When I walk into Room 303, I'm relieved to find that Oliver is seated beside Clifford, the only student at Hilton whose parents don't fly first class. Personally, I think it's great that we offer scholarships to the academically gifted seeing as our world-renowned faculty is often wasted on morons.

I hand Mr. Takanaki my late slip, thank God Mrs. Patella agreed to write one, and head to the back of the classroom, scanning for a free table. My choices are either to sit with Olive Newman, a friend of Maxine's, I don't know her very well but she seems fairly harmless. Or I can sit beside... Sawyer. Great. He's in this class too? I strut towards Olive and plop my school bag down on the desk.

"Oh, sorry, Kenny," Olive says, her eyes apologetic. "Jasmeen is sitting here. She's just in the bathroom right now."

"Of course she is," I grunt, dragging my feet to the far table on the right side of the room as our photography teacher drones on about the syllabus. I perch down on the stool next to Sawyer, the scent of his sweet cologne wafting in my direction. Such a familiar scent. One that I used to love and spray on my pillows.

But now it's equivalent to emotional feces.

"Why are you taking this class?" Sawyer whispers as I pull out my notebook. "Trying to up your selfie game?"

I don't understand Sawyer. One minute he's relatively nice to me, the next he's calling me a bitch. Whoever said women are hormonal clearly never interacted with highschool boys before.

"I needed an arts elective," I explain dryly, jotting down notes as I listen to Mr. Takanaki review the grading rubric. Thankfully, most of the assignments are individual with only two partner projects. Maybe I can ask the teacher to do them alone. I'll buy a tripod or something.

Despite what people say, teamwork seldom makes the dream work.

"Oh," he hums. "And you chose photography?."

"Yup," I say. "It was either photography or painting. We both know I'm not artistic. At least with photography, I just point and shoot."

"I think there's a bit more to it than that, KC," he muses with a low chuckle. "Otherwise everyone would be a photographer."

"Sawyer, please," I sigh, his laugh causing my gut to clench. I miss laughing together. I miss laughing in general. "I'm trying to listen to Mr. Takanaki. Stop talking to me."

What is his deal? Does he honestly think that we can be friends? Or maybe he's trying to get me to lower my guard so he can rip out my heart again. Did Corrine put him up to this? Is this a game? Regardless, it's not happening. I will not be a pawn. If wants the honor of talking to me, he can date me. Otherwise, he can fuck off.

"Whatever, KC," Sawyer mumbles as he scribbles in his notepad. "Just trying to make conversation."

"Well stop," I state in a stern tone. "You're distracting me."

We manage to get through most of the class without saying a word to each other, that is until Sawyer breaks the blessed silence by asking, "So are you really dating the new kid? I heard from-" He pauses. "What I mean is...is it true? You're with Oliver now?"

Oh my God. I guess Corrine passed on the message.

"Yes, I am," I confirm, turning my head towards Sawyer, his jaw twitching with irritation. He didn't have this reaction in the hallway. Interesting. "Is that a problem? Does it bother you?"

"Not at all," he says with a shrug, relaxing his muscles, his fingers fiddling with an eraser. "Do whatever you want. I mean, you just met the guy but sure, go ahead and date him. I don't care."

I scoff. He totally cares. My plan is working faster than I expected. Eat your heart out, dickwad.

"Try again."

"I'm serious, KC," he whispers, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't care."

"If you didn't care then you wouldn't have brought it up," I retort, keeping my eyes on my planner. "Clearly, it's bothering you."

"Why would it bother me?" he asks, his tone defensive. "If anything I feel bad for the guy. He doesn't know what he's gotten himself into."

I roll my eyes. "Someone's butthurt," I murmur, internally grinning.

He is so jealous. It's only a matter of time before he realizes he made a grave mistake and he takes me back. Then everything will go back to normal; my plan to rule Harvard together will be back on track.

I'm well aware that I'm walking a thin tightrope between love and hate, but I can't help it, I'm hurt yet pining at the same time.

I blame psychology.

"I am not butthurt," he seethes, shifting his weight, the seat creaking beneath him. "I just find it interesting you were able to move on so quickly."

"What?!" Is he fucking with me right now? Hate. Now I'm teetering towards hate. "Me? You waited, what? Two weeks before hooking up with Corrine?"

"I didn't-"

"Mr. Redford, Miss Carmichael," our teacher's voice booms from the front of the class, all heads turning to face us. Shit. "I'm sure whatever you're discussing can until I'm done lecturing. Now please, pay attention, I won't be repeating myself."

I catch Oliver's speculative gaze as his eyes dart between me and Sawyer. Ugh. Great.

"Sorry, Mr. Takanaki," I say, tossing a sly smile at my ex-boyfriend. "Sawyer was just asking me how to turn on a camera."

A few laughs circulate the room. "And KC was just asking me how to be a decent human being," he counters, scowling at me. "Apparently she's worried about going to hell."

Bastard.

"Yeah, well, Sawyer-"

"That's enough," Mr. Takanaki sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Both of you, please, just remain silent for the next ten minutes."

I slump in my seat. This is the first time I've ever been scolded by a teacher. Ever! Maybe I can volunteer to clean his lenses or something. Get back into his good graces.

"If you kept your voice down, he wouldn't have said anything," Sawyer whispers in a sour tone. "Completely your fault."

"Oh, shut up," I murmur, turning my body away from Sawyer.

My fault? I wasn't the one who initiated dialogue! I have nothing to say to Sawyer anyway. Nothing. He still hasn't explained why he broke up with me. Probably because he can't come up with a good lie. It's doubtful he'd actually tell me the truth, that it's because I wouldn't sleep with him. It's the only reasonable explanation. We had no other problems. None.

