I'm not sure what Lucas told my parents, but he somehow convinced them to let me go on Saturday.

It's a bit over a week until the concert, but Mia's already trying to make me wear a dress and makeup.

She has no idea what she's getting into.

"Did you just pinch me!?" Mia screeched, retracting from me and taking her hideous way-too-short dress with her.

"No, I bit you," I return with my arms folded.

"Why?!" she screams, her face twisted in horror.

I turn away from her, stick out my lower lip, and reply, "I don't want to look like grandma's couch."

"This used to be my favorite dress!" She grips the green ensemble with shaking hands while staring at it in wonder.

Is that a tear...?

"Key word: 'used to'."

She gasps and glares at me with reproach. "Well, if you don't want my help then—!"

"Bye!"

"Goodbye!" She slams the door behind her, shaking the whole room.

Breathing out I sink into my beanbag, completely relieved she finally left. Who wears dresses to concerts anyways?

Well, I'm actually not sure since I've never actually been to one...

But I'm pretty sure people don't.

"Paris! Can you get the door?" my mom calls from the kitchen where she's washing the dishes with extra vigor than is necessary.

The loud clanking is her way of hinting at us to help her with the dishes. It never works, but I guess by now it's just out of habit.

"Make the dog get it or something!" I call back, sitting down at my desk and opening up my science book.

"We don't have a dog!"

"Well, we should!"

When silence returns, I rise to my feet and exit my bedroom, walking over to the kitchen to give her a quizzical look.

She smiles in return. "Now that you're here, you might as well see who's at the door," she says. With that, she turns back to the dishes and begins humming some sort of random tune.

Rolling my eyes I pace over to the door and swing it open. "Just say you're here to deliver the mail or something so I can close the door," I state, staring at the boy in front of me with a nonchalant look.

"I can't very well say that if it's not the truth, now can I?" the boy returns, folding his arms and giving me a toothy grin that reminds me of Lucas.

Stop thinking about Lucas and think of a way to ditch this stranger so you can go back to your wonderful solitude.

"I don't know, can you?" I question, blinking up at him and matching his stance.

"Can I?" He laughs but quickly stops after realizing that my lips are set in a straight line.

"So if you're not here to deliver the mail, then what are you here for?" I ask.

"I'm here to see you," he replies, stepping inside without invitation.

I allow him—only because my curiosity is flourishing in my chest.

Darn curiosity.

"And why is that?" I raise my eyebrow in his direction as he looks around. "You know what? I know you're just here to see Mia. Her room is down the hall on the second door to the left."

I turn away to go back to my room when something grabs my arm. I twist to face the intruder and give him my best 'bruh, who do you think you are?' look.

"I'm not here to see your sister," he says, looking into my eyes with his deep brown irises. "I'm here to see you."

I fake gasp, smiling mockingly and turning to fully face him. "That's so peachy!" I exclaim, my smile turning bigger than my face as my leg pops into the air. "We should talk outside though." I lead him to the door, push him out, and slam the door in his face.

"Wait!" I hear him yell through the door. "I just wanted to apologize!"

I freeze, my hand still hovering over the door. I open it just a crack, enough for me to peak out and say, "Apologize for what?" I give him a once over. "And who are you again?"

"I'm Collin," he replies. "School president? The one who..."

Ｎｉｎｃｏｍｐｏｏｐ

𝐀 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥; 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝; 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐧.

Ｎｉｎｃｏｍｐｏｏｐ

𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 '𝐥𝐲' 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬—𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧

He clears his throat. Right when he's about to finish that sentence, I interrupt.

"That's why I didn't remember you. I tend to try to forget people WHO GET ME GROUNDED. Thanks for reminding me of the reason I'm not allowed to watch YouTube. Now, goodbye!"

I try to slam the door closed again, but he holds his hand against the wood and pushes it—along with me—backward as he steps in again. "I really wanted to apologize and see if there was anything I could do to make up for it," he says, nearly pleadingly.

I imagine him leaning down, begging for forgiveness as puppy eyes spring towards me and puppy ears sprout from his head—just to add to the effect.

That visual makes me laugh, and Collin gives me a funny look. I stop laughing to glare at him, and he raises his arms in defense. "Sorry! Sorry! I just thought we were having a serious conversation."

"This isn't even a conversation," I reply. "And no, there isn't anything—"

An idea dawns on me. I look up into his brown eyes with a chilling look. Collin's expression falls and goosebumps arrive at the surface of his arms.

Chill, Mr. School Nincompoop. It's nothing you haven't been willing to do before.

Staring at his worried expression, I question, "Say, do you like toupees?"