"Hey," Zara says when I walk into school the next morning.

"Hey. Did you get with Michel like you wanted to?" I ask, and Zara's nostrils flare angrily. She stares off into empty space, an annoyed expression on her face as she thinks about what happened last night.

"I talked to him, and I was going to get his number but..." Zara trails off taking a deep breath to contain herself.

"You don't have to say it if it makes you upset," I assure, but Zara shakes her head and her angry expression changes into an apathetic one.

"But Hayley came over and dragged him away. And I know it's not just a coincidence because she looked right at me and winked and I swear, if she had a dodgeball she would've thrown it at me," Zara says. She started out smoothly and calmly, but now she's back to the way she was before—cheeks red and angry eyes.

"Just tell her off if she's bothering you that much. You can't be afraid of her forever," I advise and Zara shakes her head.

"I'm not looking for trouble. It's much easier to complain about her to you than it is to actually go do something about it," Zara states like it's final. "What did you do at the party? Did you follow my advice and get with some guy? If you did, I'm really sorry. I didn't want to go, but my dad was yelling over the phone and you know... I couldn't really do anything about it. Honestly, I'll hook you up with someone if you need it as an apology."

"No!" I exclaim and think back to Andrew. "It's fine; nothing happened last night. I just sat in a room for a while because parties really aren't my scene."

"Oh!" Zara exclaims. "Did I pressure you into coming? I'm sorry if I did. I'm hardly aware of what I'm saying, and I know that's not really an excuse, but I just need you to know, I didn't mean to pressure you into coming. Ugh, I'm so sorry for leaving you at the party. Next time, if there is a next time because you totally don't need to come if you don't want to, just call me. Chicks over dicks right?"

"No Zara! It's fine, really. I don't mind being alone with my thoughts," I say, though I wasn't alone last night. I debate whether to tell Zara about it or not, but in the end, I decide not to. It's not a big deal anyways. He was drunk or something of the sort, and I just needed to be away from everyone.

"No Lexi, you can tell me if something's up. I know we haven't known each other for long, but I don't want to be a bitchy friend," Zara says.

"No Zara, you don't need to worry about me," I say, my heart warming as she says those words. "I'm fine, really. And I don't mind coming with you to parties if you ever need a ride or something."

"I feel so bad now," Zara says, "even if you say you're okay, I still feel like shit for making you sit in a room the whole time. Who knows what people have done on the sheets before?" Zara shudders, and I think of the guy and the girl and I gag.

"Well, something did happen... I accidentally walked in on a girl giving this guy a BJ while searching for a room," I explain and Zara cringes.

"I would've hopped out of Hayley's balcony if I saw something like that."

"I felt like hopping out of a balcony," I say, trying to get the image out of my mind.

"Let's please talk about something else. I don't need to think about that," Zara says, and I nod in agreement.

"Does Michel know who you are?" I ask, and Zara nods eagerly, a grin spreading out onto her face.

"Surprisingly. When I walked up to him yesterday, he actually greeted me! I've been pining on him since last year, and do you know what a relief it is to know that he knows my name?" Zara exclaims as we walk to P.E.

"Hey you have a chance then," I suggest, and Zara's face lights up.

"Do you think so?"

"You have more than a chance," I assure. "You're pretty, you have a bubbly, sweet personality; why wouldn't he like you? And like you said, he knows who you are, so there are no signs that he doesn't like you either."

"I suppose. But I need to figure out if Hayley's with him or something. I don't know what she would do to me if I made moves on her man. She did seem pretty possessive when she dragged him away last night," Zara sighs, her face dropping.

"Don't think about that. Just be confident," I say uncertainly. I'm not the best person to be giving guy advice. I always turned down Nathan except for that one time, but even then I never went on the date with him because...

I shake my head and focus back on the topic of Zara.

The other guys I was with, I wasn't even with. It was a hookup, and there were like two of them... and there was rarely every any talking involved.

"Well, I can't be overconfident you know? Then he might think I'm coming on too strong and he might think I'm some kind of clingy girlfriend type of person," Zara says, and I shake my head.

"Just follow your feelings, and do what they tell you," I advise, doing my best to bullshit my way through this situation to at least give some type of help to Zara. Hopefully, it works. And if it doesn't, then I'll take full responsibility.

"Well, I'll think about it the next time I talk to him. Let's just get to class."

