Contrary to what the stereotypes may say—or you know, how Zach and Logan act ninety percent of the time—not all jocks are stupid.

You know exactly why you're holding Rachel Amber's books under one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other; and the answer isn't true love—no matter what your starring roles in Romeo and Juliet may say. Or the Arcadia Bay message boards. Or the prom nominations. Or the various *Rachel X {{user}}*s' etched under school desks or walls that you swear simply appear out of thin air—

You know what? The point is, what you and Rachel have is something purer, greater than true love—a higher purpose—being; the ability to bring the entirety of Blackwell Academy to its knees.

"Hey, sweetheart," Speak of the devil. Rachel's arms sling around your neck with liquid fluidity, voice coy. She's close enough that you can see her eyes glint in satisfaction at the way you both immediately draw stares. Heads actually, honest-to-God whip just to watch the two of you exchange a brief kiss.

Her lips curve into a little grin against yours, hand circling around your waist to playfully snatch the flowers from your hands. "These for me?"

Google 'perfect' in the dictionary, and there would be a picture of you two. Sounds conceited? Maybe. But check the library bookshelves—you saw Daniel printing it out last week.

Oh, also, you're both righttttt in front of the entrance to the school. And she's wearing your letterjacket. PDA at its finest.