White

Like A Fucking Freezer.

"So you understand why I'm breaking up with you, right?"

I looked up Carter, still not believing that this was actually happening. I spent a year of my life with this bastard. I thought we had something...well, not good, maybe okay. Yeah, I thought we had something okay. Guess we were both thinking very differently.

"Because you think I'm," I raised both hands, making air quotes "'just not the one'?"

I couldn't help myself anymore, I burst out laughing. The situation was just too funny. Carter that could barely make any A's was breaking up with me. His smile rose while I laughed. It was so obvious he was misreading my laughter and it made me laugh even harder. When I had wiped the tears from my eyes, I turned my attention back to him. His smile was still bright, and a tiny part of me realized that that smile didn't make me swoon anymore.

"So, are we cool?"

"Oh yeah," I started mentally preparing myself for what was coming "like a fucking freezer."

Then I punched his lights out.

...........................................................

My mind registered slow clapping from behind me, and I whipped around so fast that I almost tripped over Carter's unconscious body.

It was mysterious guitar boy.

My subconscious put down The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and slowly looked up, ready to enjoy the show that was about to unfold.

I didn't speak. For two reasons mostly. Firstly, I wasn't sure if any of the others had staked a claim on him. For all I knew the Baddies and the GAL's already had. I sure as hell wasn't going to be the first person to break an unspoken rule.

Unless it was no dessert before meals. Fuck the food.

The second reason was more mundane. My jaw was the new lead in the CleanQuik commercial because it was wiping that floor good as new.

He was hot. Really, really hot. Hot like I-got-third-degree-burns-just-looking-at-him-hot. His short, straight brown hair was sticking up in some places and flat in others, giving him that just-got-out-of-bed look. Warm chocolate brown eyes stared deep into my soul, accented by a straight nose and pale pink lips. Broad shoulders and thick biceps were covered by a thin plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and the white t-shirt underneath stretched across a wide torso.

I must've been drooling by the time he spoke to me.

"That was quite the show, and I'm impressed," he looked down at Carter, "But that was kinda my ride home, Stalker." He talked the same way he sang. Sexy.

Fuck, he'd seen me!

Shit, he knew Carter!

But I still didn't say anything. It wasn't me drooling this time. It was the rule. Goddamn rule. I wanted to talk so bad it hurt, to show him the snarky side of Camila Cortez.

He cocked his head to one side and rose one perfectly trimmed brown brow. "Can't you talk?"

My subconcious' mouth popped open. The freakin' nerve!

Not yet I couldn't, I had to know if they'd staked him or not. But I needed to communicate.

Bingo!

Slowly, I took out a small rectangle of white paper from my bag, and an old battered edition of Five Children and It. It looked like any old book, but it wasn't. If you'd happen to open it, and bother to flip past the first few pages, then there would be a small square hole in the middle, just big enough to snugly fit a small zip lock bag with weed in it.

Don't judge.

After looking around and making sure we were the only ones there -besides hopefully dead Carter- I carefully rolled up a joint. I exchanged the faux-book and zip lock for a lighter and twisted the end of the joint with a flourish.

I handed mysterious guitar boy –whose name I still did not know- the lighter and lightly placed the joint between my lips.

Make your decision, my stance seemed to say, run to the principal like a goddamn five year old, or hit one up with me.

"You know, I think the two of us are gonna be great friends."

That same eyebrow was still cocked, even as I watched the flame of the lighter dance onto the joint.