Friday - November 3, 2017 - 8:30 a.m.

Letting out an internal groan as the final bell rang, I closed my locker and turned to Brandon.

"Am I good?" I asked, displaying my teeth in an inflated smile.

"Looks good to me."

"Sweet," I replied, relieved that my pearly whites were free of any remnants of the kale omelet my mother had forced upon me this morning.

The noisy, congested crowd slowly began dispersing into the surrounding classrooms, until we were the only two left in the hallway.

"What are you up to this weekend?" Brandon asked, evidently sharing my dread of first period.

"My psycho mom is dragging me to the mall. Apparently none of my clothes are up to the Good Lord's standards." My eyes fluttered to the clock at the end of the hall, and I decided to stall a bit longer. "You know, you don't have to come with us on Sunday if you don't want to. I won't be mad, really."

He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to mine. "Maybe I want to," he said as he pulled back.

"Then you're certifiable," I teased. "Those church services are a living Hell."

He chuckled at the oxymoron. Sometimes I couldn't tell whether his laughs were genuine. Even if they weren't, I appreciated the act.

"God, you're so lucky your parents—"

I caught myself immediately, and he cast me a forgiving smile.

"—your mom isn't a controlling lunatic."

"It is pretty nice," he admitted. "Well, after your fun little shopping spree,"—his voice dripped with sarcasm—"what do you say we have a movie night at my place? I'm thinking a throwback nineties theme. Nothing but the classics."

"I'm down! But I'm warning you, I don't have much to contribute."

Actually, I didn't have anything to contribute. My dad sold all of our old VHS tapes last year at our annual garage sale and invested the proceeds in a brand new electric hedge trimmer. It wasn't easy seeing the staples of my childhood being auctioned off for fifty cents a pop, but I couldn't stay too mad at him. As a fifty-three-year-old man, sports and lawn care were all he really had in life.

"No worries," he assured me. "My family scored big at Blockbuster's closeout sale a few years ago. We hit the nineties motherload. Sandlot, Forrest Gump, Monsters, Inc., The Sixth Sense, Pulp Fict—"

"Monsters Inc. was 2001," I interjected, feeling like a lawyer who'd just discovered a loophole in an airtight contract.

He leaned down again and kissed my smugly-grinning lips, his way of saying "I stand corrected."

"Question," I added. "Will there be snacks provided at this event? That's a crucial factor in my decision."

"Of course," he replied. "I know your mom doesn't want you straying too far from your new all-natural diet, so I got us a jumbo tub of nonfat Greek yogurt and a bag of edamame to munch on."

I knew he was only joking, but even the thought of eating any more organic crap made my skin crawl.

"Then," he continued, "once we're done vomiting, I'll call up Domino's and order us an extra-large meat lover's pizza with the cheese-filled crust."

Pizza.

My mouth began to salivate at the mere word. The only pizza I'd eaten in the past month was one with zucchini, goat cheese, and a paper-thin cauliflower crust.

"Throw in a side of garlic bread twists, and you got yourself a date," I said, rising to my tiptoes to give him one last kiss before leaving for class. "See you later."

The spring in my step was a bit perkier as I strolled down the hall to English, my heinous weekend prospects having experienced a slight upturn. I couldn't remember how long had lapsed since the first period bell rang. I never worried too much about being late to Mr. Harrow's class. Sadly, as long as you were a member of the female species, he let it slide.

"Ah, so lovely of the Homecoming Queen to join us!" Mr. Harrow exclaimed as I creaked open the door and scurried to my seat, fighting back a flush of embarrassment. I could tell I'd just interrupted one of his fervent soliloquies.

It took me a second to realize Olivia wasn't in her usual spot beside me. I peered over my shoulder to find Hazel missing as well. I did a subtle scan of the room to make sure they weren't sitting somewhere else, but there was no sight of them.

Then my eyes, as they had every English class for the past week, wandered to the far left-hand corner to Zara, locking in place as soon as they landed on her.

Throughout the week, I found myself continuing the compulsive habit of fixating on her during the period. As hard as they tried, my stubborn eyes couldn't go more than a few seconds without stealing a sly glance—glances I still couldn't explain.

