"To forgive is the highest, most beautiful form of love. In return, you will receive untold peace and happiness." - Robert Muller.

I'm your chemistry tutor

The sound of birds chirping awakes me. The sunlight trickling into the room through the gap between the curtain is enough to fully wake me up and shed the remaining glimpses of my dream. I catch the scent of brewing coffee.

I wish.

Oh, do I truly wish.

"Psst, Matty? Wake up. Matty, wake up," I hear someone hiss into my ear. I'm too focused on my sleeping to figure who exactly it is.

I clench my eyes tighter, roll over, snuggle deeper into the warm covers encasing me, and let out a groaning sound, muttering something about 'five more minutes'.

"Matthew Roberto Jenkins get your ass up right now!" They then go onto yell into my ear, disrupting me from my peaceful sleep.

The unexpectedness of their yelling causes me to jolt awake. I sit bolt upright, instantly feeling dizzy due to how quickly I sit up. The covers slip down, letting the cold air of my attic room hit my body, so I pull them over my head in attempt to chase the warmth I had gotten used to since I slipped into bed last night. Almost as quickly as I pulled them over my head, they are tugged down again, and I am once again left cold.

Blinking my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the sun streaming through the windows which are attached to the slanted roof above me, I realise my best friend, Camilla Gomez, is standing right next to my bed, her arms crossed across her chest, looking like a displeased mother.

"Do you know what time it is? Eight o'clock! I have been waiting outside for fifteen minutes. If you want to get our daily coffee, I suggest you get your ass out of bed right now, you lazy piece of shit. You've got ten minutes to get ready." She snaps.

I grumble as I lie back down and bury my head into my pillow, ready to fall back asleep, but before I can, she grips my shirt and yanks me back up again.

"Please just let me sleep for a little bit longer," I whine, giving her a pout. She doesn't crack.

"No. You should know how to wake yourself up, you are not five years old anymore. Get out of bed or otherwise we'll both be late. I don't like to be late," She scolds, drawing the covers further down in attempt to get me to jump up and get moving to reacquaint with the warmth.

"OK, OK," I mutter, although not moving.

"Thank God your parents gave me this key or otherwise who knows how late for school we could be?!" She exclaims. Clearly the impatient girl she is, she now uses the key as an excuse to wake me up whenever I sleep in late, which doesn't happen too much, thankfully.

"I think they just got too fed up of you ringing the doorbell so often," I joke.

"Ha ha. Anyway, we still need to convince mine to give you one. I wish they weren't so protective of privacy. I mean, who do they think you are?" She responds, still stood at the side of my bed looking down on me. I'm still not going anywhere.

"I don't need one, we never hang out at your place."

"That's true." Cami nods. "Do you think I've thanked your parents enough for the key?"

"Yes, you have."

"I don't feel like I have. I'm still so shocked."

"I'm not," I say. "Our parents have been best friends since they were kids, mine see you as family."

As we talk about this, I'm reminded once again about how much of a coincidence this all this. It's been three years living here and it still pops into my mind randomly, like now. But instead of feeling happy about it as I usually do, I wish Cami was still 3,000 miles away so I could sleep in peace.

The big coincidence is that both our families ended up in Boston, both for a job opportunity, and that there was a house for sale right next to the Gomez's, who moved here when Cami was still in the womb. The frantic call from Cami's mother when she found out the house was for sale is a memory that I will never forget. I think my mother cried.

Moving here was only hard for me to do because I had grown attached to Brighton and I was also leaving family behind. School-wise, I didn't care so much. I had friends, but never any best friends, and was really only friends with those people so I would have someone to sit with at lunch or to partner up with during class. I did that on purpose because I knew I was going to eventually move as it had been discussed for a couple of years and didn't I want it to be even harder to leave. I don't talk to those friends anymore. I much happier here with Cami.

Cami, the girl who I'm currently looking up at in an annoyed manner after she pulled me directly off my bed and onto the floor because I, again, begged for more sleep.