"Okay then," I agree, and we walk to class. The first three periods pass by pretty quickly, and of course, Zara's knocked out by Hayley like she has been the entire week I've been here. I scrunch my eyebrows thinking about it. Zara says that they've never talked before, so what could Hayley have against Zara?

At lunch, we sit in the same spot, but this time, the trash cans have been moved, so it's another group that's forced to endure their smell. Zara sends quick glances towards the direction of Michel, a hopeful expression on her face, but he doesn't look back at us once. Hayley on the other hand, makes eye contact with Zara plenty of times, despite her back being towards us.

And then Andrew walks into the cafeteria when around halfway through lunch. There's a stormy expression on his face as he sits down, and then begins angrily whispering to Michel and Hayley.

I want to analyze him again—see if I can figure out what's going on with him based on his body language. Like yesterday, he's holding himself tightly, but he looks way tenser than before, and the frown doesn't seem to leave his face at all. A few girls approach his table, but he either waves them off or rudely tells them to piss off.

I watch each girl leave the cafeteria with a heartbroken expression on her face, and I feel a pang of anger through me. Why can't he just nicely tell them that he's busy? He, after all, has created the reputation of player for himself. So why's he so upset when girls approach him?

One moment, I'm staring at the tops of Andrew's dark hair as he talks to Michel and Hayley with hunched shoulders...and the next second I'm staring into his eyes. He seems to know that it's me he's looking at me because he sends me a quick smirk, but that's not what I'm concerned about.

It's his eyes. Unlike yesterday, where I at least could make out a swirl of emotions, today there's only one. There's just hard, cold, anger that sets his face ablaze, especially his eyes which are on fire.

I wonder what happened I think, and then I shake my head, scolding myself internally. He doesn't matter. I can't get into any drama this year I tell myself, but there's still an urge in me to discover more.

Eventually, lunch ends and I don't have any more classes with Zara. I've memorized the routes to all my classes now, so I make it to English without a hitch and stand outside the classroom, waiting for the late bell to ring so the teacher will open the door. Even though I've only been here a week, I know that Mr. Ross is the type of teacher who'll try and avoid students for as long as possible. He doesn't open the door until the late bell rings; he keeps his doors locked almost the rest of the time, and Zara told me that he was never available to talk about grades last year when she had him.

I fiddle with my fingers for a while, and then the zipper on my sweater. I remember that as a kid, whenever I felt anxious, I chewed in the zip. As disgusting as it was, it calmed me down, and now that I think about it, that's probably the reason that it took me so long to stop using pacifiers.

Soon enough, there's a long line of impatient students behind me, and we're one of the few people left in the halls. The late bell rings, and then I hear a guy groan impatiently, muttering to someone about punctuality, while another girl sighs angrily and begins typing furiously on her phone, her acrylics making quick clicking noises.

I don't stop fiddling with my zipper.

"Hey! Am I late?" a guy calls down the hall, hurrying towards the class. I peer up from my zipper, and at first, I don't realize who it is, and then recognize the head of dark brown hair and the crooked nose. I don't bother to reply, assuming he's talking to someone behind me but, Andrew comes right up to my face, and says, "Lexi?"

I look up immediately, letting my zipper slip through my fingers and try to come up with an appropriate answer to give him that doesn't include incoherent stutters. Unfortunately, that's not the case.

"I-uh," I begin, but Andrew cuts me off, thankfully.

"Never mind," he says, and then turns around and positions himself right next to me, so that our shoulders (or more like my shoulder and his upper arm), are an inch away from pressing into each other.

I look away from Andrew and continue to play with my zipper again, frowning as a strand of fiber comes off the little pulling thingy tied onto the zip.

"What are you doing?" Andrew asks, peering over to my fingers.

"What!" I exclaim, surprised for a moment, and then dropping my zipper again. I take a moment to reconfigure myself, and then say in a much bolder voice, "nothing."

Andrew frowns at me and opens his mouth like he's going to say something else, but then closes it after a few seconds and turns away from me. He nods and then presses his mouth into a grim line. I slightly scoot myself away from him and closer to the wall, and that's when Mr. Ross finally decides to make an appearance to his own damn class.

He's speed walking through the halls, holding a thick stack of packets that seem bigger than he is, and his hair's disheveled like he just shoved both his hands into an electric socket. For a moment, I silently smirk, finding his appearance slightly funny, but they immediately stop smiling when I realize that those papers are probably for us.

