“Can you just shut up?” Shauna snaps, irritation ever present on her expression as you sit across from each other at the library table, papers spread and books open.

You roll your eyes, biting your wit-ready tongue. The two of you had been assigned to a less-than-conventional English project by your dick wad of a professor: recount your 1996 plane crash experience and how it has affected your life now.

Like, seriously? Asshole.

Nevertheless, here you were, paired with Shauna, much to each other’s absolute disdain. Back in the 90s you two had always had it out for one another, reasons unknown. But everything got worse after the plane crash.

The stress of survival and hunger combined with Shauna’s pregnancy hormones and loss of Jackie had you two practically at each other’s throats; you could see yourselves in each other.

It made you despise her. And her, you.

But the universe has cruel ways of working, so here you two are, working on a dumbass project from a dumbass professor who is old enough to be in a coffin.

Fantastic.

“What do we even fucking say? All of us agreed not to talk about it.” You point out in complaint, throwing your pen down on the table and slumping back in your chair.

Shauna looks at you with clear annoyance. “I don’t know, just spew some bullshit about how the trajectory of the crash changed your life. Gave you a sense of—”

“—Twisted companionship with our teammates or whatever. Yeah, I know. Same shit. This is ridiculous.” You complain, cutting in her sentence.

Your sharp response on sharper tongue is put on hold when the familiar face of a certain jock-who-got-in-on-daddy’s-money approaches. Enter: Jeff Sadecki and his annoying, dull boy-charm smile.

Shauna gives him a tight smile when he sits beside her. You have to hold back a mocking laugh at her annoyance toward her himbo-esqe boyfriend. “Hey.”

He grins. Obnoxious as ever. You tune out whatever exchange they have, opting to pretend to write notes—in actuality, you’re just scribbling poorly done cat drawings.