In addition to her disorienting physical aesthetic, she had a tremendous eye for fashion. Every day she walked into class looking like she'd just left the set of a Fashion Nova ad campaign. Today's ensemble consisted of a beige wrap sweater and brown leather leggings, topped off with a pair of leopard-print flats. Her glossy blond hair was pulled back into a sleek low ponytail, and her rose-gold hoop earrings glistened in the sunlight streaming through the window.

When it came to style, there was something that distinguished her from the other girls at school. Her outfits were never flashy or ostentatious, unlike those of the once goody-two-shoes girls from middle school who were now going through the edgy, Tumblr-esque phase. Zara's were simple, yet astonishingly chic. Everything from the color coordination to the accessory selection was always impeccable. It was like she had a personal stylist waiting at her bedside each morning to do her up for the day.

But it wasn't just her attire that had been harnessing my attention every second of first period for the past couple days. There was something else, something I wanted to articulate so badly, though I couldn't. She seemed to be a quiet girl, keeping to herself most of the time. Yet her presence was so bold, so serene, enveloping everyone in her vicinity—or perhaps just me. Her beauty was so effortless, so unpretentious, and there was an aura of benevolence about her that made me yearn to be close to her, to be her friend.

I had to admit, I felt like such a creep examining this girl from head to toe every day, as if she were some celebrity and I was nothing more than a sleazy paparazzi itching for my thousand-dollar photo. I doubted she had any idea I existed, not to mention how much attention she was attracting. Nonetheless, my obsession seemed to be permanent, a mindless impulse that wouldn't stray no matter how hard I tried to extinguish it.

"As I was saying," Mr. Harrow resumed, drawing me from my trance, "for this project, you and your partner—"

Project?

The dread was already sinking in.

"—will be selecting one of the various themes present Romeo & Juliet—which, I might add, you should have finished by next Friday as per the assigned reading schedule. The two of you will then conduct a thorough evaluation of these motifs, taking into account the extent to which they influence the plot, as well as their prevalence in other prominent works of the period. Your analysis will be presented in an essay of five pages, at the minimum. Granted, it is both demanding and unjust to set a cap on literary exposition, so I suppose longer submissions are inevitable."

Soft chuckles erupted around the room.

"The second portion of this project will consist of a physical depiction of the selected theme, which you and your partner will rehearse and perform for the class next Friday."

Physical depiction?

I didn't like where this was going.

"Now, before I hand out the rubric, let's establish the pairings. When I call your name, simply say the name of the person with whom you'd like to work and I will record it."

Shit, I thought, glancing back over at Olivia and Hazel's vacant desks. Not only were they not here for me to claim one of them as my partner, but they were the only two people absent today, which meant he would surely stick them together.

A bead of sweat rolled down my temple as I realized that left me high and dry.

"Let's see," Mr. Harrow began, running his pencil down the roster. "Melanie?"

"I'll work with Taylor," she responded.

"Gabe?"

"I'm working with Cameron," Gabe replied.

My heart thumped rapidly as his eyes traveled further down the roster. My last name started with an A, so I knew I didn't have much time to improvise. I didn't really know anyone else in the class, at least not well enough to feel comfortable ambushing them into working with them.

For a split second, I considered sneaking off to the bathroom or retreating to the nurse's office with a "stomachache." Perhaps my paranoia was excessive, but the thought of looking like a loner in front of the entire class made my intestines squirm with anxiety. I was the most popular girl in school; things like this weren't supposed to happen to me. Yet I suddenly realized that, without my trusty wingmen at my side, I was no different than anyone else here. In fact, I was even more pathetic, unable to furnish a partner for a lousy English project.

"That brings us to....Cassie."

A blistering heat flowed into my face. Every head in the room shifted to me, waiting in suspense for my response.

"Who would you like to work with?" Mr. Harrow asked.

A tremor of panic welled up in my stomach, gradually rising into my chest and neck. "Sorry?" I asked as if I hadn't heard him, desperately trying to buy myself some time.

"Your partner? For the project?"

"Oh, right." I glanced once more at the seats where Olivia and Hazel would have been sitting on any other day.

