"You better fucking not."

"I will. You can't stop me."

"I can fork you in the face. Bet that'll stop you."

"Go ahead, if you can even reach that far."

I scowled at the humanoid block of ice I was currently arguing with. In his grasp was the book Apartment 212, which I'd gone back for and stolen from his apartment a while ago. It was dumb luck he'd seen it tucked in one of my cupboards. Now, he held it over the chock-full trashcan and was threatening to drop it in.

I, on the other hand, had a very sharp fork at the ready. And I was dangerously close to using it.

"Drop the damn book," I growled, glaring at him. "And not in the fucking garbage, or I swear this fork will find its place in your eye."

He arched a brow, moving his arm ever so slightly to the left. "Oh? Then how about I drop it in your filthy compost bin?" My scowl intensified, and he glanced at the compost in disgust. "And speaking of filth, there's this handy little thing called a broom. Ever heard of it?"

"I don't need advice from you, Mr. I-Make-Up-Extravagant-Lies-Just-For-The-Hell-Of-It. That book is mine."

His lips tightened into a displeasured line. "You have no idea what you're talking about, as usual. Besides, I made this book. It belongs to me, and I can do with it whatever I see fit."

"Technically we made it," I pointed out. "When we were children. You're not even the sentimental type," I said scornfully. "I don't know why you kept it, considering you have a black hole for a heart."

He cocked his head, eyeing me derisively. "How clever. Did it take you long to come up with that?"

"It won't take me long to stab you with this goddamn fork, that's for sure."

He snorted. "So small, yet so violent." I bristled, and he let the book slip through his fingers a little more. I glanced at the gross compost bin. The book definitely wouldn't survive in there. 

"Anyway," he drawled, inching his fingers closer to the edge, "that doesn't change the fact that the book is mine. I can do what I want with it. And right now I want to throw it out."

I laughed harshly, waving the fork in my hand. "If it's yours, then why the hell did you put my name on it?" 

He stiffened, glowering at me angrily. I gave him a nasty smile in return. He knew I was right. Underneath the title, two co-authors were named. One of them was him.

The other was me.

"Can we please calm down?" Prof interrupted, looking between the two of us in alarm.

The others crowding my apartment—specifically, Rokim, Lisa, and Adrian—nodded along nervously. We paid them no attention, continuing our fierce staring contest.

"Hanna," Rokim said carefully, making his way over to where I was standing. "Why don't we put the fork down?" he asked, sounding as though he were talking to a child. Albeit a child who'd managed to get her hands on a very sharp object.

"I'll put it down when that pisse-froid gives back what's mine!" I growled.

The pisse-froid in question laughed mockingly. "Do you think you sound smarter, speaking in another language?" he said through an arrogant smirk. "Parce que je peux parler en français aussi, mademoiselle."

I deftly spun the fork between my fingers, and I felt a surge of satisfaction when I saw his eyes widen slightly in apprehension. 

"Est c'est vrai?" I rejoined, switching to spanish. "Qué hay del español?"

He gripped the book tighter, and I silently dared him to let it fall. "Fácil," he replied without missing a beat.

The others in the room looked like they were watching a ping pong match. Rokim stood nearby, his mouth hanging open, as we engaged in a battle of wits.

"E come è il tuo italiano?" I continued, seamlessly switching tongues again.

"Probabilmente migliore del tuo."

"Oh, davvero?"

"Davvero."

We continued like that for a long while—I bounced from language to language, watching as Rian answered them all perfectly. 

The fork in my grasp slowly lowered, a wicked smirk spreading over my face. The boy knew not who he was messing with. I'd make sure to crush that infuriating arrogance of his.

Finally, I decided to up the difficulty.

"Du kannst mich nicht schlagen," I taunted. Germanic languages were always a bitch to learn. "Du weißt das, oder?"

This time, he faltered before answering. "Da."

I cocked an eyebrow. That didn't sound like german. "Da?" I repeated, watching smugly as he realized his mistake.

"Nicht . . . da," he said through gritted teeth. "Das ist lächerlich." 

My smirk widened. I could smell victory. I only needed to knock him off balance once more—and I had just the thing.

"Quid iniuriam, Rian?" I drawled in latin. It was a dead language. Barely anyone knew it anymore. And judging from the frustrated look on Rian's face, he didn't either. "Tu es habens tribulationis?" 

A moment passed without his response. I grinned—I had him.

"That is enough!" a sharp voice rang out. 

Rian and I both looked at Prof in surprise. Then fear. I doubted either of us had forgotten his outburst at the university the other day. I, for one, had no desire to experience it again.

Thankfully, he didn't seem angry so much as exasperated. He turned to me first. "Hanna," he said firmly. "We all understand that you're a genius at languages. No need to show off."

A blush tainted my cheeks, and I simply glared at the floor. "Now give Rokim the fork," he continued, gesturing to Rokim's waiting palm. Reluctantly, I handed it over.

Rian smirked at me, but Prof rounded on him next. "And you, Rian," he began in disapproval. "Put the book down. I didn't think it was possible, but it seems you've learned to act even more childishly than Hanna."

I frowned. It kinda seemed like Prof went for me twice there, but Rian scowled anyway. "Fine," he muttered, glancing at me distastefully. He tossed the book down on my kitchen counter. "But I'll be taking it with me later."

"I'll probably have more than a fork later," I responded, my voice sugar-sweet. "So give it your best shot."

