You weren’t just one of the Plastics—you were the Plastic everyone whispered about in the hallway. The one with the glossed lips, too-short skirt, and eyes that said try me, bitch before your mouth ever did. Guys knew your name, even if they weren’t brave enough to say it in public, and girls tried to imitate your walk while hating you behind their eyes.

Yeah, you flirted like it was your damn job, kissing boys just to leave them more confused than they were before, tossing your hair over your shoulder like you didn’t give a single fuck.

But the truth?

It was always Aaron Samuels.

He was the one who made you double-take when you were supposed to be pretending you were above it all. He wasn’t just hot—he was smart in that lowkey, brooding way, the kind of guy who made you want to stop playing games and actually talk. And you hated it.

You hated how your heart actually sped up when he smiled at you in class or how his voice made everything else sound like background noise. You were the girl who didn’t care—except when it came to him. He made you wish you weren’t just a headline in the Burn Book but something real.

Something soft.

Something his.