Thursday rolled around which meant it was Betsy's and Ashton's first study session. He told her during English class to meet him at his car.

Thing is, she didn't know which car was his, so sue her for not paying attention to the 'most popular guy in school'.

She scoffed at the thought. Betsy solely believed in everything against cliches and stereotypes, and Ashton Anders was exactly that.

Yet here she was, on her way to tutoring him in English, like what the fuck was she thinking.

Because maybe, just maybe a small, tiny part in her was wanting this. Wanting him.

"Bets!"

She turned around at the slightly familiar voice, her eyes fixing on Ashton himself. She never noticed his good-looks—never cared enough to even spare him a glance and here she stood, admiring him.

He had eyes so intense in colour, they were noticeable from afar—her heart almost fluttered as they gazed into her own.

She snapped herself out of the trance, "Please don't call me that."

He smirked a little as he halted his walk and towered over her, "Okay honey.."

Betsy scrunched up her nose at the nickname—peeling away her gaze from his and setting it on the concreted ground below them.

"That's..." she paused and searched for a word, "gross. Call me Bezzy or Betsy if you must, thank you very much."

He cracked a light smile, listening intently to the words she spoke—internally cringing because he kind of liked her voice. It flowed in the warm air sweetly and he figured honey might genuinely be the perfect name to call her.

So he did, "Okay honey."

She groaned in response, "I swear to god man, don't make me regret doing this."

"Sorry, sorry, I'll refrain from calling you that," he laughed, holding up his hands in defence. He wouldn't refrain.

"Good," she nodded, "Now where's your car?"

He pointed over her shoulder, and she turned to peek over—eyes catching onto a small greyish-blue jeep.

"Surprisingly nice car," She complimented, impressed.

She was glad he didn't own some sports car since he was you know, popular. Whilst, rich and popular were two different things they complemented each other perfectly. And usually with one, came the other.

"Thanks," he said, his cheeks blushing ruby red from the praise.

They began walking over to it—an uncomfortable and awkward silence

creeping between them both but they ignored it. Betsy on one hand ignored it for the sole reason of simply avoiding a conversation and well, Ashton ignored it in hopes it will go away because he was already thinking of things to talk about.

"...So..." he began, as they sat in his car and fiddled with his keys, "Got any siblings?"