Melanie is skipping school today, I suppose -- her usual Thursday, first-period seat remains untouched. 

Meanwhile, Jace fondles his newest conquest in the back of the class, the smack of their lips echoing as if the room were empty. I squirm in my seat, begging God for Mrs. Li to enter the room right... now.

Well, I suppose that's what I get for being an atheist.

I pull my phone out from my pocket, unravelling my earbuds with my other hand. It chimes when I turn it on as if it were awaiting my presence to inform me of such an important event.

Jace updated: melanies done now for  cassidy 😉 watch ur back leo

How many times have I tried to uninstall The Competiton? Let me just say, a quadrillion is only a factor compared to how many times I've tried. It's foolish, it's sexist, and I hate it.

However, I can't help but scroll past the recent updates.

Jace is still in third, despite his affair with Melanie. Derek's close behind him by only two girls, with Jamie and Andrew tied at last.

Dexter is in front of Jace by one girl, though Jace is about to tie it up, and Leo is ahead by four girls.

The website is completely public -- they even have a YouTube channel and a whole fucking fandom. Yet the womanizers keep getting, well, women. It's tragic.

Mrs. Li walks in, bustling rushes to her table as the papers, which were artfully shoved into her arms, attempt to flee desperately.

Her apologies are brief and secure as plastic. I put my phone back into my pocket and put my politely tied earbuds into my pencil case. I take my pens and notebooks out, and I take my notes, and I try to pay attention -- I really do -- but its damn near impossible. I can hear Jace and Cassidy giggling and kissing in the back and after that, a few seconds after, every time, my phone vibrates with a new notification from The Competition.

♡

My business is thriving. It's prime time now. Right before midterms, when everyone's locker is a mess and they all need to grab something quickly, before class, before lunch, before dismissal. My business is organizing. I got tested for OCD when I was a kid, but the results weren't what everyone expected. I was just a kid who wanted to color-code everything in the best way possible.
Normal, right?

My client list is on my locker. People write their name and locker number, text me their code, and I organize it during lunch while Nova complains about the tater tots being too expensive. It's normal. An odd normal, of course, but normal.

My boots squeak on the slushy ground as I make my way through the mostly-empty halls. My locker is in the exact middle, perfectly crowded at all times of the day, except for now. Lunch -- when everyone else leaves for socialization. My earbuds hum quietly, whispering stories of love and ache and adventure as I avoid anything related to those topics. My combination is easy to remember. 5-10-15. I enter it swiftly so I can check my list. It's Friday, which is the one day a week I don't take orders. The list is filed nearly behind my hooks, books, and binders. I have what Avalyn Derr, our resident Pinterest maniac, what would call horrifically aesthetic. She has, actually, called it that.

I pocket my list instinctively and make my way through the halls from one locker to another. I have few rules, but I am very strict about them.

1.) I will not buy any supplies. Anything you want me to organize must be in your locker when I get there.

My first job is an easy one. It's already relatively clean, with a little basket of decorations in the corner, my name written on a small piece of masking tape stuck to the basket.

Something begins to crawl up my back, onto my neck. I jump as the owner of the hand begins to cackle. "Fuck off, Liam," I groan in embarrassment, shoving him away. He shoves me in kind.

"I couldn't resist!" He cries, a grin bright on his face. "You should've seen yourself dancing," He bounces on the balls of his feet, swaying his head this way and that sparatically. I roll my eyes, and his grin widens.

Liam has a face made to smile. He has eyes, warm, honey-hazel eyes, brown, curly hair, and a scatter of freckles. Not to mention the nicest lips I have ever seen.

No hetero though.

Nova jumps on him from behind and they both topple to the floor, laughing and groaning. I stick my head further in the locker so no one can see me chuckle.

"I got lunch today, which means I am not buying you two lunch again tomorrow," Nova says, literally juggling the three Big Macs she bought from the nearby McDonald's.

Liam snatches them from her grasp, eagerly unfolding and devouring his.

"I still think you could make a living from stealing," Nova hums through a mouthful of Big Mac. I snort, closing and locking the door, taking whatever garbage I made to the garbage. "Seriously!" Nova continues, following as I make my way to my next stop -- Lara-Rae's locker. She hires me once every year or so, just to make her locker look as pristine as her grades.

Liam's telling a bad knock-knock joke when Wendlyn skids to a stop in front of me, out of breath and slightly red in the face. "Oh, good. I caught you." He pants for a moment and we await the end of his sentence patiently. "I was wondering if you could organize my locker real quick? I have midterms on Monday first thing and I really need a clean locker."

2.) If you want me to organize or redecorate your locker, then you put your name on the list. No bribes of cash or other permitted.

"You're not on the list," I respond simply, walking briskly past him.

He runs in front of me, making me stop abruptly. "No, wait, please, I can pay you on Monday! I'll pay you double, just, please."

3.) Pay me upfront beforehand, cash only. No exceptions.

"Nope," I pop the p, Nova pops her gum. She must've finished her burger, popped in some more bubble gum.

"Please, I'll do anything," He looks desperate and, I admit, I feel a bit guilty for my rules. I stand by them, though. Just like I should.

I shake my head silently, offer him a sad smile. "Write your name on the list Monday and I'll try and get to you as quickly as I can.

He frowns but walks away. My heart picks up its pace with guilt. Still, as guilty as I feel, I stick to my rules. No matter when no matter where. When I was a kid, I was always the teachers' pet, or the daycare's workers' favourite kid because I always, always followed the rules.

I got awards all through elementary. I never did anything wrong, I always did the work, and I usually sat in the back during free time colour-coding pencil cases that weren't mine. My parents started getting concerned something was wrong with me. The doctors told them, and I quote, "no worse than an average child". I suppose that made me an average child. I didn't -- don't -- understand why adults find that important. Ever since then, however, I've followed every rule I possibly can. Especially the rules make for myself.

"You weren't harsh on him, don't worry," Liam reassures me, though that isn't what I was thinking about. "Besides, he is the school's resident druggie."

I shrug, Liam quiets. Nova cuts through the silence quickly, "So, who's  next on your hit list?"

The next name on the list brought up my most important rule -- for business and otherwise.

The Golden Rule: Never interact with any of The Competitors.

"Leo."

I rush back to my locker and bury the list beneath everything I can pull from the depths of my locker. By the time the bell rings, my locker is an unruly mess. I walk away with no feeling, no need, to organize it in any way.