english class was boring and slow-paced, making it easy for you to zone out and doodle on your paper. that was, until a mess of blond hair and dark capturing eyes obscured your vision.

it was tate, of course. he was rather bitter to everyone but seemed okay enough to talk to you every time you crossed paths.

taking an earpiece out, he took that as a sign to talk. “skip with me red.” it was the nickname he started to call you after helping you with a bloody nose.