After a few seconds of hopeless contemplation, I could no longer endure the encroaching stares. I decided to surrender.

"I...I don't have a—"

Suddenly, in my peripheral vision, I saw a hand at the front of the room shoot up like a rocket. I shifted my gaze, and a dumbstruck chill trailed up my spine me as I realized it belonged to Zara.

"We're working together, Mr. Harrow," she said in an amiable, yet affirmative voice. She whirled her head around and gave me encouraging wave, her candy-apple lips set into the same warm smile from Monday.

A strange mixture of confusion and relief washed over me as I managed a brief awkward wave in return, my mouth agape with incredulity.

For the first time in my life, I was completely and utterly speechless. Was I dreaming? Maybe I hadn't even woken up for school yet. If it was a dream, it was an incredibly lucid one. I had to be sure I was awake. I lowered my hands under the desk and dug my nail hard into the skin of my palm, which resulted in a sharp twinge of confirmation.

"Very well," Mr. Harrow said, a hint of suspicion in his voice as he directed his eyes back to the roster.

Periods two through five lapsed in a perpetual daze, which I spent grappling with the inexplicable anxiety that had been devouring me since first period. I still couldn't for the life of me comprehend why Zara had done what she had. We hadn't spoken one word to each other in the five hour-long periods we'd been in each other's presence. She didn't strike me as the abrasive or controlling type either, which only bolstered my confusion. The more I mulled the situation over, the more I wanted to find her and get an explanation, just to put my turbulent mind at ease.

Yet, in the midst of all the questions and uncertainty, I couldn't seem to forget the alleviating relief I'd felt as she raised her hand and spoke up, how quickly the wringing pressure had dissipated. It was as if she'd sensed my uneasiness from across the room before swooping in like Wonder Woman to save the day.

As I made my way to the cafeteria for lunch, I decided to focus my efforts on devising a plan to approach Zara, regardless of how intimidating that prospect was. I figured I should introduce myself sooner rather than later now that my English grade was on the line.

It won't be that bad, I reassured myself, envisioning the inevitable scenario in which we would finally come face to face. She obviously wanted to get to know me, maybe even be friends. Why else would she have said that we were partners, especially when she didn't even know who I was?

Or did she...

I wandered into the customary chaos of the cafeteria, quickly spotting Brandon and the others at our usual table in the far right corner. I subtly surveyed the room as I walked over to them, attempting to locate Zara with the hopes of getting the introductions underway, but there was no sight of her among the chattering sea of faces.

I resolved to get to Brit Lit early tomorrow and break the ice before class. I knew the anticipation would eat me alive if I put it off any longer.

"Hey, Cassie!" Hazel shouted as I sat down at the table.

"Why weren't you guys in Brit Lit today?" I replied. I kept my tone calm, though I was cursing them internally.

"Sorry, I forgot to text you," Olivia said in between sips of Diet Dr. Pepper. "I woke up with an insane craving for home fries, so we may have taken a slight detour to that new diner in Stewartsville."

"Their French toast has strawberry cream cheese pumped right into the middle!" Hazel raved, sounding like a commercial voiceover for IHOP.

I nodded indifferently, trying to conceal my irritation as I ripped open a bag of Ruffles.

"What did we miss?" Olivia asked. "Did Harrow give out any homework?"

"Actually, we chose partners for a new project," I replied bitterly.

A look of sorrow seeped into her face. "Project?! Damn, why do all my teachers suck this year? It's like they wanna throw as much shit at us as possible before Christmas vacation." She downed the rest of her soda and angrily chucked the empty can into the recycle bin. "Reading some dumbass book is never enough for him, is it? We always have to prove we learned something. It's such bullshit."

"At least we're watching Romeo and Juliet next week," Hazel said. "That should eat up a good three periods."

Olivia let out another groan of despair. "Great. Just what I need—to watch Gwyneth Paltrow play tonsil hockey with my future husband for two hours."

"I'm pretty sure that was Claire Danes," I interjected.

She shook her head defiantly. "In the one from the nineties? That was definitely Gwyneth Paltrow."