"Alright," Prof cut in, glaring at the both of us. "The ecomp is in an hour, and we need to make some last minute preparations."

I stalked over to my couch, collapsing on it and crossing my legs. The clock on the wall said it was a little past one in the afternoon. 

"What preparations?" I asked crossly. "We just need to go there, win the damn thing, then come back."

Adrian grinned at me. "I like your confidence."

"Confidence is one thing," I heard Rian mutter. "Arrogance is another entirely."

I snorted, not even deigning to look at him. "Like you're one to talk about arrogance, Haltie."

"I said not to call me that."

"And I didn't listen. What are you gonna do about it?"

"For the love of god!" Lisa practically shouted, interrupting the two of us. "Would you guys please get it together?"

I huffed and slouched further into my seat. From the corner of my eye, I saw Adrian raising his eyebrows at Rian expectantly.

Oh, right, I thought sourly. I forgot they're best friends now.

Prof took the opportunity to continue. "The preparations in question are just an outline of what to expect," he said tiredly. "Neither of you have ever been to the ecomp before. I thought the whole class could use a refresher, since we're all coming along."

Adrian frowned. "Speaking of the whole class," he said slowly. "Where's that other girl? Vanessa, I think she's called."

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room. My already dour mood worsened at the sound of her name. I hadn't thought about her in days, and it was only then I realized I hadn't seen her around at all.

Prof sighed, looking a little like he regretted calling this meeting. "About that," he said, leaning a little heavier on his crutch. "I meant to tell you all. Vanessa dropped out."

I raised my brows. "Of the course?"

"Of the university." Prof grimaced. "She's not coming back. I was almost glad none of you were there when she let me know," he admitted wryly. "She had . . . quite a few things to say, about you in particular, Hanna."

I chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh? Where'd she tell me to stick it this time?"

Prof pursed his lips. "Not in a very good place."

Rokim snickered, and we all looked over at him. "What?" he asked innocently. "I was thinking of a cat video I saw recently."

"Okay," Lisa said matter-of-factly, getting up from her chair. "We're distractions. Prof, can you fill us in on the way there?" she asked, receiving a nod in response. "Good. Come on, Roke. We're leaving."

"No," he complained as she dragged him out of the room. "I wanna hear them fight again. Their fights are funny."

"I'll show you something better."

After that it was like Rokim had obtained superpowers. He was out of the room in a flash.

Despite myself, I couldn't help grinning. It was about time.

"Anyways," Prof turned back to us, trying for the third time to get through his explanation. "Vanessa is irrelevant now. The ecomp basically consists of a panel of three judges. They give you a wide variety of ingredients to use, as well as material to cook with. The hard part is you only get one hour to create an entirely new, original dish."

He pulled out a small piece of paper from his shirt pocket. "The names of the judges were released last night, after the Evaluators' Ball." His nose wrinkled in confusion. "Apparently there was some sort of commotion involving a chicken—"

"Rooster," Rian and I simultaneously interjected, leading to a scowl from us both.

Prof surveyed us suspiciously. "Rooster?"

I nodded, unable to keep myself from blurting out the next part. "Yeah, but his name is Kevin."

His eyes narrowed, and I knew I'd made a mistake. "You . . . named the rooster. Why did you name the rooster?" 

I bit my lip, almost able to see the cogs turning in Prof's head. He groaned as a realization dawned on him. "Tell me you didn't set a rooster loose at one of the most exclusive events of the year."

I was silent. 

"Hanna. Tell me you didn't." 

Adrian put his hands to his face, seemingly smothering a laugh. "She did!" he exclaimed amazedly, his tone turning gleeful. "And she called it Kevin!" 

I looked at Prof apologetically. His expression crumbled. "But it wasn't just for fun!" I protested, trying to salvage some of my dignity. "There was a reason for it."

"Oh, I'm excited to hear this one."

I shifted in discomfort. "We may have caused a bit of trouble at the ball," I confessed reluctantly, giving Rian a sidelong glance. He didn't look any happier about this than I did. "Kevin was a necessary distraction."

Prof shook his head. "What kind of trouble warranted setting a farm animal on some of the richest chefs in the country?"

My cheeks coloured. "We, um. We pissed off a couple people."

"Which people?"

"Trust me, they deserved it." 

"Hanna, which people?"

I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. This wasn't going great. "Just some old bat and her low-key paramour. No one special."

Prof paled considerably, his brow furrowing in worry. "Prof?" I asked, as he rapidly unfolded the piece of paper in his hand. He thrust it in my face, glaring at me intently.

"Was it one of them?"

I stared at the paper in disbelief. "Uh, yeah," I said in surprise, feeling a trickle of foreboding in my gut. "Why?"

Prof groaned, flopping down into a seat nearby. He put his head in his hands, mumbling something. His voice was muffled by his palms, and I frowned.

"Sorry, Prof. I can't hear you."

He raised his head resignedly. "I said," he remarked, looking defeated, "those are the judges for the ecomp."

I froze. Rian stalked over, taking the slip of paper from Prof and examining it. A shadow passed over his face. "We're screwed."

I sat back in my seat. On that piece of paper were our worst encounters of the previous night: the lady Rian had humiliated, the evaluator I'd insulted, and the most dreadful one of all.

Mr. Soo.

None of us said anything. The silence was deafening. Eventually, however, I opened my mouth to speak.

"So," I ventured weakly. "Wanna hear about Isaac?"