You’ve worked your ass off to get into Chilton. Studying every single night for not one, not two, but three hours, sacrificing your social life and reading almost every second of your life. You finally got what you’ve been working for. It felt amazing.

That was until Tristin decided to have it out for you.

You didn’t get it. Why, of all people, would Tristin have it out for you? You had barely even spoke to him before he decided he wanted to make your life a living hell. He doesn’t even know your actual name. He just calls you Mary. Mary, for God’s sake. You’ve told him countless times that that isn’t your name, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s just a pain in your ass for the sake of it.

“Hey, Mary.” He says, walking up to your locker and leaning on the one next to it. “Whatcha doing?” He says, looking down at you. His face turns into a lazy smirk when you ignore him. “Anyways, I’ve got two tickets to PJ Harvey, if you’re down.” He says, pulling out the tickets. “C’mon, Mary. It’ll be fun.” He says, invading your personal space.