Cliché

chapter 2. let's switch shirts

After receiving my schedule from the front desk lady, who seemed to glare into my soul the entire time the paper was printing, I leave the office— only to find that my supposed Best Friend has disappeared. I sigh in disappointment, but don't dwell on it any longer as I make my way towards the next building for my first class, math.

Pushing open the door leading out of the main building, I feel a sense of deja vu as I bump into someone's chest yet again. I don't fall down, but the collision is enough to disorient me for a few moments. Once I regain my balance, I realize that not only have my glasses disappeared from my face, but my hand is now holding a cup of coffee.

Or rather, a cup. The coffee, to my horror, has spilled upon the crisp white button up of the boy in front of me.

And to top it all off, the bell rings.

The boy looks down at the stain, before slowly lifting his head to focus his burning glare on me. Coldly, he hisses, "Do you know how much this costs?"

In a British accent, might I add.

I scratch my temple, smiling nervously at him. "A hundred dollars?" I guess, that amount being the standard cost for this school's uniform.

"Add a zero and you'll be closer," he snarls, disgust practically permeating his entire being.

My mouth drops open. After taking a moment to process the amount, I clasp my hands together, looking up to him with an expression of sincere apology. "Sir, I just wanted to let you know that I am truly sorry, but I have no money. But I will literally do your homework for the entire school year, so please spare me," I plead.

I could stop there, but from the explosion of my nerves under his calculating gaze, my mouth reflexively keeps running. "I mean, I'm kind of dumb though. See, you probably already know, but I had a 32% in math last year. What I didn't say was that I had a 68% in art and a 0.9% in—"

"I didn't ask for your resume," he interrupts, irritation apparent on his face. "And I'm Alexander T. Sterling. I don't need your money or your services."

I nod slowly. "Alright. So... can I go?"

He takes a step closer, his face inching closer to mine with every passing second. The scent of his cologne assaults my nose as his minty breath fans over my face, making my skin crawl with discomfort. "I still need a new shirt, though."

I take a large step back, stretching out my arm. "Sir, please, this is a high school. There's a thing called personal space."

While telling him off verbally, my mind races with all the possibilities this encounter could signify. This boy is obviously another love interest— the arrogant Rich Boy, if I have to take a guess. Was my interaction with the Quarterback out of chance? Or will I be involved in a love triangle?

"Well?" He asks impatiently, looking between his shirt and me.

"You could always..." I trail off, scanning my surroundings for any idea of how to get out of this scene. My eyes land on a bathroom, and giving him a less-than-enthusiastic smile, suggest, "... switch shirts with me?"

The corner of his lip turns upward in amusement as he glances down at me. "It won't fit."

"Who cares! I just want to get this over with and go to math," I snap at him. "And that's saying something."

"Fine." He puts his hands up as if surrendering, before beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey!" I shout, putting my hand out in a stop sign. "What are you doing?"

"Changing," he states, his pale collarbone in full sight now.

"In the bathrooms!" I point exasperatedly at the two doors only a little way down the hall from the two of us. "There's a thing called public decency!"