I don't know what's more unnerving, the gawking of my classmates or the piercing gaze of a super model. On one hand, the group of students currently sitting down are looking at me as if I just willingly walked into a lion's den. Some of them are shaking their heads, and some of them are frozen, watching me with curiosity. On the other hand, he has deep green eyes, and I never knew how attractive that color was until we made eye contact. His features are so symmetrical and are especially highlighted with the way his darker than night hair is framing his face. The intruding knot in my stomach from a few moments ago is now a full blown mountain of tension.

"Can I help you?" His smooth voice resonates in the silent room. His eyes are sharp, but at the same time they look relaxed. I stare back at him, studying him and thinking back to the flawless sound that escaped his hypnotizing lips.

Holy shit.

I still can't get over the fact that he just talked to me. I mean, from what it looks like— and the power of deduction— I can assume that the reason why he's talking in my direction was not necessarily to talk to me, but to address the elephant in the room. And well, it's making me really nervous. My heart is beating a mile a minute.

Sure, I was totally roasting that chick a few minutes ago. Of course, Ashton is a dumbass and he had it coming. But being stared at by at least thirty people whom are equivalent to delinquents in a secluded room is a little terrifying.

Just a little.

Despite that reasoning for my anxiety, I don't want people to know how nervous I am. This isn't Room 102, so the students probably aren't as psycho, but I still feel like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of wolves. So instead of broadcasting to everyone that I'm prey that they can just continue to push over, I'm going to try to blend in while I'm here. Everyone here is tough, right? They all seem accustomed to this atmosphere. Besides, if I were to look like a little bitch in here, wouldn't they seek me out during school and mess with me for their amusement?

That is why I respond to the good looking yet intimidating guy in front of me with a shrug of the shoulders. I even make sure to sound careless in my response, "You're the one staring at me."

He raises an eyebrow. Seems like that was the last thing he was expecting me to say. "You're the one sitting in my seat."


Is that what this is about?

I mean, now that I think about it, it makes plenty of sense. I thought the reason why everything got so bone chilling in this room was because I'm new and the hotshot of the room was going to give me some sort of unfriendly greeting. Sitting in said hotshot's seat sounds just as bad, but this is just an honest mistake. Not that I'm going to move, because that would be totally humiliating, but am I really at fault here? I'm new and no one told me the unspoken rules. I mean, it doesn't really matter anyway because I am not about to look like an idiot and succumb to his request of switching seats.

Wait, request? What am I thinking? He didn't even ask! He only made a statement, and because of his ego—which most likely developed from realizing how good looking he is— he probably states observations daily and people fall to their knees to follow his every 'request.'

I don't know about you, but that kind of pisses me off. He may be one good looking dude, but everyone probably thinks of me even less because I'm sitting in some self-righteous asshole's seat. I feel my face twisting into an annoyed expression. "Oh," I snort. "I'm sorry your highness, am I sitting on your throne?"

His majesty doesn't respond; however, he does continue to stare me down. There isn't a change of emotion on his face, but I do notice his eyes narrow ever so slightly. The silence in the room remains, and I see students turning to look at one another. I feel like I'm walking into uncharted territory. Did I just mess something up? Like, at an atomic level? Because that's what it feels like, and my heart feels like it's palpitating. And when I get nervous, I have the habit to say stupidly impulsive things.

For example:

"Well, I'm not moving, sire," I mock, leaning back into my chair. "Sit somewhere else. Just look around the room, you have so many options."

The other students look astounded by my remark. It was as if I had started some sort of controversy with the way they were leaning to one another or nudging each other. The guy, however, stays completely still, his face devoid of emotion. That is, until a corner of his lips curves upward, almost as if he'd been challenged.

The screeching of a chair captures the attention of the room. Everyone turns to look at the source of the sound, all except that Mr. Michaels character standing near the front of the room. Mr. Yates is standing up and looking over the classroom, an unsettling look crossing his features. He must have heard everything and was going to make a comment of some sort, but I don't know why it took him until just now to do something.

"What is going on here?" He asks, but he most definitely knows the answer. "Mr. Michaels, sit down and stop making a scene—"

"—Irwin," Michaels interjects, "Leave the room."


With an astonished face, Yates responds, "Excuse me? This is not the—"

"—I said," he interrupts once again, his voice dangerously cold, "leave."

The silence in the room is almost deafening. People are afraid to breathe at this point—myself included— and to make this situation entirely worse, Michaels had never looked away from me. I glance behind him and make eye contact with Yates. A look of vexation is directed in my direction, his eyes squinting in thought.

