School had been the last of my worries lately, and I couldn't blame a case of senioritis. This time, a special dark-eyed boy with a charming smile, a killer Cupid on the loose, and an ex-best friend who lived a life of secrets caused it.

Just a typical day in the life of an American teenager.

Thankfully, sixth-period psychology was different.

"This is an ambiguous picture, an example of a common optical illusion. What do you guys see?" Mr. Perez asked, adjusting his glasses. Mr. Perez was one of my favorite teachers — he cared about his students and tried to make every project enjoyable. He wasn't the most conventional teacher, which made his class fun.

Ava Miller raised her hand. "An elderly woman!"

"That's a hot younger lady," Dean said. "One I'd bang."

Some students giggled, but Willow rolled her eyes. "Even though Dean has an IQ of 0, I see the same thing as him."

"Well, Dean, you're right," Mr. Perez said. Reed grinned triumphantly. "But so's Ava. Illusions like these show us that everyone's minds work differently. The picture shows both, but what you guys see first can be based on things deeper than what meets the naked eye. Memories. Thoughts. Perceptions."

His eyes swept across the classroom, but I couldn't help feeling his words resonate with me.

"Life will seem like it's based on finite conclusions, but you navigate it with uncertainty, emotion, or questions until you find clarity." He leaned against his desk, placing the palms of his hand against the frame.

"When you leave class today, I want you to leave with the knowledge that nothing is as it seems. Be open to exploring multiple dimensions within yourself and the world surrounding you. You'll never know what you see that you never saw before."

His words triggered a memory I had with Natasha — the reason behind the keepsake I had taken from her room. 

Two years ago.

Valentine's Day.

Natasha was single, and I was dating Justin. I had gotten Natasha a Valentine's Day gift — a stuffed bear and a box of candy hearts with cute tacky sayings like sweet pea and soul mate. In my eyes, Valentine's Day wasn't just a day to celebrate lovers — it was also a day to show the people you cared about how much they meant to you.

"Surprise," I said, holding up the bear as I approached her locker. "I love you bear-y much!"

Natasha turned around, her eyebrows raising with surprise. When she saw the gifts in my hand, she bit her lip. "Oh... thanks, Haven."

I pouted. "Do you not like it? I should've gone with the giraffe instead. But this bear has hearts on its paws! Look!" I held up the bear's paw to show her, and Natasha smiled.

"No, I love it. Sorry, I just hate Valentine's Day."

"What?" My mouth dropped open. "Hate is a strong word."

She shut her locker, pulling her books close to her chest, as she gave me a small smile. "It used to be my favorite holiday. But I don't get it anymore. Why celebrate love when it makes people do stupid things?"

"That's one way to look at it," I said, falling in step with her as we started walking to class. "But I don't know. I think Valentine's Day isn't about love. It's about a promise. A promise that when you care for someone, you never leave or hurt them."

Natasha turned to me then, and I didn't think I'd ever forget how she looked at me. "If that's true, why do some people break their promise?"

--

"On a sheet of paper, write your name and if you consider yourself more of an analytical or creative thinker." Mr. Perez's voice drifted back in, fragmenting Natasha's face from my mind until it was gone. 

Natasha hated Valentine's Day, but she kept the bear. It must've meant something. 

Maybe our friendship was real after all.

I looked down at my empty notebook, jotting down my response. After we were done, Mr. Perez collected everyone's responses in the correctly marked boxes.

"For our final project, we're going to pair up the two types to see how the two might see optical illusions differently. Get to know each other, see if someone's views and backgrounds might affect the results, and prepare a presentation."

He reached into one of the boxes to pull out a slip of paper. "Jack." His hand shuffled around the other box now. "You'll be with Marissa." Mr. Perez went through a few more before saying my name. "Haven."

I pressed my glossed lips together, waiting expectantly for my partner's name.

"Your partner is..." He looked at the paper. "Willow."

You have got to be kidding me.

I turned to look at Willow to see her already glaring at Mr. Perez.

"Mr. Perez? I know I wrote I was an analytical person, but it was an accident. I'm way more creative," Willow said, forcing a smile.

"Yeah, and I was an accident, but you don't see me complaining," Dean snorted.

Willow glowered at him.

"Let's stay within topic," Mr. Perez said, frowning. "Willow, this is a good way to get to know your classmate. Perhaps this will be a great experience for both of you."

Perhaps the fuck not.

I shot Mr. Perez a desperate look. It was supposed to be one of those favorite teachers — favorite student SOS looks. He didn't pick up on it and continued creating other partners.

Willow started aggressively sharpening a pencil, and I sunk in my seat.

I would've even taken being partners with Dean, who was the biggest asshole ever. We might've failed, but it would've been better than being partners with Willow, the Ice Queen herself.

Mr. Perez moved on, leaving me pouting, and Willow sitting with her arms crossed.

When the bell rang, Willow approached my desk with her long legs and signature handbag. "You can come to my place tonight so we can work on the project. Just don't touch or take anything."

"Just when I was planning to steal from your house to see if I can make it as a full-time burglar," I said sarcastically, walking out with her on my heels.

She smiled at me, and I thought she might've gone crazy until she said, "You're learning things from Griffin. You guys are just adorable!"

I had a few choice words for what she was.

As we kept walking, I caught sight of the wall. The message from Killer Cupid was no longer there, but there were still stray red marks on the walls as if someone had attempted cleaning them and couldn't get the entire message to rub off. Willow followed my gaze, rolling her eyes. "God, everyone's making that creep's death such a big deal. I don't get why they can't move on."

