I have a plan.

A really bad plan.

But a really good plan.

With one more glance at the spiteful message of my parents, my mind comes to a conclusion.

We're coming at two. Clean up and don't embarrass yourself further.

I'm doing it.

If my parents didn't want me to embarrass myself further, I'd do exactly that. I've been complacent my entire life, silently seething under my breath and wishing them the worst fates for their actions against me, but no longer. From this day onwards, Quorra Neversea is going to fight back.

And if they don't want me to embarrass myself, that's exactly what I'm going to do, because knowing them, it'd humiliate them more than me. A slash to their I'm-so-perfect façades and spotless reputations. I'm more than glad to ruin what their entire life revolves around: what everyone thinks of them.

So it's settled.

I'm making out with Grant.

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"Okay, here's the plan," I start, taking a bite out of my cheap, canteen pancakes as Grant looks at me in amusement, eyeing his own breakfast, "My parents come at two. Knowing them, it'll be no more than five minutes later, so you need to come to my room by 1:50 so we can set up."

"Set up?" he asks, eyes brighter than usual.

I look behind me at the large window, assuming the light is playing tricks on me.

"Yeah, take off our shirts, mess up my hair and makeup, maybe add some hickeys - I don't know," I ramble with a lift and fall of my shoulder, playing with the straw in my orange juice.

"Hickeys?" he repeats, something I can't pinpoint glinting in his azure eyes.

"Yeah, makeup works wonders," I add, giving him an odd look as his face falls and he mutters an 'oh'.

"You've been acting weird lately, are you alright?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow, "Oh hey, did you ask out that girl yesterday? Sorry I didn't ask, I've been caught up in all this business."

His eyes meet mine, scanning as if he can see my thoughts, "Never mind that. So 1:50, right?"

I let it slide, the thought of my long awaited revenge fuelling my evil grin, "Yeah. And then when they walk in, they catch us mid-makeout."

A malevolent laugh bubbles up my throat as I narrow my eyes like an evil cartoon character, plotting their latest malicious plan that is undoubtedly doomed to fail. There's just one key difference - mine is going to work.

It has to.

A couple hours later, I find myself in front of room B18, tapping away on my phone absentmindedly. It isn't until I feel a breath on my neck that I look up and away from Super Mario Run and come face to face with Grant.

Cracking a smile, I tuck my phone into my small shoulder bag, "Hey, what's up?"

He shrugs, "I see you're early for our lecture today, Quo," he laughs.

"I wasn't late for yesterday's second lecture either," I point out, albeit a little too smug.

Students soon start to enter the room so we follow in, finding our seats at the front where Professor Hartley has permanently moved us, "Yeah, but you missed the first one," Grant laughs as I shoot him a flat glare.

"Hey, can you pick up some food before you come up to my room later?" I propose suddenly, remembering to ask him, "My parents will ask to go to dinner so I'll have an excuse to refuse them."

With a chuckle and nod, my plans for the rest of the day are settled.

The day passes without much more drama or socialising until my phone ping!s with a text from Lara.

Heading out for my date with Ben now! Quick, pastel blue or dark purple?

I laugh at my sister's request for fashion advice. I'm the last person that should be asked about how to look stylish.

Blue? I dunno, ask Bennett.

Ugh, you're helpless. Good luck with mum and dad. See you x

I return the goodbye and glance at the time. Butterflies have been recruiting more of their winged friends in my stomach for the past hour, but the starving alligator in my gut seems to be doing a good job shutting them up. By the time quarter to two rolls around, I'm a shipwreck of mixed emotions.

I've managed to mess up the room a bit, use eyeshadows to craft hickeys on my neck, and now I'm just waiting on Grant. Where is he? My eyes watch the clock tick past and I poke my head out into the corridor multiple times to no avail.

He's nowhere to be found.

1:53.