England and America are different to the point that I'm positive that there are some things that I'll never properly get used to. However, despite everything that has changed since I moved here, my ability to wake up in the morning has certainly not. This is where Cami's spare key comes it, along with my horrible reflexes. Getting pulled off my bed first thing in the morning never fails to wake me up. Stupid key.

"I'll pick out your outfit while you go and brush your teeth. It's the only way we'll not be late. You've got T-minus eight minutes!" She barks, looking at her watch. I lazily nod, pick myself up and sluggishly walk to the bathroom joined to my room.

I am, as always, reminded why I'm so happy for drawing the short straw and being able to live with the wonders of being the one who sleeps in the attic bedroom. I get my own bathroom. I usually rejoice in the fact that I don't have to worry about waiting to use the shower like my siblings do and can take as long as I like. Right now, however, I can't. I have T-minus eight minutes.

After brushing my teeth, I'm back in my room. Cami has laid out the outfit she chose for me on my bed. Oh, what the fuck. Right from when I started going to a school which allows me to wear whatever I like within dress code, I always told myself that I would never go in sweatpants.

"Could you have picked a more chavvy outfit?" I groan, staring at the stupid outfit I have to wear in front of me.

"Chavvy? Stop being so British, for God's sake. You're in America, at least talk American!" She replies, dodging out of the way before I could hit her in the shoulder. She shoots me a glare.

"Ah, don't you just love subtle racism?" I sigh sarcastically. Cami rolls her eyes in response and shoves my shoulder. "Anyway, there's no way I'm wearing that. Nope. Non c'è modo."

"It's xenophobia, or something like that, actually," she corrects. Cami says a lot of things like this. People usually get mad, which is funny to me because they don't realise that she's actually Hispanic and is joking.

"Yeah, OK Miss Know-it-all." Rolling my eyes, I repeat myself. "I'm not wearing that."

"You're gross and don't have any other clean clothes. Sweatpants and a hoodie are the only items of clothing that I could find other than a suit and tie or pyjamas, so you're going to have to suck it up and wear it, or else go naked."

"I think I'd actually prefer to go naked."

She's right. I have no other clothes to wear. Today is laundry day, though, so hopefully this will be the first and last ever time I set foot in school wearing sweatpants.

After grumpily putting on my outfit and refusing to even glance at the mirror drilled above the sink, I hurry back into my room where Cami is pulling her dyed dirty-blonde hair into a scruffy ponytail.

Compared to me, Cami looks very well dressed. She's obsessed with all things 80s and 90s, so she's wearing a vintage skirt and shirt, which I have to say is very stylish. Retrospective always is. In this moment, stood next to her, I look like a mop who just can't be bothered.

I grab my bag laying next to my bed, my keys on my cluttered dresser and Cami's arm, dragging her down the hall and ultimately the stairs where we bump into my dad, who is still in his pyjamas.

"Blimey, shouldn't you already be at school by now? What are you doing still at home?" He says as he leans against the kitchen doorframe, taking a bite out of his toast, which my dad practically drowned with jam. I want to tell him there's a bit in his beard, but I choose not to. It's funny.

"Well, Mr Jenkins, your son woke up late, so I had to let myself in to wake him up. Again," Cami begins, giving me a side-eye. "I'm afraid to say that your son, sir, is lazy," She says, smirking. I kick her ankle. "Hey! I'm just telling the truth!" I roll my eyes in response to her outrageous comment.

"Well, it is the truth," My dad replies, shrugging innocently. He still hasn't noticed the jam in his beard. I want to laugh, but I stifle it instead.

"Thanks, dad," I scoff. He shrugs again and pivots, disappearing into the kitchen with his jammy beard and plate of crumbs. Cami and I make our way towards the front door, but before either of us leave, I call, "OK, we're going now. Have a good day."

"You too!" He shouts back, his mouth audibly full.

"Wait, wait, wait!" My older sister, Sofia, yell from upstairs. "Please don't leave!" She rushes down the stairs with a hairbrush in one hand, running it through her chestnut hair and in the other, she's trying to pull on a shoe. She does this all the while trying to keep her balance. It's a disaster waiting to happen. "I woke up late too. Oh, hi, Cami."

