My eyes widened in anticipation as Brennan Wright's calloused fingers reached the back of my neck, and his wrinkled lips trailed behind. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the cafeteria burning through us as if we were exotic creatures with nowhere else to turn but to each other.

He pulled me to him, his tight muscles pressing against my trembling frame. His lips were soft as they brushed against my earlobe, and I felt the warmth radiating off his intense brown eyes as he looked deep into mine. His hot breath whispered in my ear, "You're a bitch," before he released his embrace and stepped back.

I drew him close to my body again, feeling the warmth radiating off his lightly tanned shoulder blade. My fingers slid through his dark, curly roots, and gently massaged circles in the base of his skull. His shudder felt like a tremor running down an earthquake fault line from his head to my tiny frame.

"I know," I said quietly in his ear as I came in close. Suddenly, Jennifer Clode pushed through the mob with her long dark hair whipping behind her chocolate figure. I yanked myself away from Brennan and licked my lips nervously.

"What the hell, Brennan," she shouted, her deep bat eyes rolling at me as she pushed past a student holding his phone.

"Are you seriously doing this with her?"

"I'm sorry, babe," he uttered before being interrupted by the over-the-top drama queen.

Jennifer cried, dashing through the mob, "It's over!"

"Oops."

"This is your fault," Brennan said, pulling his brows together as he pointed his giant finger at me. I smirked, seeing this as an opportunity for retaliation.

"Yep, and the bell is about to ring right about—" The bell had rung, which looked to be excellent timing. "about now," I said, laughing. "I'll see you later, Brennan."

As I walked down the hallway, Meghan Sanchez and Arnold Hemm sneered at me from their fish-lipped faces, so I responded with a rude gesture. Every student's gaze felt like a punch in the gut when I entered the classroom. Ignoring them, I headed for the front row and plopped into my seat. Reaching into my backpack, I extracted a pack of gum and popped it in my mouth. As I started to chew and bob my head side to side in response to the music only I could hear, a tap on my shoulder abruptly ended my zoning-out session.

"What do you want, Arthur?" I mumbled, popping my bubble gum twice. He pushed his glasses back into place on his freckled nose and spoke.

"I-I want to sit there," he replied.

"Too bad," I snarled, popping my gum again.

"There's nowhere else to sit."

"So, sit on the floor!" I snapped. He sighed, walked aside, and plopped down, slugging his backpack.

"Ms. Hart," Mr. Harriman called.

You could easily mistake Mr. Harriman for a plush teddy bear—the kind you want to rip the head off and burn. I pouted, batting my eyelashes, and blew a bubble.

"Yep, my name is Emily."

"Please give Mr. Jackson a seat." As I lifted my feet off the chair, I rolled my eyes and adjusted myself. Arthur lifted himself off the floor and sat quietly beside me.

"To begin our biology class today, does anyone know anything about a distinct sex-species?" Mr. Harriman called. Francisco, who could pull off twin day with Arthur, quietly raised his hand to speak, but Rosella beat him.

"I've had sex. It was beautiful."

Mr. Harriman nearly choked on his morning coffee. "Excuse me?" He said.

Samira Hernandez, the goth girl, who wasn't always goth, halted Rosella, shouting. "You're a fat slut. He's in his forties. Leave the goddamn man alone." Samira used to date Jeremy when he was a theater geek, but after Jeremy joined the football team and their nasty breakup, she met Derek Gunn, the craziest goth kid you'll ever meet, and the goth movement was born.

Placing my gum under the table, I pondered my subsequent life choices. I sat down on my backpack with my hood drawn over my head. I only realized I'd fallen asleep when I felt a light tap on my left shoulder, and two blue pairs fluttered back at me as my eyes fluttered open.

"You know, school is over." I looked up from my backpack and glanced at the boy staring at me.

"Oh, Hallelujah," I boasted. I immediately gathered my backpack and jumped off the chair as a deep laugh rumbled from the boy's chest. The boy trailed behind me as I walked down the hallway to my locker.

I tried to hide his glance from the corner of my eye as I struggled to remember my locker combination. After seeing my silhouette wasn't going anywhere, I turned on my heels to face him.

"What do you want?" I snarled, my gaze briefly drawn to him. He flashed his perfectly straight teeth as he smiled. He might pass for a movie star with his breathtakingly perfectly chiseled jawline and deep ocean-blue eyes.

"You forgot to take your phone off the desk. I figured you'd want that back." The teenage boy inhaled deeply, sniffing his powerful cologne. His eyes paled under the hallway lights as he dug into his pocket.

My cell phone unsuccessfully skimmed from his fingertips because the guy was a total klutz. My head mentally slammed into a nearby wall as I expected my cell phone to plunge to the floor.

