There was a pregnant pause. Dead silence. A momentary stillness.

Then Hartley screamed like he was in the I Knew You Were Trouble goat video. It was a loud shriek, overtly feminine, and it was the most glorious thing I'd ever heard. It elicited a pang of joy that spiralled from my dark soul through the rest of my vindictive body. It cleared my skin and brightened my day. I would prefer to deprive myself of oxygen for an entire day than to miss out on that delightful noise.

Hartley, probably, did not share the same sentiment, based on the violent rattle of the bathroom doorknob.

"Lena? Lena?" Another scream. "I thought rich people were supposed to have spider-free houses!" It was a proclamation tinted with hysteria.

I giggled slightly.

"C'mon, Lena," he said. "Let me out. There's... oh shit, there's seven of them."

Well, they weren't poisonous. Hartley was just a drama queen. He was going to be fine, right?

My phone buzzed. It was from Daria: Hey, did I just hear a scream? Are you guys both okay?

For a fleeting second, a hint of doubt crept into my mind. Daria had the capacity to make anyone feel guilty, though she hated that power, given she held a complete aversion toward all negative emotions. Her innate goodness made me feel like a swamp witch in comparison. Should I feel bad? Maybe I should adopt a new philosophy: WWDD. What would Daria do? Not this cruel trick; she would never. I felt bad, I realised, really, really bad.

Then I remembered the goat scream and was absolved of all guilt.

I texted back: Alive. Don't stress girlie, he's fine.

He squealed again. Evidence he was alive and therefore was, you know, fine. I applied the term loosely.

After thirty seconds of shameless flailing from Jace, which involved the death of his dignity through begging, banging at the door and appeals to higher powers for safety from the harmless little creepy crawlies (though he called them harbingers of death in his prayers), Hartley fell silent.

Perhaps the gods had granted his wish for safety by sending him to heaven? Or maybe his bestie in the underworld had invited him for a visit. It was wishful thinking, I know. I was going to have to put up with Jace Hartley again.

Still, the silence was less fun than the screaming. "You alright, Hartley?" I called through the door. Concern did not motivate the question. It was purely a consequence of boredom. I was hoping he'd say no, really. I didn't want him to say he was alright, not one bit.

"Can you let me out, please, Elle?" he said quietly.

It was the name that did it. It was one that had marked our relationship for years. I had called him every foul name under the sun, and yet he'd really only ever called me Elle. And despite all the foul things he'd ever said in return, of which there were many, that name was never one he'd used with malice or aggression.

Elle was his olive branch, in a way.

It was not one either of us really wanted me to take.

I crept up the door, disguising my footsteps with plush carpet. I didn't know why I bothered to move silently; he could see the shadow of my feet from behind the door. For some reason, I didn't make a sound.

I paused for a moment, contemplative. I could continue my prank; I could send in Austin's snake (it was non-venomous; I wasn't going to kill him in my house. As he had so helpfully pointed out, he would haunt me forever), and let the panic continue.

But that stupid name. Elle. Please, Elle.

Really, if he was going to sacrifice his dignity and become all delicate, I'd already won this prank anyway.

There was no need to worry Daria anymore, now that I'd already won.

I told myself that Daria was the only reason as I turned the lock.

He didn't open the door immediately. A thousand thoughts rushed through my head; what if he had a panic attack and died? What if he secretly had asthma and never told me in case I exploited it and he'd had an asthma attack and died? What if there were traces of banana in the soap and he was actually deathly allergic and he died? God, what if the sketchy guy who'd sold me the spiders behind the school gave me poisonous varieties as part of an extensive conspiracy plot to kill Jace (I didn't blame them) and then he'd been bitten and died?

He was going to haunt me forever. I would never get rid of him.

Then he flung the bathroom door open and hurtled out of the bathroom. Faster than Lightning McQueen. And directly into me.

There wasn't enough time to step out of the way, or even laugh, as Hartley came toppling out of his bathroom prison. All I could do was jump with fright and exclaim, "oh, shit" as Hartley and I fell to the ground together.

I wonder what my physiotherapist would say about this. I read on the internet that being pushed to the floor is essential in recovering from a broken leg.

Through the haze of shock, guilt and discomfort, I only had two thoughts.