My stomach twisted. "She wasn't a creep. She used to be my friend."

Her beady eyes fell on me. "I'm sorry, but if I remember correctly, wasn't she harassing you guys at the end of your friendship? Because from the description of everything going on, Natasha wasn't some sorry soul we should feel bad for. The way I look at it, she finally met her match with Killer Cupid."

"Are you saying she deserved to die?" I said, keeping my voice steady.

Willow paused, cocking a razor-sharp eyebrow. "I'm saying that they both aren't right in the head. She pushed someone to the point where they were done with her bullshit, and just like that...." She snapped her fingers in my face, drawing me back. "They snapped. Somebody got their revenge, but it's all over now." She shrugged. "When you fight fire with fire, you're bound to get burned. Natasha should've known better."

"Any good person knows that no matter what happened, she should be here right now," I said, growing hot.

She turned back, her lips folding into an icy smile. "I never claimed to be a good person."

--

I couldn't believe I was at Willow Steven's house. I wouldn't have shown up if it wasn't for a class and teacher I liked. But right now, I just had to suck it up. I rang the doorbell, sticking my hands into the pockets of my cargo pants.

Her home resembled a mansion, and I busied myself with looking at the intricate brick design and beautiful lights. I heard a muffled conversation that almost sounded like yelling before she yanked the door open. She glared at me and turned on her heel, leaving me to shut the door.

"Hello to you too," I said, raising my eyebrows and following her wordlessly to the living room sofa.

"How are we going to do this?" Willow said with a bored expression.

"Well..." I looked at the project outline Mr. Perez had handed out. "You can tell me why you picked analytical."

"I'd rather not," she said.

I sighed. "Look, Willow. I know we don't get along, but unless you want to fail, can we please get through this week?"

"Fine," she said. "But you're insane if you think I'm spending a week with you on this. You get two days."

I rolled my eyes. "I wouldn't have thought you were the analytical type."

"Why? Do I look like a dumb bitch?"

"A dumb bitch with a serious attitude," I said, pulling my hair into a ponytail.

She gave me a look, and I tried not to laugh. "I'm kidding!" Kind of. "I don't know. Why or where did that come from? External or internal environments?" I said, reading off the paper.

She pursed her glossed lips as if contemplating whether to tell me. "Well, when I was a little kid, I wanted to be a businessman like my dad. So, I guess I see things in terms of numbers, and I'm a thinker. Whenever I see anything, I try to analyze it more. Guess I grew up to be just like him," she finished. She wasn't smiling, though.

"That's nice," I said, surprised. "He's probably proud of you."

"You'd think that." Willow laughed dryly. Then, as if she remembered who she was talking to, she narrowed her eyes and stiffly brought her legs closer.

"Are you guys not that close?" I asked.

She glared at me. "What, are you going to ask me about all of my childhood trauma next?"

"Nope," I said, popping the p.

She looked at the paper in her hand and sighed. "What about you? Why'd you pick creative?"

"I'm more about the emotion; I guess," I said. "Even though I don't always talk about it. Writing stories, art, romance, abstract things."

She looked at me and groaned. "Don't tell me you're one of those people who watch romance movies and eat ice cream waiting for the man to come to save you. I can't stand those bitches."

I almost laughed. "Not the second part. I want to think I'd save myself before that."

She nodded as if she agreed.

"But I would want someone who gets me, you know? Through the good and the bad." Without saying the words, a name came to my head. "And the happy ending. I want the happy ending."

"Happy endings aren't real." She waved it off.

"And that, Ms. Analytical, is where you're wrong." I reached over to move my folder to the side. "Besides, you should watch rom-coms. They're good enough to make you want to be in love, but cringe enough to laugh at them."

"No, thank you. I prefer my men in real life." Her voice was haughty. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you date anyone," I said. "So, how is that going for you?"

She drew her eyebrows together at my sassy response. "Name one rom-com worth watching."

"I'll text you a list," I said. Then, as a quick afterthought, I added, "And, of course, never text you again."

Willow's lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile I had ever seen.

We passed each other a few examples of illusions, writing our perception of them and then comparing it to each other.

"Willow, can you come here for a moment?" Willow's mother called from the other room. I busied myself with my notes as Willow disappeared to the other room. When she still wasn't back after a few minutes passed, I stood up to find the bathroom.

I heard hushed whispers from the kitchen.

"Why am I finding out about you failing on that paper last week because you didn't turn it in?"

"Does it matter?" she muttered. "I'm about to graduate, anyway."

"You're barely scraping by, Willow. You would be in a better position if you just applied yourself more. Your sister made the dean's list every semester and got a scholarship to an Ivy League school."

"Well, I'm not her," Willow snapped. "So don't waste your time expecting anything from me."

"Do you know how much we do for you, Willow? Your father makes sure you have everything."

"You can tell my father to fuck off."

Willow stormed out. I froze, and she frowned at me.

"I was going to the bathroom," I blurted, trying to keep up with her as we walked back to the living room. "I didn't hear anything. Well, uh, that much. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," she snapped, even though her eyes told a different story. "Look, I have somewhere else to be, so we'll just finish up the presentation another day."

I didn't push it. We weren't friends, and her life was her business. "I should get back, anyway. It's pretty late." I gathered my things and left, giving her a small smile to say goodbye.

I knew Willow wasn't the nicest person, but she had let her guard down for a moment, and I saw something familiar. A wave of sadness so slight it was as if I had imagined it. I wondered if her entire demeanor was an act to hide who she was, which meant maybe we weren't that different after all.

Mr. Perez was right — sometimes things weren't as they seemed.