They give each other an awkward smile. I'm not sure if it's to do with the fact that Cami and Sofia don't speak to each other or if they don't like each other. Either way, it's awkward.

As Sofia grabs her bag and goes to get her coat too, I make my way out the door, pulling Cami along with me by her wrist. We sit in our car for a minute before Sofia finally exits the house and jumps in the backseat, trying to catch her breath.

There's a weird tension in the air that I can't describe, but it's definitely between my sister and best friend. Although we've known Cami all our lives, they hardly speak to each other. I assume it was down to the fact that they don't have anything to talk about with one another, but I'm not too sure. Sat here in the car together is the first time I've noticed the tension as it has never been there before.

I get all the more suspicious when I notice Cami glance at Sofia in the rear-view mirror. I decide to brush it off anyway, starting the car as Cami makes a joke about how we're on our way to Hell. Sofia tries to cover up a laugh.

Unfortunately, we found that there was no time to get a coffee as we usually do, so it's safe to say that I'm not in the best of moods. Besides this, my tiredness from going to sleep late and hunger since I haven't eaten breakfast after being violently shaken awake by a crazy woman, yelling about how I only have ten minutes to get ready, also accounts for my decrease in mood. I shall have to resort to the crappy canteen coffee at break as an attempt to rouse myself from this blithering fatigue.

When I reach my locker, one that is gracefully next to another owned by the person I like least in the entire school, I forcefully open it, pull out the books that I need for my first class this morning, then unintentionally slam it shut. I flinch at the sound, not meaning to have done that with such agitation. Blame it on the irritating tiredness.

As I try to shift my hold on the books, Alexander Montgomery, person I like least in the entire school, walks up beside me, and opens his locker.

There's no doubt that he is attractive. A group of girls gathered by the lockers opposite the hallway visibly giggle, their eyes glued to Alex, before looking away and whispering to each other with a bite of their lower lips. I gag inside.

I can understand how they think he's pleasing to the eyes, but I could never look at him in this way on a deeper level than material.

Alexander Montgomery is a total cliché of a 'bad boy'. He's tall - like way tall - seeming to tower over me. He has dark hair which he likes to run his finger through too many times during the day even though there is no need to and it does absolutely nothing, and dark brown eyes. Alex is insanely good looking— girls practically chase after him daily.

It's hard not to notice how muscular he is; I'm pretty sure he has an eight pack, along with a jawline that seems like it could cut you if you're not careful. Painted on the skin of his arms are a few tattoos, and from what I've seen when we're changing for P.E, he has some on his chest and hip too. He's also very wealthy. Very wealthy.

But then comes his flaws.

His whole demeanour says 'I don't care about anything or anyone so leave me the fuck alone, or I'll break your face', fitting in with how he's rebellious and impertinent, and I don't think it is cute at all. He treats people like crap.

Still, girls want to be with him, and guys want to be him.

Oh, and he smirks like way too much and uses the word "dude" more than what is necessary.

In short, he's a nice-looking, pretentious asshole who seems to thrive off the fact that everyone is either scared of him or gasping to be associated with him.

"What's got you in such a rage, dude?" He says with his famous smirk upon his face. I roll my eyes. One day I'm going to slap it off his face: that's only when I find the courage, though, which is never going to happen, but I can dream, can't I?

"Like you'd want to fucking know, dude," I say with an unneeded scoff.

"Woah, calm down with the language there, I was only asking. No need to get so hot-headed about it," He responds, pretending to be hurt. I can already feel my patience declining rapidly.

The only comparison I can draw from Alex that describes how annoying he is would be a comparison to a fly.

Yes.

He's honestly like an irritating fly that doesn't leave you alone. The only difference is that he can talk and finds pleasure in spitting insults at you. I bet that's what flies do—spit insults at us, but we just don't know because all we hear are their buzzing.

Am I seriously starting to feel insecure about what flies think of me?

