QUINN

When Ethan sits next to me in class on Friday, I do my best to keep my very rebellious mouth under control. That thing has a mind of its own sometimes. For the first ten minutes, my ex keeps to himself like a good boy. But, as expected, he goes and ruins it.

"How have you been doing, Q? I haven't talked to you in a while."

"A week, Ethan. It's only been a week."

He rubs the back of his neck, revealing his nervous disposition with a shaky laugh. I don't know what he finds funny about this.

"Yeah...I guess I'm just used to seeing you throughout the week. I kind of miss you being around."

Well, you lost the right to have me around when you bathed Skylar in your saliva, buddy. I don't say that though. I just put a little metaphorical leash around my mouth and keep a firm grip on the handle.

"You still with that succubus?"

Oops. Looks like the leash slipped right out of my hand.

"Huh?" He stares at me with equal parts confusion and apprehension.

"Skylar, the friggin demon troll. Are you still with her?" I snap.

"Wow, uh...I knew I hurt you, but I guess I didn't realize just how bad." He says, seemingly disappointed in himself.

The nerve! I'm not hurt because of him! I'm angry because of the intel I have on that evil witch! After Cash confessed everything that happened between them, I felt a kind of rage I haven't experienced in...well, ever.

It's concerning, really. She doesn't deserve to be walking around, shoving tongues in people's mouths. She shouldn't be allowed to speak or fuck or...or even breathe without sucking some kind of bug down her throat.

And maybe I'm a little hurt that he cheated on me because what the hell is wrong with me to make him want to do that? What did he find in her that he couldn't find in me?

"Is that a yes, Ethan?"

"I mean, kind of. We're still hanging out and...whatever."

Yeah, I know what whatever is. He's still actively throwing his hotdog down her hallway.

"Well, you can kindly fuck off then." I give him a big smile and he has the audacity to look surprised by my declaration.

"Q, are you being serious right no –"

"Quuiiinnn. My name is not a letter, Ethan. And yes, I'm serious."

"Never bothered you before." He grumbles under his breath, slumping down in the seat.

Yeah, well, I never really cared for my name all that much until I started hearing it repeatedly leave Cash's mouth. Now, I think it's got quite a nice ring to it.

When Ethan makes no attempt to move seats, I decide to slide down one. He glares at me, grimacing in my direction. I don't know what he's angry about. I'm not the one who screwed him over.

"Q...Quinn, what's going on with you?" He hisses across the way.

Ew. Okay, maybe I don't like when Ethan says my name. His vocal cords produce stupid sounds. It makes me want to run the other way.

But it's not a dumb question, if I'm being completely honest. I'm not usually this feisty without fire water flowing through my bloodstream. Most days, I just accept whatever comes my way with a smile I only genuinely mean half the time. That's the girl Ethan knows. That's the girl everyone knows.

And that's been fine. That's how I've gotten by when I felt like I couldn't stomach waking up and zombie-walking through another day. But sometimes it gets old, you know? Like your body starts overflowing with the unspoken emotions you keep locked away and you feel like you might blow up into a million tiny pieces.

I turn sideways in my chair so I can look at the boy who treated me like I wasn't good enough. I study him, committing everything to memory. I want to recollect the reasons why I liked him in the first place. But, as I search my brain for those memories, I realize they don't exist.

Why did I date him? Because he asked me out. Because I enjoyed the fact that someone showed interest in me. Because I was desperate for some kind of connection. Because I felt like maybe, just maybe, someone would finally see me. But he may as well have been staring right past me during our entire relationship.

"What's going on with me?" I repeat his question, my tone hollow as I sort through my revelation.

Ethan turns too, leaning forward and propping his elbow on the back of the chair that separates us.

"Yeah." He sighs, his eyes shimmering with worry. "I can tell something is off. You're not usually this...bitchy."

Um, what? I cross my legs, letting all the tension out by clenching my thigh muscles together. I'm not sure why, but I get the sudden urge to slide my phone across my desk and start typing out a text.

Quinn: Do you think I'm bitchy?

"Bitchy?" I parrot back, setting the phone down in my lap. Guess I'm just going to keep repeating whatever he says to me until I come up with some kind of actual response.

"Don't take that the wrong way." He says, rolling his eyes.

My phone buzzes so I look down at the screen.

Bearaffe: No. You're a lot of things, but that definitely isn't one of them.

The side of my mouth twitches before curling up in a grin, and another text comes in.

Bearaffe: Wait, why? Did someone say that to you, Quinn?

For some reason, that second message gives me the little extra push I needed in the direction of addressing Ethan. Something I should have done a while ago. I glance up and can almost feel my eyes hardening as I see his expectant face, waiting for an explanation.

"Ethan, I swear on everything that is holy, if you ever say that to me again, I will claw your friggin eyes out."

His head bobs back at my response, frowning while his eyebrows slant in at the center.

"You really are a mental case, aren't you?" He replies, shaking his head. "I don't know why I ever even tried with you."

Tried? He calls what he did trying? And I am not a mental case! I snort and his eyes dart to mine, growing angry at my reaction.

"Skylar was right. That guy you're messing around with has a reputation, and he's doing a great job at fucking with your head."

Reputation? Fucking with my he – oh jeez. I can't contain myself anymore. I chuck my pencil at him, and he jumps as the point sticks his arm.