I kick my feet up on the desk. If this plan fails I'm going to be subjected to an afternoon of my parents rambling about my immaturity about this divorce and why they think it's for the best while they completely ignore my opinion on the matter. I mean, who's going to be happy about their parents splitting up?

Where the flapjack is he?

1:55.

Half an hour ago I went down to the receptionist and found out that my parents will be sent straight to my room upon arrival. That will probably help along my plans.

1:56.

Oh crud, I can't hold it in any longer.

I spring out of my chair, heart thrashing about in my chest as I pace the room, resisting the urge to yank my hair out and rip my own soul in two. This mental and physical torture is killing me - the abrupt divorce, my parents coming, my failing education, the future of my unsuccessful life, and WHERE THE FUCK IS GRANT?!

As if sensing my unease, the door clicks, flashing with a barely-there green light.

"Thank god, you idiot, you had me wo-" the rest of my words die in my throat.

I groan as Professor Hartley's chiselled face appeared, a questioning look pasted over his admirable features.

"Professor Hartley, I'm sorry but I need you to leave," I state blandly, my towering stress levels overpowering my manners and the 'respect your elders' ideology I've been taught as a child, "You can't be here right now."

"Sir, not Professor," he corrects, placing his suitcase down, "and may I ask why, Miss Neversea? This room is owned by both of us."

"Quorra, not Miss," I mock his tone, "And yes, that is correct, so if you were ever to banish me without a reason I would oblige with no opposition. Now please leave."

With a quirk of an eyebrow, he shakes his head, "I have to teach a separate class from yours in an hour, I want to stay in my room for a while."

Where did this stubbornness come from?

1:58.

The butterflies in my stomach burst free from the damn alligator's jaws and hit me full force as I realise Grant is not coming on time, or at all.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I mumble to myself as I quickly meet his eyes again, my limited time increasing my anxiety and desperation levels.

"I swear I'll never bother you again if you do me a favour really quick," I hurry out as he removes his outer layers.

He brushes past me lightly to reach for the bedside table, sliding open the drawer and removing his glasses. Sliding them on, he gives me a pointed look, "I am a lecturer, Miss Neversea. I teach. If anything, I want students to bother me so that they learn."

Ugh, he's so adorable in those. Wait - what did he just say?

"Oh my god, are you actually in your twenties? You are such an old man! Take off your damn shirt and get in that fucking bed!" I exclaim, frustration entangling with my nervousness, eradicting the embarrassment that should be flooding my system.

He freezes for a moment, "Miss Neversea, that is entirely inappropriate language."

I gape at him, "I couldn't care less who you are right now, my parents are coming up here any second now and I need them to get pissed off with me and leave as soon as possible and the only thing that would send them off running fast enough is if they walked in on me making out with a guy so I kinda need you to do this for me right now because Grant is not coming here any time soon but my parents are! Okay?!"

2:02.

Voices in the corridor.

Oh fuck me.

I pull my shirt off faster than I ever have and by some miracle, don't get my hair stuck on a stupid button. Blowing my hair out of my face I shove Professor Hartley back onto his bed, thanking the heavens for his stunned obedience.

"Miss Neversea, I don't think this is a good idea," he rushes out, alarmed and trying to pry my hands off his shirt as I straddle him, "Student teacher relationships are banned under sch-"

As the door clicks open, I wave a temporary goodbye to timid, conserved Quorra and slap on the mean bitchface of my inner badass, crashing my lips against my English professor's.

"-and this is Quorra's r-"

"-QUORRA NEVERSEA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

I don't get to savour the feel of his lips against mine before I rapidly pull back as if by a spring and scramble to pull the duvet up against my bra-clad chest. Not even having to feign embarrassment, I look wide-eyed at my parents in the doorway, frozen next to the startled receptionist.

I don't have to fake the rapid rise and fall of my chest as my heart thuds against my ribcage as if I've been striked by lightning.

"Mum?! Dad?! David, I thought you locked the door!" I pretend to gape at Professor Hartley, who is still tensed up in disbelief, half of his shirt unbuttoned.

