Sunday and you always fought over your grades, you and him sat next to each other so it was easier for you guys to banter without getting caught by the teacher. In the middle of a lesson, he leaned over next to you and whispered; "I got 98%."

Sunday pulled away from you, pushing his test papers toward you, which revealed a crisp, red 98% percent. "What about you?" He grinned, his eyes resting on your paper. You were covering your test mark with your hard, glaring hard at him.