The first was: wow, thank god for astronomical wealth. These carpets are delightful to fall onto.

The second was: I am lying beneath a panicked and murderous Jace Hartley.

After a moment, my third thought was mostly the second one on a continuous loop. I am lying beneath Jace Hartley. As in, he is on top of me. And I am lying beneath him.

Every inch of his body was pressed against mine, covering me. I was a tall girl, the same height as Hartley, essentially. But footy had given him enough bulk that he felt bigger, stronger. There was enough of him that I could use him as a pole behind which I could avoid people because no one would see my figure behind his.

"Are you okay?" was his first question.

I shook my head, both to clear the disorientation and to protest the unfortunate circumstances. "Physically? Yes. Mentally and emotionally, no. I'm catching cooties."

There was a belated pause before the oddness of Hartley's expression registered. He was smiling. Grinning. The panic and humiliation and anger were completely absent from his face; there was nothing but a placid smile tinged with the discomfort of the ragingly inappropriate and compromising closeness of our bodies.

"Hey, Elle?" he said, smiling down at me. It was unfair, really. If I was looking down at someone from this angle, I would have as many chins as there were terrifying spiders. His chin, singular, was perfect and chiselled.

I hated him.

"Yes, Mr Screaming Goat?" I replied sweetly.

"I haven't been scared of spiders since we were children."

When I realised what he'd just admitted, the fatal flaw in my brilliant plan, the rage that was absent in him rose uncontrollably within me.

"What? No. You were terrified."

He grinned. "I know. I made my parents desensitize me to them so you wouldn't use it against me again."

I must admit, I admired his dedication. It was something I would've done. For a brief moment, I wondered why Hartley hadn't moved yet. I could still feel him above me, pressing down, his weight atop me odd and unfamiliar.

"What was with the screaming then?"

"I just thought it would be funny, you know. And I also thought you'd be less likely to suspect this." And then he plucked a spider from his back, which was the single most disgusting thing I'd ever seen in my life, and dropped it on my face.

Never in my life have a jolted the way I did then. In an equally embarrassing and high pitched fashion, though, unfortunately, I couldn't save face by claiming it was an act, I screamed. Hartley's body was pinning me to the ground, so I threw my head to the side to dislodge the spider. I think it was terrified of the screaming, so it gratefully scurried away, seeking refuge behind the dresser.

I'd specifically planned the bathroom so that I could easily protect and gather the spiders after the prank, but fine. I would safely de-spider my bedroom, too, I guess.

As the panic subsided, I glared at him with unrestrained heat and crazy eyes. Jace had been subjected to my crazy eyes on countless occasions.

Hartley was laughing again. "Oh wow, your face. I have totally won this match."

I looked up at him with disgust. "You did not."

"Come on, Lena," he said. "Admit your defeat graciously. No one likes a sore loser."

"I will never be beaten by you. I will beat you, over and over again. It's my life's mission to make you pay, Hartley."

"Aw," he tweaked my nose. "You are obsessed with me."

I tapped the back of his head in mock violence, a feigned hit. It was the one line we'd never really crossed. I didn't like games that weren't fair, and I knew he would never, could never, hit me. So I refused to do it in return.

The tap, however, did not encourage him to release me. Instead, he ducked to avoid my open palm, bringing his face closer to mine. I took the opportunity to look at him for a moment. To observe the jawline that I hated. To watch the eyes that I loathed. To take in the genuine smile that I'd always perceived as a vengeful smirk, the one that I couldn't stand.

I did not like Jace Hartley. I didn't.

"I was just, uh, checking in," said Daria from behind us.

Jace scrambled off me and was on his feet before I had the chance to process her voice.

"Um, hey guys," he said, and once again I was amused by the capacity of his usually deep and calming tone to rise to an octave I was unaware existed.

When I lifted myself into a sitting position, I groaned at the crowded doorway. Daria was standing at the front, and the smile that rested on her face was sunny enough to melt the remaining icebergs in Antarctica. Kaelin had her phone out, clearly admiring her picture of Jace and I (I would fight her later for intellectual rights), while Alec and Liv made kissy faces at us. Harry was smiling faintly, and Austin, who'd clearly just arrived home, was singing cheerfully: "Jace and Lena sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"I would like to point out," I said, after a quick glance at Jace. "This is not what it looks like."