As Ashton sat in the English classroom, he pulled out one thin sheet of paper and his signature black pen. He refused to look up at his teacher, writing the beginning to the next letter. However, he stopped after the two introductory words.

There was no way in hell Luke Hemmings was going to let his student walk out of his classroom that day, and Ashton knew it. He believed he had finally been caught.

It was about time that Luke found out, for Ashton was growing tired and his fingers grew calluses from writing so hard.

Staring down at his paper, he counted the seconds to each minute. Sure, he was usually a cocky, confident person. But with the doom and anticipation ahead of him, it was hard to stay strong. It was his fault, and that he knew. The last sentence in the last letter was his worst decision. Especially when he needed to talk to Luke about his depressingly low grade.

When the deeply tuned bell sounded through the class, Ashton stayed seated as he watched his classmates slowly head out to the hall. He looked down to his note and crumpled the paper in his hand.

"What do you need, Irwin?"

"Just wondering if we can talk about my essay grade."

"What questions do you have?" The teacher asked, seemingly unaware of the one sided tension.

That poor bastard was oblivious, Ashton believed.