Tom's POV
I felt that familiar twist in my gut—part annoyance, part something else I didn't want to admit. But I kept my face neutral, pretending I hadn't noticed her at all. Still, inside, I was trying to figure out what her game was, why she was sitting next to me like this. And honestly? Part of me didn't mind the distraction.
"You don't sit here," I said dryly, turning sharply to face the front, pretending she wasn't even there. My tone was clipped, almost dismissive, as if I was trying to shut her out completely. She simply smiled, bright and unbothered. "Yeah, but no one says we can't switch seats," she replied, her voice light, as if she wasn't taking my words seriously. I clenched my jaw. "I'd rather sit alone," I shot back, hinting—more like implying—that she should get the hell out of my space.
But she just chuckled softly, leaning in a little. "Yeah, but it's good to sit with friends... Tom," she said, her voice dropping just enough to make me bristle. "We're not friends," I spat through gritted teeth, feeling my frustration bubble up. I didn't want her here, didn't want her playing these games with me. "Not yet," she said softly, nudging my shoulder with hers, her smile never fading. That damn smile—it was like she was deliberately testing me, and I hated how her teasing made me feel—annoyed, confused, maybe even a little intrigued.
I quickly looked away, trying to steady my racing pulse. I wasn't about to let her get under my skin, but damn... she was good at pushing those buttons. My gaze shifted to the notebook on the desk—my safe zone—while Mrs. Green, the algebra teacher, began her lesson.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet. "Wow, is that a Death Note?" she exclaimed, leaning over my shoulder with a mischievous grin. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Is it real?"
I hesitated for a split second, then turned to face her. Was she serious? I kept my expression neutral, flipping open the notebook and scribbling absently. "No," I muttered, continuing with my doodles and notes as if I didn't care.
But she didn't seem convinced. "Wow, you're really good," she said softly, almost in awe.
"Thanks," I replied, for some reason. Why did I say that? My mouth had a mind of its own around her—like it was on autopilot, just spouting whatever it thought she wanted to hear.
Then she leaned in a little more, her voice playful. "Could you, by any chance, draw me?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Why should I?"
"Because we're friends," she said, giving me a small, hopeful smile.
I scoffed. "Not yet," I shot back, trying to keep my tone sharp, dismissive.
She looked at me with a sheepish grin, eyes twinkling. "So... you do see us being friends, huh?"
My stomach clenched. I fumbled for an answer. "What... no... I—" I managed to stammer, feeling my words slip away.
Damn it, she had used my own words—her phrasing—against me. That sly, smartass smile of hers only made me more annoyed. But underneath the irritation, I couldn't deny I was oddly impressed. She was good—the kind of girl who could twist your words without even trying.
I was about to say something else, to fire back or maybe just brush her off, when Ms. Green's voice cut sharply through the classroom. "You two to the principal's office now! Talking in class is strongly prohibited, you're disrupting those who actually want to learn."
Without hesitation, we both stood up at the same time, moving in perfect sync as we headed toward the door. I kept my head down, trying to ignore the pounding in my chest as we walked down the hall. My curiosity got the better of me, and I sneaked a quick peek at Imogen. She seemed unbothered, completely unfazed by all of this. She looked calm, like this was no big deal.
Suddenly, I blurted out, "You know you got me into this mess," before I even realized I was going to say it. The words escaped me, and I immediately regretted it. She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "You didn't have to answer me," she said softly. I looked at her, surprised by the seriousness in her eyes. "But you wanted to, didn't you?" she added with a sly smirk.
Fuck. She was right. I didn't have to answer her. I could have just ignored her, kept my mouth shut. But I didn't—why? Because part of me wanted to? Because I was curious? Or maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to admit I liked the way she pushed me. I shook the thought out of my mind as we kept walking. I didn't need to go down that road.
"Hey," she said suddenly, breaking my train of thought. "You know we don't have to go to the principal's office, right?" I stopped in my tracks, confused. "What? "She nodded, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "The teachers never report these things. Let's go have some fun somewhere else." I hesitated, torn between the instinct to follow orders and the strange pull I felt toward whatever this was. But part of me—some small, rebellious part—wanted to see where this could go.