The room falls into a dead silence apart from my laboured breathing. My palms feel clammy and my eyes straining themselves as I try to win the persistent staring contest between my parents and I. Heat crawls up my skin as my daredevil cloak is torn off to reveal my usual, awkward self.

My gaze flits to my shirt as I flatten the duvet closer to my bare chest, the colour blooming in my cheeks an indication of my regret. Jaw locked tight, I bite my tongue to stop the stream of random, defensive gibberish from leaving my lips.

My mum finds it in herself to dilute her anger, and returns to a normal stance. Eyes cast downwards in a calm attempt to control her outrage, her words come out in a low pitch, her hands balled up at her sides, "Quorra, your father and I expect to meet you downstairs by the exit in ten minutes. You have some explaining to do."

The three of them file out quietly, muttering words of disappointment.

When the door clicks shut, I release the breath I've been holding in and let myself fall flat on my back onto 'David's' bed. Resigned, I lift an arm to rest over my eyes, muttering, "Oh my god, I just did that."

After a solid fifteen seconds in shock, I sit up, clutching the duvet to me as if it can shield me from the judgement about to be thrown my way.

I look up at Professor Hartley, ready with an apology, "Uh, sorry 'bout that, they were about to come and I was super stressed because I don't have the best relationship with my parents a-and I was gonna fake making out with Grant but to be honest that would have been even weirder than us making out because let's be real, you're way hotter than him, but anyway he didn't end up coming and-"

The door bursts open on cue, the doorknob slamming into the wall with the sheer force, "Quo! I'm sorry, I went to pick up food like you asked and the line was- WHAT THE FUCK?!"

I do not need another melodramatic reaction.

I sigh, rubbing my temples, "Okay, Grant, don't freak out. I need to get changed and meet my parents downstairs, I'll explain tomorrow or when I get back, I swear."

Stepping out of Professor Hartley's bed, I quickly slip into my off-the-shoulder shirt, whipping on a leather jacket quickly and stepping into a pair of boots. Grant remains still, as if attacked with a stun gun.

Awkwardly, I cast a final glance at a silent, disoriented Professor Hartley and slip past Grant.

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I prod my food dejectedly, really wishing I had taken Grant's food on the way out so I could've avoided dinner with my parents. I dare to look up at my dad, who hasn't said a word this whole time despite my mum's relentless lecturing.

He meets my gaze, more frustrated and confused than anything, "Quorra, am I missing something? I remember a well-behaved, loving daughter who had no interest in boys. I know we drifted apart but I wish you could have given me some kind of indication that you've turned into... this."

It's as if his anger has been simmering on a low heat this whole time and he's only just opened the lid, releasing a huge, volcano-like, steamy cloud of disappointment. I return the damn favour.

I stand up, slamming my hands into the table as my chair screeches back loudly. All eyes in the restaurant turn to me in surprise, "Well I'm sorry that I can't please you all the time. I was never happy, I just obeyed what you told me to do because I didn't want to disappoint anyone. In fact, that's how I've lived my whole life, in fear of judgement. But my time here at university has taught me one thing - I don't care anymore, my effort is always wasted so why should I bother even trying anymore? That side to me is gone, I'm a new person now. No more effort, it never helps and it gets me nowhere. My wasted efforts exhaust me! I can't believe I was so disillusioned at a point that I truly believed that my ability and hours of tiring studying could get me somewhere. I'm not good enough. For anyone, for anything, not even for myself! I'm useless - and you know what? You are too! You say I didn't give you any warning that I turned into who I am now, but what indication did you give me that you and mum were going to break up and split my life in two?!"

"Quorra, it really won't affect-"

"Of course it fucking affects me! It's called family! Ever heard of it? I'm leaving, don't call me!" I shout back as my dad stands up to calm me down.

"Quorra, we came here to discuss the divorce, please be reason-"

"There's obviously nothing to discuss! It's over!"

I storm out, yanking my arm away from him.