I am downright flabbergasted at what just happened. This guy just ordered a teacher to leave the room.


A teacher.

He's a student, here for after school detention. With the power of context clues, I can conclude that he's here very frequently. Regardless, he just called the shots and told a teacher—who is accountable for all of the students in this room— to walk out the door.

Just what the fuck did I get myself into?

It takes a few long moments before Yates reluctantly steps toward the door. His eyes find mine once more before he walks out the room without another word, closing the door behind him. Within seconds, I see multiple students around me take out their phones and aim them in my direction. This definitely does not look good. If it weren't obvious already, shit is going to get very real with the excited looks they're given one another, especially with the camera rolling. My hands resting on my lap clench in anticipation and dread all at once. I don't know what to expect, but with the way things are going, I don't know how to respond.

Should I apologize? Should I get up right now and switch seats? Should I call for help? Just what the fuck do I do? I'm literally trapped in a room with a bunch of delinquents, most in which who are entertained at the way things are going. I fight the urge to bite my bottom lip and I turn my gaze back to Michaels.

His eyes are glowering down at me, and now that my attention is back on him, he starts talking. "Listen, kid." Just that by itself was condescending. "Clearly you don't know any better, so I'll give you another chance to get up and apologize."

My cheeks flush in embarrassment when the room breaks out into a fit of chuckles. I feel utterly humiliated at his condescending and belittling remark. As much as I was considering apologizing and switching seats, it no longer crosses my mind. Who goes this far for something as trivial as this? And what angers me even more is the way these other kids support him and encourage him, as if he's some sort of god. I know what funny is, and this is certainly not humorous. In fact, it's absolutely idiotic how this is such a big deal.

"Apologize for what?" I bite back, eyes narrowing. "For sitting in an empty seat that belongs to the school? This seat belongs to me just as much as it belongs to you."

That seems to entertain him. With a smirk he responds, "Don't try to put yourself on the same level as me, sugar." His eyes wander up and down my form. I try not to squirm in discomfort. "And what are you, a freshman?"

I clench my recently relaxed hands into fists. "I'm a senior."

His eyebrows rise lazily. "Really? Then you should know that you're making a big mistake."

I grimace in disgust as I lean forward, resting my upper body on my forearm, which is pressed on top of the desk. "The only mistake I'm currently making is continuing a conversation with an asinine, nonsensical, and vacuous brute."

He snorts and his eyes widen in sheer amusement. "That's cute." He turns to his leather clad friends. "She's using big words." His friends chuckle, as well as the majority of the room, before he turns back to me with a large curve of the lips. "And this asinine brute might just determine whether you finish this school year or not." His eyes narrow, grin still intact. "Now scram."

I grind my teeth. "No." I sit up straighter and glare at him. "I got here first. Maybe you shouldn't have been late."

He tilts his head slightly to the side, a few curls toppling over into his eyes. "I sat there first. About three years before you did."

Now it's my turn to smirk. "And about three years after someone else did." I crack a grin. "Oh, the joys of high school. There is always someone before you."

He doesn't skip a beat, "And in this case, I was before you."

"Really?" I scoff at his idiotic response. "That wasn't even my point."

He looks down at me smugly. "Well, that's the second thing so far that's not yours."

A little word play, I see. Let's go, bastard. This is my territory.

"Who's the one acting like he owns the place?" I retort, very annoyed at how no one has asked him this before.

He gives me a sly smile. "Acting?" He chuckles before continuing, "Oh, but I do own the place, sugar." He runs a hand through his silky curls and smiles wider. "Now, I'll forgive you this time since things turned out to be a little more entertaining, but next time there will be consequences."

In normal circumstances, I would join the girls swooning over the way he ran his hand through his hair and the way his voice sounded warm and playful—despite the open threat directed at me. Why? Because he's delectable and I'm pretty sure he knows it. However, in this case, he just treated me like a child. I can almost feel the steam blowing out of my ears and nostrils. I absolutely cannot stand it when people belittle me to that extent.

"Oh really?" I scoff loudly. "And what do you want me to do now? Thank you? Bow down before you?"

He looks at me with mirth. "You wouldn't be the first girl to end up down there."

I feel my face flush not only from his suggestive comment, but also from fury with the way he's disparaging me and also women everywhere. "You're a disgusting and insolent barbarian. I blatantly refuse to move out of this chair because I will not waver to the ultimatum of a savage such as yourself."

