of recognition.

All of a sudden, he bursts into laughter. "Hey, DeMarco!" Harris yells over at the barbarian who violated my lips. He holds my arm up with a smirk. "This chick's Coach's daughter!"

As if I weren't already enough of a boy repulsion, announcing that I'm the coach's daughter basically creates a force field around me.

"Are you going to let go of me?" I speak up, realizing that he still hasn't let go of my wrist. The second his grip loosens, I pull away with a glare. "Ugh, screw you, Harris."

"What the fuck?!" he sneers as I'm walking away in such a disgusted tone that I stop to turn around in bewilderment. "What kind of dumbass are you?"

For a second, I'm left stunned because no one has ever spoken to me like that before. "What is your problem?" I demand.

"I'm not Harris."

My eyebrows rise in disbelief. That's why he's so mad?

"Ok. My bad," I state. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to apologize and walk away but it's not like I did anything to apologize for.

He glowers down at me and I can practically feel his obsidian eyes burning into my brown ones.

"What?" I ask tiredly. "You're gonna glare at me like a little kid who didn't get his way?"

"You must think you're hot shit, talking to me like that," he responds, his lips curling.

Out of the corner of my eye, I realize a crowd is starting to form trying to see what little girl is picking a fight with a Lincoln football player. I need to get out of here before I get jumped by his fans.

Clearing my throat, I put on my sweetest smile, the one that makes teachers melt. His eyes narrow more but his jaw relaxes the slightest bit.

"I'm really sorry that I didn't know your name," I apologize, eyes wide. "It was wrong of me and I hope you can forgive me."

A smug smirk overtakes his face and he looks away for the first time to run an ivory hand through his black hair. Seeing the opportunity, I toss my drink onto his clothes and put on my poker face. Before my confidence fades, I turn to walk away but can't help but pause when I hear him mutter, "where the fuck do you think you're going?" so lowly that it could be a whisper if not for the roaring undertones.

Exhaling loudly, I turn around and cross my arms.

"I'm going home," I state. "Is that okay with you?"

He stalks over to me, at least six feet tall and pure lean muscle that could easily pummel me to the ground.

"Girls like you," he starts spitefully. "Who always have everything handed to them like they're fucking princesses never learn respect."

He moves up to me until we're just inches apart. Bracing myself, I ignore every cell in my body screaming at me to step back and refuse to break eye contact. Electricity sparks between us.

"You don't know me," I reply bitterly. I've worked hard for what I have and I know that damn well.

"I don't?" he challenges, cocking a thick, dark eyebrow. "You don't go to games; you don't go to parties. In fact, you being here today is probably a mistake. You think you're SUCH a good girl and you're so much better than all of those stupid kids skipping school because your daddy raised you right so it's your responsibility to teach delinquents like me a lesson." He finishes with a smug smirk that screams 'I told you so.'

"You're wrong," I disagree. "What people I don't know do is none of my business and I feel no urge to change you because, as we've already established, you and I don't know each other."

It's at that moment that I realize that our faces are WAY too close. His eyes are so dark, they're starless.

I back up. "You know, if you weren't so rude, I wouldn't be rude back."

He tilts his head ever so slightly. "So it's my fault you're being a-"

"Don't say it," I warn.

"Bitch," he finishes with a disparaging grin. "You're being a bitch."

"You're such an asshole. How can you call me a bitch after meeting me two minutes ago?!" I exclaim.

"Hypocritical much?" He quirks an eyebrow and I swear I catch a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Is he ENJOYING this?

Clenching my teeth, I sharpen my glare.

"You started it," I point out, as childish as it is. "I don't understand how you can be so full of yourself that you get pissed that I don't know your name."

"Everyone knows me," is his response.

I scoff. "Are you the president or something? Why should I know who you are?"

He steps back, crosses his arms, and smirks before ending me in three words.

"I'm Zack Darrington."

Shit.

I do know Zack Darrington. Well, I know of Zack Darrington. We have grown up in the same city after all but I've never actually talked to him.

Zack Darrington is hailed as a god in our city, the best running back on the west coast, if not the country. The school worships him because losing him means losing games. Not to mention, he's devilishly handsome.

He's untouchable.

I called him an asshole.

"Scared yet?" he asks with a cruel smirk. It's not really a question.

Yes. "No," I let out, shocked that my voice isn't shaking. I press my lips together. "I've heard the rumors about you but from what I can see, you're not so impressive."

He lifts his chin back a little and studies me, almost amused. "And what are these rumors?"

I bite my lip, contemplating what to say. "I heard you're hot" isn't exactly my best option at this point.

It comes out before I can help out. "In fourth grade, you cried when the class bunny died." My words shock myself. How do I even remember that?

To my surprise, this makes him laugh. Even his laugh is deep and dark, and it fills the room entirely.

"You're funny, aren't you?" he says, his eyes glazing over me seductively.

The urge to barf and melt battle inside of me. So this is why he's scary. Because it takes him less than two seconds to change into this charming person. Charming like Ted Bundy was charming.

"Don't do that," I demand, and the edge of his full lips curls up.

"What?" he asks innocently.

He knows what.

"Don't suddenly act nice."

"You want me to be mean to you? Is that one of your kinks or something?" At this point, all of his anger has evaporated and has been replaced with entertainment.

I roll my eyes. "You're a pig."

Insult to pigs.

"You like me," he responds without missing a beat as if there's no possible way I couldn't have fallen for his charming insults and hateful eyes.

I choke on the air. "I like you?" I repeat. "Please. I have standards."

"Let me guess." He walks closer to me. "You're waiting for Prince Charming to appear on his white horse and sweep you off your feet."

He waits for me to reply but I can't. His body is too close to mine and I can feel the heat coming off of the broadness of his chest. Even in this nasty place, he somehow smells good. I don't get how he can smell like smoke and wind but even more, I can't understand how that can smell good but it's intoxicating. Like the scent of burning marshmallows over a campfire.

"I must be right," he decides, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Why are you so interested? Do you like me or something?" I say it with the complete knowledge that he doesn't have a remote interest in me.

He leans down to put his face right in front of mine. Brown meets black. I don't dare breathe.

"How can I like you when I don't even know you?"

Speak, Amelia. Speak.

"Good," I respond shortly. "I don't want you to like me."

He smiles at this.

"What's your name?" he drawls, his voice silky smooth like a fine wine.

"Amelia," I answer after some hesitation.

His grin stretches. "Look at that. Now we know each other."

I roll my eyes. "I'm leaving." This conversation has been a waste of both of our time.

"You need a ride home?"

My brows raise in disbelief and I cross my arms over my chest.

"I'd rather walk than get in your car." I scowl.

"Who said I was offering?"

My blood pressure rises. I start to feel myself lose composure.

"You literally asked- I- ugh, you're so irritating!"

"Oh, I'm sorry." His voice is dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't realize I was forcing you to talk to me."

I inhale deeply. "You're right."

I turn to leave but he grabs my wrist to stop me for a final time.

"Ok, seriously. You want a ride home or what?" he asks.

I pretend to think it over for a sweet minute and give him an innocent smile, which drops immediately as I tiptoe to match his gaze.

"I'd rather crawl."

A/N: Don't forget to vote and comment :) thx for reading