Chapter One

Get Ready. Get Set.

Go.

(Readers, are you ready?)

I was sitting in the library in what I liked to call my alcove. It was a small area in the back of the school library where there was a desk and a small lamp for reading in peace and quiet. This area is where I spent my lunch period and my free period, only my close friends knew where to find me and that is the way I liked it.

I scanned the page in my AP Government book and quickly scribbled down a few notes that would come in handy.

Then, I heard a noise. I spun around and looked at the nearly empty library and then turned back to my book.

This time I heard it again, louder this time, and the noise was most definitely the sound of sneakers against the floor. As I turned to look once more, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

I pretended to start reading my book, but my eyes scanned the area around me in hopes of catching the culprit.

"Well hello there, Sexy Kexy," an alluring voice said and my head snapped to attention.

As I looked up, my eyes met the blue green eyes of none other than Hayden Michaels. He was the new kid that moved here from New York. The one that became popular basically over night. He played guitar, was captain of the soccer team and was associate Editor-in-Chief of our newspaper, The Looking Glass. So why was he talking to me?

"Don't call me that," I hissed, gathering my things from the table and shoving them into my messenger bag.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with mirth, "Why not, Sexy Kexy?"

I glared at him, and threw my bag over my shoulder. I pushed my way past him and hurriedly ran out the door of the library. Only, in the process of doing so, I tripped. Tripping was a natural occurrence for me and I was used to it, unfortunately, my things were not and they spilled out of my bag and onto the floor.

"Just brilliant," I murmured, trying to grab my things and stuff them into my bag once more.

When I had finally collected all of my books, I went to grab for my bag. Only to find it in the clutches of—you guessed it—Hayden Michaels.

"What could you possibly want from me?" I whined, attempting to grab my bag from him.

He held the bag out of my reach and I cursed my height of 5'3. He smirked again, "I can't talk to one of my fellow school mates?"

"No, you cannot," I snapped. "Now, can I have my bag back?"

"No, you cannot," He mocked.

I pursed my lips and glared at him. "Give. Me. The. Bag."

"Or what?" Hayden challenged.

"Hayden," I warned. "Just give me the back or I will have to get it myself."

He smiled calmly, "Sorry, sweetheart, no can do."

I clicked my tongue impatiently, "Fine, it's your pain." And with that, I gave him one swift kick to the place where the sun doesn't shine, if you get my drift. He dropped the bag quicker than I would drop a hot pan and he then yelped in agony as he fell to floor.

"Jesus Christ," He swore, covering his, well, "walnuts and doodle berries," for protection.

Ha, I thought to myself. This is what you get for pissing off and messing with the mighty Kexy Alexis Stone.

I picked my bag off the floor and slowly placed my things in the bag. I took one last look at Hayden on the ground and winked at him, a smirk on my face. I walked away casually, as if nothing had happened, and silently hoped this had taught Mr. Michael his lesson.

Quite frankly, I was disgusted by his holier-than-thou attitude and he was in need for a change. I also hoped this little incident would keep him far away from me until he graduated.

I was wrong, again. No matter how much I hated to admit it.

Tuesdays are the worst day of the week. Mondays you get to go back to school and see the people you didn't see over the weekend. Wednesdays were the middle of the week and there was only two days left of school. Thursdays were the day you knew you had only more day left of school. Friday was the last day before the weekend.

Tuesdays were the day where you had three more days left of school and there was no Monday excitement. Tuesdays for me was also Starbucks coffee day. I needed a kick-start to my day on Tuesdays. That is why Starbucks may be my savior to sophomore year.

As I approached the counter I saw Cindy, the barista, and automatically she flashed me a bright smile and asked, " Venti Caramel Macchiato?"

I nodded vigorously and handed her a five-dollar bill and waited for my change.

"So, how is school going for you?" Cindy asked casually, twisting her blonde ponytail. Cindy has been working here for two years, and her and I have developed a bond only a Starbucks barista and regular costumer could have. She knew my drink and my life story, and she was always there when I needed to vent and I was there for her. It was a nice friendship.

"Shitty," I deadpanned.

She pursed her lips, "What happened, hon?"

I looked at my cell phone quickly and sighed, "Long story, but I have to get to school otherwise I am going to be late. I'll stop in today after school and I'll explain everything."

"Alright, sweetie, I'll see you later!" She called as I dashed out the door to my own personal Hell.

Most of the time, after I've had my coffee, my Tuesdays go brilliantly. As I neared my locker at school, it appeared this day was not going to be one of those days. Do you want to know why? (Of course you do, you're reading this story after all aren't you?)

