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"F*ckin' A!" Julian yells, and I glare at him in return.

"What now?" I irritably drawl.

"Never told me you had such a hottie living next door," he laughs. I look up to see him practically drooling at the window. I go up to it, and of course it's the girl next door. All she's doing is... cleaning, again, just like yesterday. Sweeping.

I close the curtains quickly, making Julian pull his head back with a slight frown. "Don't stare at her, dude, that's creepy." I shake my head at him with a disapproving look.

"Not my fault she's a sculpture," he scoffs.

"Just... I dunno, back off."

"Oh," he laughs again, "I see what's going on here. Alright man," he puts his hands up in surrender, "she's all yours."

"No, I'm not—"

"So who's she friends with?" he changes the topic, already bored with the previous girl.

"How should I know?"

"Because pretty girls are always surrounded by other pretty girls. And it's not like I hang around 'em, so I wouldn't be able to tell."

"There's other sh*t to life than girls, dude," I sigh, bored with the topic. "And I've gotta go soon, so you should probably go. Going to Sammy's again tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Then maybe you should keep your eyes off the neighbor or break things off with Sammy."

"Right. We'll see."

✾

Wednesday is the point that marks how it's finally halfway through the week. Since we had finished up our unit test in Calculus on Friday, our tests are being handed back out by our teacher.

Mrs. Landers isn't exactly the best teacher, but she's passionate about teaching. If she really gets worked up about a problem, the other teachers sometimes have to come in and tell her that they can pretty much hear her yelling like a football coach.

What really isn't a good sign is when she hands my test back face-down, unlike the other students...

I flip it over and see my fourth F in that class. More specifically, it's a bright red 38%, red like blood.

Below that, there's a little note in loopy handwriting which reads, See me after class! It's even underlined for extra emphasis, and as if that isn't enough, she added that my overall grade in that class had dropped to an F instead of just a D now.

So when the sound of the bell ringing echoes down the halls, I trudge to the desk where Mrs. Landers is expecting me. She waits for a little bit longer and I'm surprised to see the girl next door walk up to the desk as well. She bites her lip nervously and the teacher smiles at her.

"Mr. Wright," the teacher addresses me, raising one of her sharp eyebrows. She repeatedly clicks her pen on the desk, and my shoulders drop in shame.

"You're not passing this class," she continues, giving me a stern look. "You're having trouble, is that right?"

I nod slowly.

"I thought it would be good for you to make some room in your schedule for tutoring. This girl here, Iris, she's my top student in this class." Mrs. Landers smiles brightly. "And I was thinking she could be your tutor. I'm really suggesting that you see her two or three times a week for at least an hour. Believe me, Pierce, I know you're a good student and I want you to pass this class. I just wanted you and your tutor to meet each other."

I look at her with a polite smile, and she does the same before looking down at her shoes.

"I have students coming in now, so you can leave," Mrs. Landers dismisses us.

With that, Iris starts to bolt out of the classroom before I call, "Hey, Princess!"

She turns around, making a sour face at the name. I look down at her and smirk, but she just narrows her eyes at me. "I have a name."

"I know."

"Then why are you calling me that god-awful name?"

"You're cleaning you the house every time I look out the window. Sweeping, mopping, washing dishes... and it reminds me of Cinderella."

"So that's why you called me 'Princess'?" she asks slowly.

"Yes," I answer even slower, definitely in a condescending manner. "I don't talk just to hear the sound of my own voice."

"Right," she scoffs. "Whatever, I have to get to class. We can meet up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday right after school for one hour. First session is at your apartment right after school this afternoon, got it? Don't even bother arguing."

"You could just make it every Monday for two hours," I think out loud. "It would make things a h*ll of a lot easier for me."

"I'm not concerned about making things 'easy for you.'" She winces, as if it would be horrible to do something that isn't selfish.

"Alright, fine then." I shrug one shoulder. "I don't think I'd be able to stomach you for more than an hour anyway."

With that, I get to my next class. And I'm definitely not letting the gaping, dumbfounded girl behind me go unnoticed.

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A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes