I yanked the door open and found Neil and Sarah neatly folding my new designer clothes into the wardrobe, muttering to each other with goofy smiles. In my room? All lovey-dovey? Seriously?
"Argh! So many clothes—I should give some away!" I said loudly, just to get their attention.
"Ma'am, you're here?" Neil straightened, instantly all stiff and formal.
"Yeah, in my own room. So? What exactly are you doing here? 'Cause this ain't your job," I asked, collapsing onto the bed as I kicked off my sneakers.
"I just wanted to help…?" he answered, more like a question than a statement.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed my phone from the nightstand, and spotted a missed call.
"One missed call? Y'all better be quick and leave," I said, walking out.
Unknown number. I never answer strange calls—could be a stalker fan. But what if it was an emergency? My phone rang again. And again. And again. My heart decided for me: I answered.
"Hello?"
"How are you, doll?"
I froze. "Bernard? Ugh, just get to the point. Why are you using another number?"
"How about I tell you something heartbreaking?"
"Bernard, grow up."
"Ann—your best friend? Or what she pretends to be—is into your crush, Fred. I've got proof. She even admitted it."
"It's natural. Please. Don't. You. Dare. Call. Me. Again! You hear me?"
I hung up. Idiot. Why would he tell me Ann's into Fred? No way. Fred was handsome, yes, but Ann? Out of her league. Still… I felt this uneasy knot twisting in me. And Fred—ugh—he hadn't called, hadn't said a word. Is this how a relationship is supposed to form?
---
I paced the corridor outside class, plotting. I needed a plan to flip my friendship with Fred into something more. But then there was Bernard—always in my way. His very name annoyed me. His big nose, his biceps… Okay, fine, maybe he was handsome. But I regretted everything with him.
I regretted calling him my boyfriend.
I regretted the hangouts.
I regretted the stupid gifts.
I regretted RSVPing as his date and letting the world assume we were together.
Why him? Why not Fred? Why wasn't Fred here, consoling me right now?
A sudden puff of hot air blew into my ear. I jumped, swatting at it.
"What the—an insect?"
"Hey, sorry," a voice said.
"Urgh… you?" I groaned, rubbing my ear.
"I'm sorry for ignoring you. A friend shouldn't do that."
"That's not how you apologize. Anyway, did you see Bernard? I've been—oh, Bernard! Over here!" I waved.
His face froze. "You calling me?"
"Yeah. Let's take a stroll. Talk things out," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck.
Fred stiffened. "Uh… I'll… I'll just head inside," he muttered, looking crushed.
Oh, poor boy. It's not like I don't like you. I do. More than you know. But… ugh. Were my arms still around Bernard's neck? Gross.
I shoved Bernard away, brushing invisible dirt off my shirt.
"Wow. One minute you're nice, the next you're not. Baby, relax. You're falling for me. Look, your thing with Fred isn't even working, and you know why? Because you like me. You're fighting it, but give it a month—Fred will be history." He smirked, strutting back to class.
---
Fred's POV
What the hell did I just witness? I came to apologize for something I didn't even do, and she—ugh.
She went all lovey-dovey with him right in front of me. What happened to 'he's just a friend'?
All girls are the same. Especially the rich, famous ones. I thought maybe our friendship could turn into something more. But no. She ruined it. It's clear now: Bernard's the one for her. My only mistake was falling for her. You can't force someone to love you back.
I picked up my textbook, trying to distract myself. But then she walked into class, hips swaying, heading straight for Bernard's desk. She plopped onto his lap, smiling.
Self-control. I needed self-control. I buried my face in a magazine, but my eyes betrayed me. Bernard kissed her—right there.
That was it.
I snapped.
I stood, yanked Zikora off Bernard's lap, and dragged her into the corridor.
"Zikora!" I shouted.
She struggled, but my grip was strong. Too strong. My nails dug into her skin.
"Fred, you're hurting me!" she cried, clawing at my hand.
"Shut up!" I snapped, my anger boiling.
"Fred, I'm bleeding! Ann! Where are you?" she screamed.
Blood? I didn't even notice. Too blinded by rage. She deserved this—for playing me, for not loving me back.
"Let her go, Fred. You're hurting her," Bernard warned.
"Or else what?" I barked.
"I'll beat you to pulp."
"Try me."
"Fred, please…" Zikora sobbed.
Bernard lunged, his fist smashing into my face. Pain shot through me as I staggered against the rail, crashing to the tiled floor.
But I wasn't going down easy.
I kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him to the ground, groaning. I rushed to Zikora, who was cradling her wrist, and grabbed her arm—this time softer.
"Let's go," I said, almost begging.
"I don't wanna go with you. Leave me!" she cried.
"Let her go, Fred!" Bernard roared.
I ignored him, dragging her anyway. The crowd chanted—half for me, half for Bernard. Chaos.
Bernard tackled me again, fists flying. I clawed back, my nails raking across his neck until strips of his skin peeled off. Blood smeared my fingers. A scar—that'd remind him of me forever.
"Principal's coming! Run!" someone shouted.
The crowd scattered to their seats. Bernard still had me by the collar. I had him by his. Our eyes were pure fire.
"Please, stop!" Zikora begged, trying to push between us.
"Stay out of this, Zikora!" I barked.
"Bernard, just let him go!" she screamed.
He shoved her to the floor. That was it. My fists clenched, ready to break his jaw.
"Enough!" the principal thundered, storming in with Mrs. Evelyn and Mr. Nelson.
"Mrs. Evelyn—take Miss Zikora to the sick bay. And you two—MY OFFICE. NOW."
Our glares didn't break. Not even then.