All trace of amusement has left his features. Instead, his eyes narrow down at me. "Excuse me?"

I smirk up at him and decide to take it up a notch by mimicking his tilt of the head, "Did I stutter?"

About a second later, he slams his hands on my desk, his head lowered to my level. His green eyes look at me menacingly. "I didn't seem to catch that. Care to repeat yourself?"

My heart is ramming in my chest. A lump in my throat is impairing my breathing, and the tension in my stomach from earlier intensifies. I want to say something. I need to say something. I want to open my mouth and give him some sort smart ass response and lean back nonchalantly like a badass, but I can't move. The only thing I can seem to do is stare.

Say something, Nami. Tell him to fuck off. Laugh in his face. Do something! Don't just fucking sit there! But of course, that is exactly what I do. I continue to sit still and stare into his fierce eyes. Eyes that seem ready to lash out. Eyes that are not going to give up anytime soon. Eyes that show my own reflection of how pathetic I look. His eyes are definitely unnerving, and this close proximity intensifies it all the more.

The room is silent. No one dares to say anything. I don't look away from Michaels, but I can still see the stiff stillness of the other students in the room, some of whom are holding cameras. It feels like minutes have passed by when in reality it must have only been about thirty or so before a triumphant smirk makes its way onto his lips.

He pushes himself up, arms still on the desk but his back no longer hunched over to keep close eye contact with me. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

I don't know why I finally have the ability to communicate, but I do. My usual dosage of smart ass intact, "No thanks. I have enough photos of pompous assholes dusting up on my dart board."

His smirk curves into a grin, his eyes gleaming in delight. "Are you sure?" His eyes aim to the bottom of my desk, seemingly processing something before bending down to pick up something. My eyes widen when I see my book bag in his hands. It feels like something has clogged my windpipe. I stand up in order to advance him and get my book bag back, but he had already unzipped it and flipped it over. I watch in horror as all of my notebooks and folders topple onto the dirty floor.

Papers curve unnaturally out of the folders and combine with different papers from other folders. Everything is out of order. My panic driven eyes look up from the floor to glare at Michaels, but when I make eye contact with him, he grins even wider before carelessly throwing my bag out of the window. "You might want to add me now."

The room is full of gasps, praises, and astonished looks. They got the footage they wanted. I clench my fists at the thought as I shoot out of my seat and stomp toward him. My eyebrows furrow into angry slants and my mouth morphs into a nasty grimace. I aggressively push his chest. "What the fuck is your problem?"

My arms are getting itchy, my throat feels strained, and my heart is beating irregularly. He tilts his head downward to maintain eye contact. The amused squinting of his eyes remains and it drives me mad. I take deep breaths. I'm so frustrated that I have to fight back tears. I don't want to cry in front of him or anyone else in this room.

"Aw, is Window Face going to cry?"

"Look at how red her face is!"

"Told you she was all talk."

The voices of my classmates start to fill the room, and the sound is starting to get unbearable. The room is loud, the complete opposite of what it was just two minutes ago, and I'm surrounding by people pointing, laughing, and filming. All of my hard work is either destroyed or seriously blemished as it lays on the ground. The reds are touching the yellows; the English is touching the Math. The papers are bent and dented. I bite my lip and frantically scratch my arms before dropping to my knees to pick up my papers. The laughing only increases. Michaels is still standing in front of me, his shoes less than a foot away from me as I scavenge for my property.

A tremor runs down my spine and my fingertips tingle as I pick up papers and stack them, disregarding the order despite how much it makes my back itch. My face flushes uncontrollably, and I feel my eyes burn. I'm so humiliated. So utterly embarrassed by this situation. I feel like vomiting.

Bile may be rising in my throat or I could just be imagining it again. I try to tune everyone out as I hastily grab my materials and stack them, taking frequent short breaths to get rid of this nauseous feeling. A minute passes and the chattering in the room is just as hectic when I stand up, a huge pile of school work resting in my hands. I fight back the tears once more when I hear their comments. I close my eyes.

Don't let it affect you. Don't let it affect you. Don't let it affect you. Just walk out with the last sliver of dignity that you have left. Go home. Eat white cheddar popcorn. Study for your lab practical. Detention may have started less than ten minutes ago, but there is no way that you're staying here after being mortified in front of your peers.

I open my eyes and look up, staring into stoic green eyes. I ignore the itching all around my body and the tingling in my fingers as I take one final breath before saying, "I hope God smites you."

And with one last angry look, I dart toward the door.