Chemistry is my last class of the day. I can't say that I like it, but it's not like I hate it. There are pros and cons to it. Pro: it's the last class of the day. Con: it's chemistry. Pro: we hardly ever do actual work. Con: I have gym right before chem, so I'm always sweaty in class afterwards.

I fall into my seat with these thoughts swimming through my mind, dropping my binder and pencil on my desk without much thought. I pull my dark brown hair back into a high ponytail to get it out of my face, realizing that I need air. Today we had to do the mile run in gym, which isn't fair considering we literally had conditioning the day before. It's a miracle that I even managed to change back into my regular clothes, consisting of a dull t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Mr. Musgraves hasn't started class yet—he's still out in the hallway—so I decide to lay my head down for a moment. I don't notice that I've drifted off until I feel the tap on my shoulder, rudely awakening me from my well-deserved nap.

Startled, I jerk my head up so fast I hit my head on the table behind me. I wince, rubbing the sore spot that's just formed on the back of my head. From the direction I felt the tap I hear a loud laugh, irritating me. Good to know someone finds my pain funny.

I glance up, taking the person in. I recognize the messy dark hair and startingly green eyes immediately. Thorne.

"This seat taken?" he asks, noticing me looking at him. He gestures to the empty desk next to me as he speaks, waiting for me to answer.

I don't know what to say. It's not like I want him to sit next to me. But it's not like I can really lie, either. I mean, he can clearly see that the seat next to me is not taken.

"Uh, n-no," I somehow manage to stutter. In response, Thorne drops his things to the ground next to the desk, falling into the seat roughly.

"That was a pretty hard hit," he says, turning those green eyes on me again. It's hard to even think when this boy is looking at me. I'm the invisible girl. I always have been. People don't pay this much attention to me, especially not people of the opposite gender! And it's not just the fact that he's looking at me that freaks me out; it's the way he's looking at me. Like he can see through all my walls and covers. It's scary, in a way.

"Um, what?" I choke the words out, unsure of what it was he just said. Thorne leans back in his seat, chuckling, still looking at me.

"When you hit your head," he says slowly. "Looked like it hurt."

I raise my eyebrows, pressing my lips together. "Is that why you laughed?" I'm shocked that the words even made it all the way out of my mouth once they formed in my mind. I am not the kind of girl who gives people sarcastic retorts. Still, I said it. And the smile that Thorne gives me after I do makes me believe I'd say it again if I had to.

"Touché," he mutters with a slight nod. It falls silent between us, so I go back to looking down at my unopened notebook. Still, I can feel his eyes on me, burning through my flesh. It's still unsettling to me, how he can make it seem like he knows everything about me with just one look.

Mr. Musgraves walks in, clearing his throat to get the class's attention. He immediately dives right into a lecture on the periodic tables, pulling a picture onto the smart board and telling us to take notes.

Being the goody-two-shoes that I am, I open my notebook and grab my pencil, writing down as much of Mr. Musgraves lecture as I can. Next to me, Thorne sits low in his seat, his notebook unopened. Not that I'm paying attention, or anything.

That's when the tapping starts. As Mr. Musgraves goes onto the next slide, Thorne begins to rap his pencil against the desk to a rhythm only he can understand. He keeps tapping at a steady pace, the sound driving me crazy. I purse my lips, forcing myself to ignore it.

Ten minutes later, Thorne is still tapping his stupid pencil. It's become distracting to me at this point, and I can hardly sit still. I turn to him, gritting my teeth.

"Could you cut that out?" I hiss, narrowing my eyes.

Thorne raises an eyebrow at me, looking somewhat clueless. "Cut what out?"

"That tapping," I whisper, gesturing to his pencil that hovers millimeters above his desk. Thorne looks down at the pencil, as if he didn't even notice he was holding it.

"Oh." His lips curl into a smirk, a dangerous gleam in his green eyes. The shine reminds me of the look Emmie gets in her eyes when she's about to tease me, and I brace myself. "Does it bother you?"

"Yes," I mutter quietly, falling behind on my notes. "So could you please stop?"

"First rule of being annoyed," Thorne says in a low voice. His gaze is on mine, that cocky smile still plastered on his lips. I shift, feeling my cheeks flush. Despite the fact that he's being totally aggravating right now, I can't deny that he's attractive. Especially when he's this close to me, giving me a look that says he knows exactly what I'm thinking and is loving every second of it. "Never tell the person annoying you that they're annoying you."

I swallow hard, pulling every stitch of confidence inside of me (which isn't much) to the surface. Raising an eyebrow at him, I ask, "And why is that?"

Thorne looks as smug as ever as he taps his pencil on his desk one more time, biting the corner of his lip as his grin widens. "Because then they know they're annoying you. And then they can keep doing it."

I unintentionally roll my eyes, not quite sure where this side of me is coming from. I'm not normally like this at all. No matter how bothered I am. But it's the way he continues to look at me, like he already knows me. It's like there's no point in putting bridges between who I really am and who I pretend to be, because he already knows the difference. And I don't think anything in this world could scare me more than the feeling that rushes through me at that realization.

