SHOOT| ✓

Porter Evans

THE ONLY TIME I'VE SPOKEN TO PORTER WAS IN JUNIOR YEAR.

We had Chemistry together with Mr. Garcia, but not so much chemistry ourselves. Something about his I'm-the-nicest-kid-at-school attitude always made me weary. This is saying a lot because I was voted most to 'not give a fuck' in junior year. I'm still the title holder. Obviously.

It comes as a shock to me that Darcy knows Porter. Let alone invited him to have lunch with the both of us. I try not to think anything of it because he clearly means nothing to her. At least I hope so. With Darcy, it's hard to tell who she loves and who she loves. She loves me, and maybe she loves Porter. Or could it be vice-versa? Part of me doesn't want to find out.

"I just realized you're both blonde and got blue eyes." Darcy pokes at her Caesar salad with a fork, smiling vigilantly at both of us. Whatever her attempts at easing us are, it's not working. "You sorta look alike."

She isn't even sitting next to me, which is speaking volumes. She's got her gaze fixated on Porter too. "Coincidence," he says. "There's plenty of students with blonde hair and blue eyes."

"But you're both here at the same time," she points out. "And it's freaky. Cool freaky."

Darcy's eyes shift to mine. "Right, Monty?"

"Hmph."

She responds with a subtle roll of her eyes and looks back down at her untouched food. "You two really know how to keep a conversation going," Darcy's words drip with sarcasm. "Please, try not to speak at the same time, it's hard to hear."

Darcy sighs and shakes her head from side to side. "You guys are lame."

If it's one thing I can do well, it's keep my mouth shut and observe the world like it's just one big science experiment. We don't share glances, we don't acknowledge each other, we just grunt and try to find a distraction in the cafeteria.

"It's really hot outside," Porter says.

I hide my contempt by looking down at my lunch, which is last night's leftovers because Mom was crying this morning and didn't have time to put something together. My best bet is she won't snap out of her little pity parade until did does it for her, violently.

"Guess it is." Darcy laughs and I hate it. She's sharing it with Porter when it's supposed to be mine. "That's if I don't melt before the day's over. This weather is not doing it for my hair."

"Your hair looks nice like that though. If you think no one likes it, I do."

"It took me forever to get it into this ponytail," she goes on. "I woke up to a ball of frizz this morning and an hour later it was decent. But I guess it doesn't look too bad, especially with my tube top, right?"

She giggles, "I thought I lost it, turns out it was all the way at the end of my closet."

Darcy shifts her gaze down to her half-exposed stomach, then grins when she meets my lingering gaze. "Monty didn't want me wearing it."

"The colour's really nice on you," he comments with a wink. I'm itching to drive my fork into his eye.

"Aw, that's sweet of you, Porter."

For fucks sake. I can't tell if Porter is seriously flirting with my girlfriend as if I were non-existent. If anything, I remind him to keep to himself with a little kick in the right direction. He flinches as my foot makes harsh contact with his shin, a hiss flitting past his mouth. Somehow, I don't mind seeing him in pain. "Um, is everything alright?" Darcy's eyes dart between the both of us.

"He's fine," I mumble under my breath.

He recovers swiftly, already engaging in more conversation with her. I stare at him sidelong and it feels like there's liquid fire coursing through my veins. My eyes migrate to Darcy, and I'm seconds away from tossing her my hoodie because her clothing isn't helping with my Porter situation. I look back at him. Follow his gaze.