Always forgive your enemies. Nothing annoys them so much - Oscar Wilde

I slept away in class, again.

It's big news. Headline making even.

Not.

Waking up to the sound of the bell ringing is somehow worse than the blaring rupture of my alarm clock, but the results are still the same. I'm so disorientated as I stumble out of class, eerily similar to a drunken man staggering late at night. I wash my face with icy cold water from the girl's bathroom, before stalking to the cafeteria with one thought in mind. Food. Lots of it. I hadn't realised how hungry I was until my stomach growled in the most unladylike manner.

Don't get me wrong, the Lighters feed me fine, but my school actually serves decent lunch. Not that white gooey stuff you see on television. Gross.

Outside the cafeteria, I bypassed several wooden picnic tables that the school set up to help with a connect-with-nature programme the student council were organising. Predictably it was Penelope's idea and her father had volunteered to pay for the new furniture upgrades. He also suggested the new school menu so I can't hate the man, Damien Greene too much.

And Dex says I'm a bad person.

Instead of resorting to using a table, I find my regular spot under the big oak tree that faces towards the sports field. No one comes this side in a hurry and the peaceful atmosphere is exactly what I look for. Dusting orange and brown, crisp autumn leaves from the shrivelled-up yellow grass, I relax beneath the nurturing shade the tree provides. The sun warms my face, bronzing my pale skin. I pull out my jacket, throwing it over my outstretched legs and my bandage-wrapped arms are instantly exposed. I lean back against the cool, hard bark, my eyes closed.

"Hey."

My eyes fly open, and I squint, staring at a silhouette dark against the sun. Broad shoulders block the immensity of sunlight, creating a perfectly photogenic image of contours and sharp angles.

"Yes, Skye?" I phrase my greeting as a question. Because why on Earth would the school's star soccer player be standing out here when he should be in the cafeteria joking with his friends?

"Um," he shuffles under my piercing grey-eyed gaze. Most people do and I'm not surprised how freaked he is to be partaking in this awkward conversation.

"Is there a reason you're here?" I ask tersely, my expression guarded. "Or are you simply going to stand there?"

I shouldn't be so rude; he hasn't done anything. Despite that nagging thought in the back of my mind, wariness creeps up on me. People like him don't associate with me frequently. So, either Skye wants something desperately or this is just some kind of elaborate prank. I pray it's the first. Humiliation was not on my agenda today.

"Actually, I thought I'd give you company," he scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably and his ears slowly turn pink, peeking out from his wavy brown hair.

I raise a brow in disbelief, my voice accusatory. "Really? You want to hang out with the school's freak?"

He frowns, plopping down on the grass, cross-legged without an invite. "You are not a freak. Why would you think that?"

"Yeah, just take a seat why don't you?" I mutter sarcastically. "I am a freak, okay? I am the social outcast – that's my label. And you're the popular jock."

Skye looks at me carefully, his heavy amber gaze just as cutting as my own. I feel stupid for blurting out such an insensitive comment.

"That ridiculous," he says and clarifies when I shoot him a look. "Labels, I mean. We're in high school, we don't have ourselves figured out as yet to be categorised as someone specific."

I sigh resignedly. "Why are you here?"

"Because I want to be," he shrugs as if it's obvious and scoots closer so that he's next to me. I lean away, creating some space. I can't do this. "Because it's quiet here. Because I want to get to know you."

His words jar me. This is unlike any other conversation I've had. Heck, this is the longest civilised conversation I've had with any student from school. I'm terrified at the sudden prospect. This is too weird and too new for me.

I laugh hollowly. "You do not want to know me, Skye."

He cocks his head to the side. "I think I want to."

Wordlessly, I turn away, slanting against the tree with my eyes closed. Skye doesn't say a word either and I'm thankful. Maybe he'll leave me in peace now that his curiosity is quenched, or his epic prank was a massive fail. We sit there in silence for a long while, birds chirping above us and leaves rustling in the soft wind. I know better than to entertain guys like Skye. He might not be a bad person per se, but he was still a good-looking, teenage boy, and a jock no less.

Guys like him didn't come near girls like me and I don't mean that in a self-depreciating way.

We orbited different social circles, he fitted in, had friends, played sport. I ... did not.

"What happened to your arms?" The peaceful spell is broken, and I'm yanked away from my musings.

I open one eye, to see Skye gazing at my bandaged arms curiously. I throw my jacket over my shoulders self-consciously, covering up my unsightly injuries. What is Skye's motive here? To find out why my hands are wrapped in bandages?

Crap, my heart accelerates. What if –

He knows.

Of course, he does.

Shit. That explains everything. Skye knows I'm Kidwolf. Why else would he still stick around?

Oh, I hope Dex still has the memory eraser he developed last year.

"Nothing," I mumble quickly, tugging at my leathery sleeves. "I got scratched."

Skye stands up suddenly and his brow dips into a heavyset frown that makes him look years older. Confusion flickers on his face but it soon turns serious, humour draining from his expression. I don't know what to make of his sudden thunderous gaze, so I shift away, rising to my feet as well. The air is charged with some dangerous energy, too uncertain for me to pinpoint.

"Are you getting hurt at home?" Skye steps closer, his voice low and sombre.