"Olivia, I'm positive that was Claire Dan—"

"That was so Gwyneth Paltrow! Trust me. I remember all the Hollywood harlots who've tried to steal my little Leo's heart."

Obviously not well enough, I thought. I now eagerly awaited Monday, looking forward to the satisfaction of proving her wrong.

"Speaking of Christmas," Axel chimed in, "what are you guys doing over break?"

"Let's see," Sam mused. "We live in Chamberlain, Missouri. So...wallowing in self-pity, I guess."

Sounds about right, I agreed silently. Other than a dingy movie theater and a couple of ramshackle bowling alleys on their last leg, the entertainment options in Chamberlain were nearly non-existent—one of the various reasons I'd been longing to escape this town.

"You know what, guys?" Brandon said, throwing his half-eaten sandwich down onto the table. "This is our senior year, Goddammit. We're not gonna waste our Winter break sulking around in this town. Why don't we take a trip?"

The conviction in his voice was comforting, and I slid my hand into his to indicate my support of this plan.

The others smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Where to?" Sam asked.

"I got it!" Hazel exclaimed. "Let's go to Hawaii! My uncle's friend runs a tiki shack in O'ahu. I'm sure he'd let us crash there."

"Shack?" Olivia asked with a twitch of skepticism. "I'll pass."

"I'm with her," I said.

I sure as hell couldn't shell out a thousand bucks for plane ticket, and considering the fact that none of us were old enough to enjoy a refreshing piña colada on the beach, it didn't seem worth the twelve-hour flight anyway.

We began brainstorming more feasible options. It couldn't be that hard to find a desirable vacation destination when you lived in a shithole like this.

After a couple minutes of contemplation, Axel jerked his head up and snapped his fingers. "How about Colorado? My parents went to a ski resort in Aspen last Winter for their anniversary, and they still won't shut up about it. They have twenty different trails, and apparently the lodges are decked the fuck out: twenty-four-hour room service, hot tubs out back, fire places in every room. It's not too far—four hours tops by plane."

Brandon gave an affirmative nod. "I'm down."

"Yeah, that sounds great," I added, though my skiing skills were somewhat rusty. I hadn't set foot on the slopes since my seventh-grade trip to Lake Tahoe with Truman Middle School's Ski and Snowboard Club. Nonetheless, the thought of spending the week in a cozy cabin, cooped up next to a roaring fire with Brandon as we sipped eggnog and reveled in discussions of our future life together, was too euphoric to turn down.

"Colorado," Sam said with approval. "Now there's a state who has its shit together—craft beer, recreational pot, national parks. Hell, if we go there, I'm afraid I may never come back to this dump."

Axel turned to Olivia and Hazel, his lips edging into a grin. "And I'm sure you ladies will take an interest in the resort's complementary spa."

Hazel and Olivia whipped their heads up like squirrels who'd just found an acorn.

"Complementary spa?" they asked in unison.

"Say no more!" Olivia added. "We're in."

"Sweet. It's a plan, then." Axel glanced down at his watch and got up from the table, ushering Brandon and Sam to follow. "It's almost twelve-thirty. We better get out on the field for those final drills."

"So you're just gonna skip the rest of your classes?" Hazel asked with a hint of jealousy.

"Coach Burns wrote everyone on the team early release slips," Brandon replied. "There's gonna be some recruiters at tonight's game, so he wants to make sure our plays against Kingston are full proof."

Shortly after the three of them left the cafeteria, Olivia and Hazel followed suit.

"We better get to Horticulture," Olivia said gloomily, turning to Hazel. "Don't forget, Cassie. We're getting ready at my place before the game. See you at six-thirty!" She blew me a dramatic kiss with her hand as the two of them disappeared into the lunchroom crowd.

My mood perked up slightly as the thought of our new Winter getaway lingered in my head. I was extremely glad that Brandon had suggested we do something fun for a change, as our winter breaks were usually spent living in his basement and binging conspiracy theory documentaries on Netflix.

However, this newfound excitement was quickly overshadowed by the wrenching realization that I was dirt broke. Between school and cheerleading, I'd never had the time or energy for a part-time job, which left me at the mercy of my stingy parents for all financial needs. I figured I would have to suck it up and ask them for the