"So I suppose you're just going to keep annoying me, then?" I ask with a loud huff of breath.

Thorne's smirk widens and he gives me a little wink. I don't know why, but the gesture makes my heart pound slightly faster; makes my cheeks flush red. "You suppose right."

"Gee," I mumble, looking back down at my notebook. At this point, I don't even know where we are in the lesson. It's surprising to me that I don't really care, either. "How kind of you."

"I'm not a very kind person, Sunshine."

I don't think his words really register in my mind. Instead, I find my brain focusing on the fact that he just called me Sunshine. I slowly begin to depict every inch of the word, wondering why he called me that, what it could mean, and why I even care.

I turn to him, raising my eyebrows. "Sunshine?"

Thorne nods, tapping his pencil against his desk to that weird rhythm again. The only difference is that now I don't really care about his stupid pencil tapping against the desk. I care more about the name he just called me and his reasoning for saying it.

"Yeah, Sunshine. It's an oxymoron."

I can feel my eyebrows shooting up again, this time shocked by the fact that Thorne even knows what oxymoron even means. "What do you mean, it's an oxymoron?"

"It's ironic, because it's the opposite of your personality. You're kinda . . . I dunno, rude? So I called you Sunshine."

This is news to me. I'm the rude one? In what universe?

"Well, then," I snap, glaring at him. "If I'm rude, then you're brash."

"Brash?" Thorne gives me a smile that fits the term perfectly. "That's the best you've got?"

"You want me to insult you?" I ask, utterly confused. I can feel my eyebrows furrowing together, my lips pursing the way they always do when I don't understand something. Thorne lets out a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. I don't think his gaze has shifted from mine throughout our entire interaction, and I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to feel about that.

"Oh, Sunshine," Thorne says condescendingly, shaking his head as he bites back a grin. "I don't think you could insult me if you tried."

Something about his words hurt. Sort of like when Emmie called me pure at lunch earlier. It's like, in the minds of the people around me I'm this fragile, innocent girl who keeps to herself. And I know that people think of me this way, because it's the persona I choose to lead during school. But it hurts to be told I'm thought of this way, because part of me doesn't want to be. Somewhere deep inside I find myself thinking that I want to be the girl people adore. The girl that gets invited to parties and asked out on dates and everyone finds alluring.

Instead, I'm invisible. And I've never had a problem with that before now.

"Don't be too cocky," I hear myself saying without putting much thought into it.

"Go on," Thorne presses, pushing me on. "Show me what you've got."

I think for a moment before turning to him, biting the inside of my cheek so that I won't smile. "You're very vainglorious."

Thorne stares at me for a moment, a blank look on his features. The ends of his lips begin to curl, and before I know it he's laughing. He covers his mouth with his hand to stifle the sound of his chuckles, his broad shoulders shaking as he looks at me, bursting into laughter all over again.

"That's the best you've got?" he asks between laughs, shaking his head. "V-vain-glorious? I don't even know what that means!"

I roll my eyes at his immaturity, swatting the end of my ponytail over my shoulder. "It means vain," I say with a duh tone. "You're conceited. You think of yourself very highly."

Suddenly, Thorne isn't laughing anymore. All signs of laughter have faded from his features, an expression of seriousness taking its place. I swallow hard, wondering if I insulted him. I get the feeling that Thorne Baxter isn't the kind of person you want to insult.

"Nice try, Sunshine," he mutters under his breath. Then his eyes aren't on mine anymore, and he shifts his body away from me. I don't know what's made him shut down like this. I don't know why he's suddenly decided to lock me out. All I know is that I regret saying anything. I find that I kind of want to talk to him, which is shocking. What's even more shocking is the weird pain I feel in my chest when I look over at him, only to find that he's looking down at his hands.

Thorne doesn't say a word to me for the rest of class. He does, however, continue to tap his pencil against the desk. Only, I do notice that he uses the eraser end so that the sound will be minimized and way less annoying.

The bell rings and Mr. Musgraves ends his lecture, giving us the go to start packing our things up. I silently grab my notebook and place it back in my binder, slipping my pencil in its case. Just as I'm turning to stand up, I notice Thorne glancing at me once again. He doesn't have that I-know-something-you-don't-know expression painted across his handsome face this time, though. Instead, he has a more reserved/curious expression on his feautres that I can't quite read.

"Hey," Thorne says, stopping me before I can rise from my seat. "What's your name, Sunshine?"

I only hesitate a second before saying, "Mia. Mia Rose McHenry."

Thorne's eyes shift over my features as he nods, leaning back in his chair. "Mia Rose," he says softly, like he's trying the name on for size. "Pretty name, Sunshine." And with that he stands up, gathering his things and walking out of the room without looking back. I can feel my heart racing in my chest, unable to process what just happened.

Thorne Baxter knows my name. He calls me Sunshine. He told me my name was pretty.

Now it's just up to me to decide if all of this is a good thing.

Or a complete nightmare.