For someone of my stature, social standing and confidence, the halls of Grammarville High were an unending nightmare throughout most of my high school experience. People were scary, intimidating-and tall.

Like, really, really tall.

But I was smart, I guess, and quiet, so my parents and teachers seemed to assume the ease and enjoyment of my schooling days to be a given. My teachers doted on me endlessly-which sounds fun, but really wasn't. It honestly just led to a lot of awkward interactions and forced, too-bright smiling.

Like today, in English, when Mr. Reiner informed the class we'd be starting a new assignment, and then beamed at me with the eagerness of an overexcited puppy.

Seriously, who's the teacher here?

"Yes, it's going to be very exciting," Mr Reiner continued when the usual unenthusiastic groans had died down. "A real treat, if I do say so myself." He adjusted his thick, wide-rimmed glasses and peered hopefully over at Robert Wilson, my companion in mediocre social skills and academic prowess.

Robert gave a tentative thumbs up, and muttered in my ear when an ecstatic Mr. Reiner turned back to the class, "Poor bastard. Must not have many friends."

I huffed a laugh. "Him? Perish the thought."

Mr. Reiner clapped his hands. "So, class, here's the goss."

Cue blank stares.

"Goss? Gossip? Eh, whatever."

Still smiling at us, he blindly reached into his desk and pulled a book from its drawer. "Class, let me introduce you to my favourite book."

A series of hysterical howls pierced the air, followed by a few loud jeers and a whistle: Mr. Reiner was holding a lewd magazine, featuring a half-naked woman on the hood of a sports car, sunglasses and all.

"Way to go, sir!"

"Ey! Now that's a piece of literature!"

"Hey, Miller!"

The sound of my name made me turn suddenly, and I stared right into the grinning, obnoxiously handsome face of Cash Smith: Star athlete, quarter back for the football team, and general juvenile douchebag. His eyes were the kind of blue you could gaze into all day, and his hair, blonde, slightly ruffled, shining radiantly in the sunshine pouring in through a window, hung perfectly about his chiselled face. Plus, he had abs. Like, we're talking abs. He could play a superhero in an action film, he could model for a famous agency, he could sell me anything in the middle of a shopping centre. And now he was looking at me, talking to me, opening his perfect lips just to say:

"Bet that looks familiar!"

His beautiful face contorted into a wicked grin, and his friends, fellow football douchebags, all broke into mocking laughter again.

"Nah, bro." Designated douchebag best friend Bryce Greene slapped him on the shoulder. "We all know he's gay."

I turned away abruptly, scowling furiously, my face red. They were all assholes, the lot of them.

But they were also right.

By now Mr. Reiner had peered anxiously at the magazine's cover and, stuttering, stuffed it back into his drawer and pulled out a copy of 'To Kill a Mockingbird' instead.

"L-Let's forget about that," he suggested, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. He looked about to faint.

Robert shook his head. "Poor, poor bastard."

"So, as I was saying, this is my favourite book: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Generic yes, but a classic all the same. I used to read it when I was in high school, and it's brought me a lot of joy throughout my life. Books are magical. Books can transport you."

There was a sheen to his eyes, a maniacal excitement twinkling there.

"Which brings me to today's assignment: As a class, you're each going to submit your favourite book, and then I'm going to partner you up and assign you the other's book to read. After that, you'll be given a log-in to a virtual chatroom so that you can discuss the books you read. The entire thing will be anonymous; no one needs to know your identity if you don't want them to. But, hopefully, you'll have made a new friend-and gained a new perspective on life."

He stood back as the class gaped in an astonished silence, staring open-mouthed at each other. There was a pride to Mr. Reiner, an aura of great accomplishment, even if all he'd achieved was silencing an eleventh-grade classroom.

Actually, nevermind; that is quite an achievement.

"Quite a...unique assignment," Robert muttered.

"I just hope I don't get stuck analysing Bryce's playboys," I sighed back.

"Not a lot of work to do this lesson." Mr. Reiner returned to his desk and settled behind it, pulling his laptop open. "I'd like you all to use this time to consider which book you're going to bring in next lesson."

The class lapsed into a steady stream of chatter.

Robert leaned back in his chair and stretched. "What'd you gonna bring in?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly. I had a few books in mind, but I still had to decide which one would be less humiliating for me if a student of Grammarville were to read it.

Robert grinned. "Don't bring in one of your gay erotica's."

"Only if you don't bring in a football playthrough," I shot back.

He winced. "Low blow. I still haven't told my dad yet."

I stood as the bell rang and began to collect my textbooks. "He still thinks you're the team's star quarter back?"

"It's gotten bad. I've started forging emails from 'coachwestley.grammarville@gmail.com'"

"Yikes. You're such a cliché."

"Ugh, I know. I'm prime teen movie love interest material."

"You're gonna have to tell him, man." I waved to Mr. Reiner as we left the classroom, who waved back with a broad grin. "Eventually he's gonna want to see you play."

Robert sighed and began to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, I'm just hoping his law firm keeps sending him on business trips."

At this, I couldn't contain my laughter. "That's what you pray for every night, isn't it? 'Dear Lord, please send my father back to Tokyo, so that he won't come home and realise I'm an enormous failure with absolutely no sporting chops'-"

"Yes, thankyou-"

"Hey, Miller!"

We glanced over our shoulders as we made our way down the hall, and there was Cash, gliding toward us with the air of a god-superior, beautiful, cruel. He was smirking and ruffling his hair, Bryce at his side, stealing the breath from my lungs and the logic from my brain.

"What books are we choosing for the assignment, boys?" Bryce teased as they paused before us. He had greasy brown hair and dull, ruddy skin, and honestly, he could really take a few hair styling tips from Cash. Or even Robert, who always had his dirty blonde hair neatly combed.

"A dictionary, maybe?" Cash added, blinking innocently. "Perhaps a maths textbook?"

Bryce snorted. "We all know he's gonna bring in some gay porno."

The pair snickered loudly and I scowled despite myself. It was relatively the same joke Robert had made earlier, but it was decidedly less funny.

"Don't you have a ball game to play?" I drawled, trying to draw myself up to my full height. Which wasn't saying a lot-I was short, almost abnormally so, and Cash, being abnormally tall, made for an almost comical difference between us.

This was emphasised further as he stepped forward, staring down at me with narrowed eyes. "Ooh, real witty". He was staring at me with such disdain, as though I were a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. "Watch out, the nerd's got a mouth on him."

I bristled, but Robert grabbed my shoulder and began dragging me down the hall.

"Don't engage," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Alyx, we do this every day."

And he was right.

Cash Smith was my daily tormentor, and I should've loathed him.

And I did, of course. Of course I did.

"Alyx Miller!" Cash called.

I glanced over a shoulder.

"Fuck you!"

I wished he would.

A/N:  Hey, thanks so much for reading this far! If you're enjoying so far, please leave a vote and/or a comment :)