It's quiet for the rest of class and when the bell finally rings, I hop out of my seat and run out the door, heavy footsteps following closely behind.

"Isn't talking during class against the rules?" Oliver sings, brushing past me. "Aren't you supposed to be setting the standard for proper conduct?" He waves his index finger at me and tsks. "Bad girl."

"Don't remind me," I groan, looking around us. Dozens of sets of eyes are eerily staring at us like we're under a spotlight. Damn it. I suck in a sharp breath, meeting Oliver's gaze. Showtime. "Take my hand."

"What?" Oliver asks, his eyes darting to my open palm. "Right now?"

"Yes," I whisper in a harsh tone, forcing a smile for the audience. "Take it. Quickly. People are watching."

"Fine!" Oliver grumbles, reluctantly reaching out and grabbing my hand as we walk towards the senior's common room. "Happy?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm simply ecstatic," I say as our classmates' faint whispers swirl around us.

Maybe Hilton Hears will retract their last blast. There are enough students around that the news should reach the wannabe Gossip Girl in no time. Here's hoping.

As we turn the corner, Oliver adjusts his grip on my hand, his rough fingers linking through mine. They're like gritty sandpaper, barnacles on an otherwise smooth rock.

"You have calluses," I observe, the heat from his hand flowing up my arm. I didn't notice them earlier, granted I was in a mild state of shock.

"Yes, I'm aware. They're from drumming and riding," he explains, cocking his head towards me and adjusting the textbook propped under his arm. "Is that a problem? Would you prefer it if I had soft feminine hands?"

"Nope. I have no preference." I clear my throat, the tips of my fingers tingling as we reach our floor. "I was just making an observation."

"Well, your hand is sweaty," Oliver notes with a cheeky grin. "Just an observation."

"Ah!" I exclaim, tugging my arm away. "No, it's not! It's just- it's condensation from your stupidly hot hand." I look the other way, hoping he doesn't notice my cheeks burning up. "Maybe you should go get that checked out. It could be a severe health complication."

"What sort of health complication stems from warm hands?" Oliver asks.

"Uh- I can't think of anything off the top of my head but I'm sure it's not normal to have such a high body temperature."

"Well perhaps I'm dying then," Oliver smirks. "Because I always run hot." He pauses, subtly licking his lips. "Always."

"Oh-" I swallow away a lump forming in the back of my throat. Maybe I'm getting sick. "Well in that case, maybe you should, um...move to Siberia then."

Oliver chuckles. "Siberia? What?"

What? Oh, God.

"Uh-" I stammer, biting my lip as Oliver keenly waits for an explanation. Where was I going with this? Think, damn it, think! Oh. "Cause it's cold there?"

"It's cold?" he asks, an amused smile capturing his lips.

"Mhmm," I hum, a wave of embarrassment washing over me. "You'd uh- You'd save a lot of money on coats...because you're, you know, always... hot."

Oh dear lord. What is coming out of my mouth? I'm usually good with words. No, I'm fantastic with words, with explanations, with basic communication skills. It's Oliver. He's tripping me up with his stupid accent and his... height. Yes, his height. Tall people intimidate me.

"Coats?" Oliver asks, leaning towards me, his grey eyes scanning my face. "You alright? You look a little... flustered."

"It's been a long day," I peep, inwardly whimpering. Why is he so close to my face?! "I'm just- tired."

Yes. I'm tired. Exhausted actually. I should nap. If I nap now, I can study later and then wake up early enough to run to town and back. Excellent idea. As per usual.

"Funny, me too," he says in a low suggestive hum. "Maybe we should go and sleep... together."

My eyes spring open at his outrageous and utterly inappropriate suggestion. "What?!"

"What do you say, love?" Oliver wiggles his eyebrows. "Apparently, I can keep you very warm."

"Wha-"

I pause, catching a hint of mischief glowing in his eyes. Oh, he's messing with me. Fuckface! He's trying to rattle me. Well, two can play at this game. I straighten out my shoulders and take a stride towards him, my eyes hooded, flirtatious.

"My room or yours?" I ask in a whisper, biting my lip.

Oliver stiffens, his eyes icy, shocked, shaken. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks in a strained tone as my fingers trail long his hard chest. Hmm. Maybe he works out. "Stop. Touching. Me."

"Oh, you don't like this?" I coo, tightening my grip around his navy tie and tugging his face towards mine so that we're at eye level. "Am I making you uncomfortable? If this is too much for you to handle, how in the world are we supposed to sleep together?"

Oliver's eyes harden as he pulls away, clearing his throat. "Well played, Carmichael," he mutters, rubbing his chin methodically. "I underestimated you."

"Yes. Yes, you did," I grin, giving myself a mental pat on the back. Kenny 1, Oliver 0. "Well, this has been fun but I'm going to go. I'll see you tomorrow for Lemar's party, okay? I'll bring you a copy of the master key in the morning."

"No key, no party," he states, digging his phone out of his pocket, a frown knitting his dark eyebrows as he reads a text. "Oh, for fuck's sake." He exhales, shaking his head. "I gotta run. Catch ya later."

"Okay, b-" Before I can say goodbye, Oliver storms off to his dorm room, cursing under his breath.

God, he's moody.

_______________

Sawyer, I'm sensing a little jealousy, pal.

And Kenny, girl, are you nervous or something?

THOUGHTS?

How'd I react if I were in Kenny's shoes: