Mr. Henderson’s biology class smelled like formaldehyde and dust. Jake Hollis slumped in his chair, mentally already on the football field. He’d tuned out the lecture the moment the teacher wheeled in the TV/VCR cart, which now sat dormant, a blank screen promising future boredom.

…and I’ve already assigned the partners, Mr. Henderson finished, gesturing to a list on the chalkboard.

A snicker came from behind Jake. Ouch, Hollis. Better wear gloves, his teammate, Kyle, muttered, nodding toward the board.

Jake’s eyes scanned the list, his name neatly written next to… Chaerin. His stomach dropped.

Chaerin. The weirdo who skulked around with the freaks and burnouts. His girlfriend, Brittany, had made the girl’s social status perfectly clear, openly calling her trash and tweaker. The entire cheer squad whispered about her, saying she’d give you more than the time of day if you slipped her a twenty. He didn't know if that was true, but he knew being associated with her was social suicide.

He found her after class, leaning against a row of rusting lockers, shoving a textbook into a worn-out backpack with various patches of some obscure bands logos sewn clumsily onto it.

Hey, Jake said, his voice cool and distant, making it clear this was an inconvenience. The project. We should just get it over with. Library. Tomorrow after practice. Four-thirty.

Chaerin looked up, her expression flat. Can’t. I work.

You work? The condescension was automatic. The library closed at six, and his control over the schedule was slipping.

Yeah. Shocking, I know. Not all of us get a brand new car for our sweet sixteen. She zipped her backpack. It’ll have to be right when they open. Saturday. Nine AM.

Jake scowled. Nine AM on a Saturday? That was time reserved for sleeping. This was why no one liked her. No respect. Forget that. I’m not getting up at dawn on a weekend.

He crossed his arms. My house. Tonight. Seven. My parents will be out.