"What?" I'm taken aback by his question. "What are you talking about?"

"Your hands, Kourtney," he gestures. "I'm not an idiot, is someone at home giving you a hard time? Is there someone hurting you?"

"No!" I start and I let out a breath. So he doesn't know my secret identity then? "I'm not getting hurt, it's just ... my cat scratched me."

"Your cat scratched you?" He repeats drily.

I shrug weakly. "Why do you care?"

He swallows. He doesn't reply.

I shake my head, a shooting sear of anger coursing my veins. Skye thinks he can just waltz into my life and ask me personal questions – well he's got another thing coming.

"Look," I fold my arms. "I don't know why you're here or why you care but I don't like it. It's funny you ask me who's hurting me when you just stand around watching the kids at school mock me. I'm not answerable to you and I don't want your company."

I'm being absolutely ruthless. I have to. People will only use you and Skye is no different.

"You're right, of course, you are. But I'm trying to change that," He nods, his head and stares at me pleadingly. "Give me a chance Kourtney, let's be friends."

I should scoff and leave him standing here like a lost puppy. I've gone my whole life without friends, and I certainly don't need any now. Especially so suddenly and without good reason.

But my reply doesn't do justice to my thoughts.

"I'll see."

***

I'm sitting in physics class with a brooding, don't-mess-with-me look on my face, hating the general student population even more than usual. Some idiot spat gum on the floor and it took me forever to get it out. And, a couple was making out like eels against my lockers, sucking at each other's faces as if their lives depended on it. My arm is propped on the table in class and my eyes are constantly narrowed as I try fruitlessly to absorb what the teacher says.

It doesn't help that I'm sitting in the back of the class, near the window where I have a perfect view of the junior classes competing in soccer. Watching them play is definitely more interesting than learning the horizontal motion of objects I can't bother to name. Dex says it's important that I learn about science and the way the world works, it'll help me improve my telekinesis trajectory. I couldn't care less.

"Miss Woods, your attention please," I hear Mr Lawrence call out my name and my head whips away from the window. My cheeks blaze red on noticing the amount of eyes on me and I take a deep breath.

"Yes sir?" I clasp my hands in front of me, speaking politely.

"What is so interesting outside that you cannot focus on the work?" Mr Lawrence interrogates.

My eyes skip to the whiteboard and I'm soaking up the lesson in one go. There are a couple of diagrams of inclined planes and a series of formulae and calculations which give me an idea.

"The way the soccer team is lobbing the ball for their throw-in," I begin to consider, aware of the attention hitting me like a freight train, the expectant stares of my peers wearing me down. "It's all wrong. Their angle is too large, therefore increasing the slope and making it more difficult to get a good projection. The ball will thus, be thrown too far and the team will be unable to –"

"Miss Woods, stop," Mr Lawrence interrupts me and instantly reproaches. "I don't appreciate you talking like that in my class and not listening to what is being taught –"

This time he's cut off by his binder falling to the ground. I raise my eyebrows at him innocently and Mr Lawrence sighs. Whilst he picks up his binder, paper scatters to the floor clumsily and everyone's attention is hooked away from me. Thank goodness. I flex my fingers, stopping myself from creating more damage.

That binder didn't fall by accident – that's all I'm saying.

When Mr Lawrence is done, he's forgotten about my punishment and instead, he focuses on the project we have to do. Unfortunately, my victory is short-lived.

The project? Yeah, it's group work.

Cue shudder.

"This is how we're going to do it," Mr Lawrence elucidates, and I silently curse him. "I'm going to call out names at random you kids are going to sit next to your partner. Any questions?"

As the class begins to complain he simply goes on to explain that the students from the other physics class will be joining us. They'll be in charge of the poster design whilst we create the model for the project. My name is chosen next, and I wonder which unlucky soul will be cursed to pair up with the school's outcast.

"Miss Woods you will be with ... Mr Stingworth," the teacher calls out.

Seriously? Twice in a row? Does the world hate me or something?

My mouth is already open to protest. "Sir can I please –"

"No," he narrows his eyes at me.

"But sir –"

"No!"

"I really can't –"

"I don't want to hear it, Kourtney, just listen, would you?" Mr Lawrence snaps and I shut up. I'm being difficult, aren't I?

Oh well, it was worth a try.

Before long, everyone is partnered up unhappily and the other physics teacher walks in to announce the rest of our group. And by strange chance or mere coincidence, the planets misalign, and I'm stuck in a group with Skye, Penelope, and Harry.

What the f–

That is creepy as hell.

"Swap around seats in an orderly manner please," Mr Lawrence demands but of course, he goes unheard.

There's chaos all at once, shuffling and scraping of chairs as half of the students get up, pushing passed each other and moving to opposite ends of the class. I contemplate getting up. Maybe if I don't move, Skye won't either.

"Sup, Woods."

Well, that's uncanny.

I sigh, recognising the humour in Skye's voice as he plops down in the empty seat next to me.

"The faster we get this project done the faster we can part ways," I say without a preamble.

Skye actually pouts. "What happened to being friends?"

"What happened?" I echo matter-of-factly. "I never agreed to be friends."

His lips fall into a lopsided grin. "But you never disagreed either."

Did I do something truly horrible in my other life or something? Why does the universe hate me this much?