"What do you want? Why are you even talking to me?" I answer, ready to walk off once he says his first insult for the day. Just as I stop speaking, I can see his eyes trailing my body from top to bottom, then bottom to top. "Are you trying to land a place on the sex offenders list?"

My anxiety usually holds me back from standing up for myself, so saying anything like this to people isn't something I do, except for situations with Alex. I think it's because I'm used to it that my anxiety dials down a bit when it comes to me saying something back. That doesn't mean that I don't feel anxious. What he doesn't know is that the reason that I've stuffed my hands in the pocket of my hoodie is to hide the fact that they're beginning to shake.

"Can't help it when you look so much like a—what do you Brits call it? A chav?" He laughs. I roll my eyes once again and push past him with my shoulder to go and find Cami's locker. I know he's only using British lingo to tease and irritate me. I'm not sure how he knows what the word means.

I don't know why this guy have to be such a dick. I did nothing to provoke him hating me back when I started attending this shit hole of a school, yet he does. It's a two-way street, so I hate him back. I never used to show that, and simply ignored him, but as time went on, I surprised him by standing up for myself, and I still do.

Suddenly, he grips my shoulder and pulls me back to where I was initially standing. "Wait."

"I would appreciate it if you would remove your hand from my shoulder," I say. Sex offenders list, I taunt in my head.

His grip is way too strong for my liking, and once he lets me go, I automatically rub at my shoulder.

"I'm guessing you didn't get the email from Mr Preston, then?" He questions, expecting me to say I did. Except, I shake my head. He sighs and begins to look increasingly vexed. "Surprise, I'm your new chemistry tutor." He does those stupid jazz hands that I hate; it's cringy, people need to stop doing that. My mouth drops open in disbelief.

"You're my what now?"

"Your new chemistry tutor. Preston says you're failing pretty badly and as I'm top of the class, I have to help you pull up your grade. I don't have a choice, and neither do you."

"Great," I mutter instead of the 'no need to rub it in, some people aren't as naturally smart as you, you twat' that I'm aching to say but don't because I feel like keeping my body parts intact today. This has got to be some sort of joke. I push past him again to find Cami, and this time, he doesn't stop me.

"Don't think I'm happy about it either," Alex calls as I walk away. "You're irritating. I might end up jumping off a cliff." He laughs like this is all some sort of joke. I flip him off.

"What were you talking about?" Cami asks when I reach her.

"Alex is my chemistry tutor," I respond.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Don't ask. I'll explain later," I say, stalking off in the direction of my first class.

My next class is chemistry, and I'm ready for an argument with Mr Preston. There was no way I was going to be tutored by a ratty fuck-boy who doesn't have anything better to do with his life than to pick on people who had done absolutely nada to him. No way on Earth am I going to let that happen.

I sit in class, teeth gritted, staring at the back of Alex's head. I'm not happy at the teacher, either. He's on my shit list, I swear to God, this is not OK. How could a teacher be so dumb? I mean, hello! Alexander Montgomery? My tutor? The childish guy who threw an egg sandwich at my head yesterday then stuck his middle finger up at me while his friends had a laughing fit and called me a loser? I had to wash my hair in the bathroom sink!

The lesson goes by too slow, but eventually it does end. I don't even get much work done due to being so incredibly pissed off. Cami asks me if I'm alright about a hundred times. I end up explaining the situation to her, and she's not happy herself.

I expect Mr Preston to ask Alex and I to stay behind after class to talk about the whole tutoring thing, but he doesn't. All he does is ask us if we received his email as we're packing our stuff up, and when Alex responds that he did while smirking in my direction, Preston ignores us, not even waiting for an answer from me, and focuses on something on his computer. Great organisation skills right there. Does he have the incapability of thinking things through?

Alex leaves the classroom, muttering a "this is going to be fun." I don't take any more notice to that as I stroll right up to Mr Preston's desk.

"Can I change tutors?" I ask, my anxiety already starting to bear it's teeth and growl in effort to intimidate me away from this conversation. Preston looks up at me as though I just asked if I could suck his dick to up my grade.

"Absolutely not," He responds, his voice