"Sorry guys had a little mishap in the printing room, but don't worry, I'm still here to teach the class."

Mr. Ross sounds less enthusiastic than the students themselves. I'm partial to the idea that Ross is the reason there was a mishap in the printing room.

He swings the door open, and Andrew and I move out of the way just in time.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ross mutters and stalks over to his desk where he slaps the papers down on his desk and then silently waits for us to file into our seats.

I take the seat that I picked when I first got to his class, second row, third column, and then suddenly, I wonder where Andrew sits in this class. I look around and then realize that he's almost diagonal from me, in the third row and fourth column. The second we make eye contact, I turn my head around so fast that something in my neck cracks.

"Okay guys, listen up, today is going to be a planning day for your upcoming project, which will be due in three weeks so I don't want to hear that bulls—that crap about 'we didn't have enough time'. Here, I'll hand out these papers, and then we'll discuss," Ross says, and then puts the large packets on the desk closest to him. The papers start traveling around the classroom, and when one eventually lands on my desk, I can't help the cringe that slips onto my face.

It's a pretty thick packet, and the first page itself is just some space for our names, a two-lined question, and the rest is just a bunch of lines for us to fill in. I don't bother reading the question—I'm trying to hold off from coming to terms with my responsibilities.

"So, the project is simple. You and a partner will pick a book that you both have read previously in the past, and pick a controversial theme within the book. The project includes individual essays which are graded separately, a power point discussion to present in class, and then the discussion afterward. The packet is a helpful guide, so make sure to fill it out completely for full credit," Ross explains, and I stare at the guy, my mouth slightly open as I do so.

What.

The crap within this packet already seems unnecessary—I would much rather just read some boring old book written before the Bubonic Plague was eradicated—but what's worse is that it's a partner project. I find myself at the mercy of my English teacher as I pray to the beings greater than us that he's going to assign the partners himself.

I used to never have a problem finding a partner. Everybody knew me, which meant I was guaranteed at least one person who was willing to partner up with me for a project. But the people here have already seemed to make up their mind on who they want, with discreet glances at each other across the classroom, those little nods, and the subtle rise of the eyebrows.

I suddenly curl my hand up into a fist and look down at the table. I feel a small tornado spinning in my gut, and realize the people I used to think were the biggest fucking losers for having to ask the teacher for a partner probably were in the same position as me.

I curl my fingers into my palm harder, if that were even possible.

"Oh, and I forgot to mention, you guys get to pick your own partners! Find someone to match up with and get started on your packets," Ross exclaims, and the classroom erupts in chatter as people move seats and find the person they're going to work with.

I stay firmly rooted in the bright red chair, and wait for all the loud chatter to die down until there's someone left for me to approach. Or, there's no one left to approach and Ross puts me in a group of three with someone else.

Someone comes and roughly sits down in the seat next to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I spot Andrew. He stares straight at the board for a short time, takes a deep breath, and then turns towards me. I quickly look away, hopefully quickly enough for him to know that I wasn't observing him.

"Do you have a partner?" Andrew asks.

I'm about to snap at him, "does it freaking look like I have a partner?" but then bite my tongue. He's just asking a simple question and I don't know why I felt the need to be so abrasive towards him. I gulp and then come up with something a lot less rude to say to him.

"Nope." I know what's coming next and my chest churns something that's a mix of relief and complete confusion.

"Do you... want to be my partner?"

My tongue catches in my throat, and I frown. It's not like I'm going to say no to him in this situation, but still, saying sure to him feels weird.

"Um... sure," I murmur.

"Cool," Andrew says back, almost mimicking my tone.

"Yeah," I say back, and then catch myself right after the words slip from my mouth. This conversation is a kind of conversation the "old me" had vowed not to have.

I close my eyes and sigh. "What about all the other people who wanted to work with you?" I ask after careful consideration. "Are they okay with it?"

"Well... um, I don't really like them so it wouldn't be fair to either of us if that makes sense," Andrew explains under his breath.

"But you like me?" I say, and then promptly bite my lip, looking away from Andrew.

"I don't know you, and I can't dislike someone I don't know, can I?"

• • •

AN: Hopefully this chapter wasn't too boring, I was trying to make Lexi and Andrew's characters more fleshed out, and give them some realistic development.  Also, I hope it's not too cliché, because when I started this it was a joke between me and my friends, but I'm quite enjoying writing this so I don't want it to be overly cliché and boring.