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CHAPTER ONE
"Hey Mollie."
I could've identified that voice any day. It belonged to a cocky, brown-haired and (probably) smelly breathed fuck boy. Call me rude, but it's the truth.
Brad Simpson.
The definition of cocky. The definition of stupid. The definition of fuck boy. And, somehow, he's insanely popular.
"What do you want, Bradley?"
That was me.
I'm not sure where my social status stands. Some people like me, some people hate me, some people don't even know I exist.
"I'm just talking to one of my–"
New victims? Brad has a notorious reputation that involved ladies and the genital region.
"–friends." He smirks. That's one of his only talents. Smirking. He should get an award for it.
"We're not friends," I roll my eyes at him, slamming my locker shut. "Just because you have a fancy British accent and stroll around think you're the King doesn't mean you're friends with everyone."
"Stop being so difficult, Friend."
See that capital letter? Yeah, that's because Friend is my last name. Mollie Friend. It's an ugly name but I swore to myself that when I turn eighteen I'll change my last name. Or get married to someone like Alfredo Hubert. I'm working on a last name for him, but he's Spanish. Or Mexican. Except I wouldn't be allowed to stay at home, here, in America.
Or maybe I'll marry Ashton Irwin. . .
"I'm going to walk away and pray to the Lord that He's in a good mood and will ring the bell before you decide to follow me." I think out loud.
"I'm in your first and second period class, Princess." He smirks.
That smirk is getting annoying already. I'll slap it off of him: or maybe just slap him in general.
Wow, I never realised how violent I am.
My face falls. "The Lord is in a bad mood."
"How about I walk you to class, Princess?" Brad offers.
"Stop calling me Princess. It's annoying." I give him a sarcastic smile and sling my rucksack over my shoulder, starting to walk away. Of course, he follows me.
"Why shouldn't I call you that, Princess?" He asks, slinging his arm over my shoulder. I push it off with a roll of my eyes.
"Because it's annoying," I repeat. "And annoying a girl is like poking a bear with a stick."
"I'll take my chances," He winks and I groan.
And if you thought this Monday morning could get any worse, none of my friends were in class when I arrived.
"Looks like it's you and me, Friend."
"Call me that again and I'll kick your balls in, Simpson."
⧫ ⧫ ⧫
"I might actually stab him." I glare in Brad's direction, as he continues to smirk and wink at me from a distance.
"So, let's get this straight," Ana says. "Brad, the really hot player, walked you to class—,"
"Screw that, I'll just ask my dad if I can borrow his gun."
"—And was flirting with you for the whole of first and second period and—,"
"How about ripping his fingernails off? That sounds good, too."
"—You're not swooning over him at all?"
"No," I reply, still glaring at Brad.
"Can I have him then?" She asks. "Wait, no. I want his friend."
"Which one?" I ask.
"The lanky, blonde one. He looks like a spoon."
"A spoon?"
"A spoon."
"Maybe spoon can be our always," I laugh and look at his friend. "I think he's called Tony."
"He doesn't look like a Tony," Ana frowns. "He looks like a James."
"His definitely begins with a T."
"How about we go say hi?" Ana perks up and I glare at her. Why is she my best friend again?
"Wait, I think I know his name," I pick up a fry and eat it. "Tristan. He plays on the football team."
"Cute and plays football? Double package."
Our other friend, Luisa, comes and sits with us and I give her a smile, putting some books in my locker. Thankfully, it's lunch and that means only two periods left before the end of the day.
As I slam it shut and turn to my friends. We make our way to the cafeteria and sit down at our usual table at the back of the room to go on our phones on much on our food.
I click on the Instagram app and open it to find several requests, and of course, Brad requested to follow me. I look up, sighing, only to see the boy smirking at me from across the cafeteria. Did he follow us in here? He never comes in here.
It's not that I'm a stalker or anything, I couldn't care less about Brad if I tried. However, the canteen is full of so many tables and they're always filled up with the same people.
Just to leave him hanging, I don't accept his request, but instead leave it pending. His face drops as I set down my phone on the table and continue to talk to my two best friends.
"Why are the boys staring at us?" Luisa asks halfway through the conversation and I glance back to see all four looking at us. Their face falls as I glare at them and they turn away.