"You pansy," I mumbled as I swerved forward to grab my phone before he could, brushing the dirt and debris off the screen. "Who are you?" I grumbled. The boy smiled half-heartedly and blew hot breath into my nostrils. I would have put some mint gum down his throat if he hadn't been chewing some then.

He leaned close to my face and said, "Aaron Chanson."

I growled cynically, "Well, Aaron Chanson." My hands guided against the lockers behind me him. "Thank you for retrieving my phone, but I'm leaving now." I slammed my locker shut and gave him an arrogant smile before sauntering off to the parking lot with my bag slung over my shoulder.

✽✽✽

"Ah, Cher. What would I do without you?" I mumbled under my breath. I slipped into my convertible after pulling open the side door.

I used to drive an eighties-era beat-up stick shift. My mom couldn't afford anything else. I adored her, even though she was an aged Camry. Cher was the nickname I gave to her.

I tossed my backpack in the back seat and turned on Cher, which rumbled to life. I cranked the engine and drew the stick back, drifting out of the parking lot and onto the highway. As Cher shrieked frantically, the wind slapped against my face, and I pressed my foot harder on the gas pedal.

At a red light, I came to a standstill and grabbed my messy bun on top of my head. As I squeezed the gas pedal, my hair flew back. Mr. Toad's wild ride was nothing compared to what Cher could pull off.

My house was only a few miles from the light, so I slowed down the rest of the way home as I pulled over in front of 335 N. Bluntington Street and yanked my keys from Cher's cylinder.

I drew my bag from the rear seat by leaning back. I shuffled towards the front porch after swinging open the side door.

I swung my backpack forward and unzipped the front pocket as I called into the house, "Mom, I'm home." I slid my keys into the pocket and slid my phone out of the bag, zipping it closed. Then I walked toward the stairwell.

I came to a complete stop in front of my father's portrait. It was dangling in a twisted manner. It wasn't like I cared. My stepfather was the most obnoxious son of a bitch I'd ever met. I'm unsure why Mom liked him or why we even had pictures of him throughout the house. I'm relieved that he died.

My stepfather had a picture of a younger version of me hanging next to him. My dorky seventh-grade yearbook photo, detailed with braces, glasses, and acne, was also crooked. Garry Banner threw his wad of gum in my hair the day before the staff took yearbook pictures, so my mother put my hair in partial pigtails to cover how cropped it looked. My complexion appeared sun-kissed from all the acne treatments I had tried, and my chubby little fingers pushed their way into my dimples, attempting to make a cute face, but I wasn't flattering. I wasn't even close.

That year, I recall crying to my mother about how I needed whatever it took to burn the fat off my body or so help me—I'd figure it out. After years of taunting from the boys in gym class, I was frantic. Pillsbury, lazy Susan, and Crisco were names they used to call me. Those were terrible names to call someone, but I honestly couldn't care less. They would pinch my stomach and giggle wildly, saying, "WHOO-hoo!" It wasn't even close to being humorous. I was determined to reclaim them. We moved soon after losing weight, so I never got my chance.

I moved my attention away from that thought and hurried up the stairs, avoiding slipping on the satin carpet as I walked along the hallway to my room and shut the door behind me.

I sighed and slammed my back against my warm dark blue bedding, which matched my baby blue walls, tossed my phone to the side, and drew the sheets closer to my skin. It was good to be back at home.

I pressed my phone to my chest and unlocked it. Even though I had no messages, I was curious to see what was up.

The home screen was alive, and as I read aloud, a new message appeared, not that I had many.

"This is A.C. I just thought I'd put my phone number in here in case of an emergency," I grunted, clutching my phone in my palm, debating whether to throw it across the room as the door creaked open, signaling my mother's arrival. My brow furrowed as I moved closer to the door. My mother smiled against the doorframe, a grocery bag in her hands.

"Emily, who are you texting?"

I moaned and re-wrapped the blankets around my torso. As my mom placed the groceries on the floor, she transferred her weight to her left leg.

"Does it matter, Mom? It's just a text." I pressed my phone against my chest, sneezing. My mother moved closer as I drew to the top of the bed. I rushed over to her and grinned as she sat down, patting the edge.

"I've got a late shift coming up," she added, sliding her hand against my thigh as I moaned and placed my phone on my palm. "I won't be able to visit you till the morning."

My mother's midnight shifts were something I loathed, but nothing I could do about it. My mother is a hard worker who considers her career critical to her well-being.

"Okay." As I collapsed against my bed again, I exhaled longer than intended.

She said, "See you tomorrow." I frowned as I watched her go out of the room. As I looked at my phone, I blew my hair out of my face. See  you tomorrow, Mom. I love you.