Blocking my locker was none other than Hayden fucking Michaels. Oh Buddha, what did I do to deserve this cretin in my life?

Okay, Kexy, get a hold of yourself. Breathe. In, out. In, out. You are going to try a new tactic today: ignoring him.

I stealthily walked up to my locker, not even glancing at him, and put in my locker combination. Once it clicked open, I calmly put my things away and grabbed my books for my first class.

And that's when the shit hit the fan.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?" Hayden asked, arms crossed, ego bruised. Aw, poor baby.

Not.

"No," I stated bluntly.

"You assaulted me."

"You stole my bag," I retorted.

"I merely grabbed it to help you gather your things," Hayden replied smoothly and I made a face.

"Liar," I hissed, then shot him a glare. "Please, do us both a favor and fuck off. I don't know why you and your friends think it's funny to harass me, but leave. Me. Alone."

He looked at me in shock, his eyes swirling with color and emotion. Why was he still talking to me? I wanted nothing to do with him and his little games. Most people would be grateful, but he just stood there, still as a tree.

"I just wanted to talk to you, Sexy Kexy," Hayden said, an almost irresistible smile upon his lips. Hey, I said almost.

I looked at him and rolled my eyes, "Do us both a favor and don't. We come from separate worlds, so talking to me is probably a bad idea. It's what is best for both of us." A sympathetic smile was on my lips, but what I said was true. It would be best for both of us. We came from different grades, different social classes, how would a friendship even be possible?

"You really think that?" He asked.

"I never lie," I replied, not glancing back as a hurried to my next class.

"Are they true?" My best friend since second grade, Layla, asked. I dropped my books on the desk that resided next to her and sat down, turning to look at my redheaded friend with a sigh.

"That depends," I replied. "What are the rumors?"

Layla's green eyes blazed with mischief and curiosity. Shit, that was never good. "Well, there are a few. The first one, which I find the most realistic knowing you, is that you kicked Hayden Michaels in the balls because he was bothering you. The second is that the two of you had a lovers' spat and then you kicked him in the balls. And the third is that you simply gave him a 'handy mandy' in the hallway."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish. Layla had a way of doing this to me. Ever since her and I have been friends, she has always been the most blunt and audacious. While I have been known to speak my mind and have witty retorts, Layla takes the surprise factor for sure.

Of course, most people wouldn't expect this from her because she was model worthy being 5'11 with fiery red hair and emerald green eyes. They would expect her to be the kind, gentle one. Ha, no.

"Speak, oh mighty Kexy!" Layla yelled, throwing her hands in the air. At this point, pretty much everyone in our class was looking directly at us.

"Layla," I hissed. "Stop it. Everyone is looking at us."

A coy smile lit Layla's lips triumphantly. "Then answer my question."

A signed and ran a hand through my wavy brown hair, "It was the first one. I don't know what he wants, but this morning he was standing in front of my locker, waiting for me and he keeps calling me 'Sexy Kexy' and it drives me nuts."

"'Sexy Kexy.' I like it," Layla said with a wink. "Maybe he likes you or wants a tutor, I mean, you are one of the smartest people in this school."

"I highly doubt he needs a tutor," I replied. "He is in the running for class valedictorian."

"Okay, you have a point. But I mean, what else could he really want besides getting into your panties?"

"Please do not use the word 'panties,' Layla. It makes me feel uncomfortable."

Layla rolled her green eyes, then shot me a look, "Stop being a baby, Kex. Now, tell me what happened yesterday. Like the whole story."

"Fine," I crossed my arms over my chest and sank into my seat. "Well, you see, I was minding my own business in the library and then he came and started talking to me. Of course, I was like 'what the hell do you want' because well, I mean, he's Hayden Michaels. So, in a rush, I grabbed my things and left the library but then I dropped my books all over the floor and he stole my bag and was dangling it over my head, so, I kind of…. Kicked him down low-"

"Kex, calm down," Layla whispered. "You are rambling and I can barely understand you. And what could possibly possess you to kick Hayden there?"

"He stole my bag!"

"He was giving it back to you!"

"Nuh uh!" I replied. "He wouldn't give it back to me, therefore he wasn't trying to give it back to me but stealing it."

"Oh. My. Gosh. It has cooties, you are going to die!" Layla screamed sarcastically.

"Layla. Stop." I told her bluntly.

"Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you have the cootie shot!"

"Stop, Lays."

"You do realize you have to apologize now, right?"

I looked at Layla and shook my head. "No. I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Otherwise, I'll do it for you and I know you don't want me to do that." Layla told me, smirking crazily.

Please, just hit me with a bus.

("Mean Girls" reference anyone? Eh?)