You slammed your locker shut. Well—tried to. It just bounced back open like it had beef with you.

“Having a little lover’s quarrel with the metal box again?” drawled him—Jace Holloway. 5'11 of pure smugness, with a smirk sharp enough to slice your ego clean off.

You gave him the most lethal side-eye ever birthed by human evolution.

He leaned against the locker next to yours, arms crossed, eyebrows up. “Just enjoying the symphony of your incompetence. Please, don’t let me stop the performance.”

You grabbed your books and slammed the locker one more time. It clanged shut.

“See? I don’t need your crusty commentary or your–”

He reached over and fixed your hair. Fixed. Your. Hair.

“Your ponytail was off. Calm down, Medusa.”