❝I think you're my favorite person.❞
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Since childhood, Lila's had her mind set on what she wants. And now in her senior year, that's getting into West Michigan State University. But her overbearing...
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WHEN I SLIDE into my seat, I can feel the weight of a gaze on me.
I glance up to see Chase staring at me from across the class. My cheeks heat and I immediately look away, remembering what I have to ask of him today.
How will it look that I shot him down for tutoring sessions but will crawl back to ask for him to fake date me? Probably really pathetic.
Mr. Wilson enters the class and I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. I haven't gotten over the fact that he was the reason Chase and I met in the first place.
Though, if Chase agrees to my horrible plan, maybe that won't have been such a bad thing.
I try my best not to get under Mr. Wilson's skin the entire class. Even when he pronounces a word completely wrong I keep my mouth shut like the rest of my classmates.
I can't afford getting sent to the front office twice in a week. Nor can I afford butchering the only time I have to speak to Chase.
Ever since the beginning of this year, I would correct him on a few things—whether it be his spelling, or his grammar, or his inaccurate historical facts—I couldn't help myself, and eventually he got pretty sick of it.
Which is why he hates me so much. I should be offended, but I cant bring myself to be. If anything, his temperament brings me entertainment.
I'm sure Mr. Wilson can tell I'm holding myself back because he has a smug look on his face each time he asks a question. I really want to punch it off his face.
But I think I've had my fair share of punching this week.
By the time class is finished, I gather my things and watch as Chase exits the room with a red-headed boy walking with him.
I curse under my breath and trail behind them, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. I don't want to have an audience when I embarrassed myself in front of Chase.
I wait for the red-head to leave and once he finally does I'm taking quick steps toward Chase. Just as I'm about to reach him though, his friends—who I always see him with—reach him first, the dark-skinned boy giving him a slap on the back.
I hike my bag higher on my shoulder and blow out a breath. Should I just go up to him? I'm not usually one to hide in the corner.
I like being bold—most of the time. I like saying whatever I'm thinking. But something about going up to Chase Rhodes in the middle of the hallway makes my stomach roll. And I hate that it does.