"Ow! What the hell?" He scowls at me, baffled by my graphite assault.

I reach into the small pocket on my bookbag and grab a handful of the unsharpened pencils in my arsenal. When I stand, I throw them down at him one by one, like little missiles. He takes cover under his arm and a few students turn to watch us as he mumbles curses with each attack.

"You fucked with my head, Ethan! You made me think you actually liked me and then you just went and messed around with some other girl. And I let you. I was going to keep pretending it didn't happen. That's fucked up. You made me feel like I was worthless. But guess what? That apology you made for breaking my heart? Un-friggin-necessary because you never had my heart in the first place! You weren't worth it." I spit out, firing my last pencil at his skull.

When he peeks up from under his arm after I'm finished with my attack, he actually looks scared of me.

"I didn't deserve what you did to me, Ethan." I continue softly, feeling the life drain from my body. "Cash isn't messing with my head. He just treats me nicer than you ever would. That makes you the bitch."

I pick my things up and storm out of the classroom once again. Except, this time, I stop in my tracks because class isn't over yet, and I can't afford to miss anything with my final exams coming up. So, I quietly re-enter the room, doing the walk of shame as everyone watches me.

Taking a seat as far away from Ethan Dickface as possible, I keep my eyes trained on my notebook. I don't have any pencils left to take notes with. I stand and head to the back of the room and he never takes his eyes off me. Bending down, I collect all my pencils from around his stupid shoes.

"I need these." I whisper angrily to him.

"Q..." He starts softly.

I don't stick around to listen to another empty apology, returning to my seat instead.

As I scribble down whatever I hear the professor saying, tears keep dripping down onto the paper. I'm not sad, I don't think. Maybe. I don't know, this entire thing is just overwhelming.

A manicured hand appears under my face, a tissue clutched between its fingers. I glance over to see a girl with shiny blonde hair and brown-rimmed glasses leaning over the two chairs between us. Her smile is sad as she offers me a Kleenex. I gently remove it from her hand and smile back weakly.

"That was awesome, Quinn." She whispers to me before going back to paying attention.

She knows my name? And she thinks my violent display was awesome? Can I keep her? I want this girl as my friend. I wonder what her spirit animal is. Does she like Oreos?

Oh, I'm staring at her like a psycho. I quickly avert my bewildered gaze, trying to pay attention to the lecture.

My phone buzzes and my heart skips a beat – or five – when I realize it might be Cash. Wow, what the hell was that? Maybe I should get an electrocardiogram or something because I don't think hearts are supposed to do that.

Bearaffe: What class are you in?

Quinn: Combinatorics

Bearaffe: wtf is that?

Quinn: Your guess is as good as mine

Bearaffe: But...you're in the class. Shouldn't you know what it is?

Quinn: Honestly, I thought it was a foreign language at first. Turns out, it's some kind of math!

I see him type, then stop, types again, and stops once more. No response.

When class is over, the girl who provided me with the fluffy snot-stopper bolts from the room, giving me no chance to hound her for the important answers I require in order to seal the deal on our friendship. Maybe next time, then.

Once everyone vacates the room, I lazily pack my stuff up and notice that Ethan is hanging out by the door, waiting for me. That's my only escape and he's effectively blocking it. My chest grows tight, and my hand grips my phone tightly as my palms start sweating.

For a split second, I could have sworn I saw Hunter's face instead of Ethan's.

Ethan isn't scary, Quinn. He's an asshole, but he's not dangerous. I take a step forward after exhaling. Wait. How do I know for sure he isn't dangerous? It could just be that I haven't been around him long enough to see his true colors.

I stall out again, coming to an abrupt stop in the aisle, staring at my feet like they'll provide me with some kind of answer. After that big show I put on, I feel ridiculous for not even being able to walk past the guy now. I'm a complete wimp.

I could text Cash, but it would take him forever to get here. I don't want to stand in this room with Hun-Ethan for that long. I need a way out, ASAP. The single window in this room is way too high up to reach. There's no back exit.

"Ethan, move please." My voice cracks when I whisper, and I refuse to look up.

"Not until we talk about this." I can't tell if he sounds empathetic, or frustrated.

The fact that there's no alternate route makes a chill run up my spine, goosebumps raising on my arms. My pits are getting sticky with sweat and my eyes sting.

There has to be a way out. This can't happen right now. Why is the window unreachable? Why is Ethan standing in my way? I won't be able to make it past him and if I can't make it past him, I'm stuck in this room until he's ready to let me go and the only weapon I have is the stupid pencils and no, no no...I have to run. I can't be in here. I have to fucking run.

With racing thoughts, a pounding heart, and watery eyes, I take off for the door at full speed. Adrenaline and panic swirls together, coursing through me like a raging tide. I don't even look to see how Ethan is reacting to my sudden sprint.

As soon as my warm palms push against the cool metal bar that opens the door, his hand grips my arm. But I'm moving so fast that I rip away from him, making my skin twist painfully under the friction of his grasp. The force makes me spin out into the hallway and I run right into someone, scalding hot liquid sloshing down into my hair.

I yelp but, before I fall, I feel someone's knee jerk up and dig into my lower back, keeping me upright. My head snaps up and I see Cash standing there, both hands equipped with cups of coffee while he balances me with his knee.

His sapphire eyes search mine. Relief washes over me, and I fling myself into him, making him spill the hot drink again, this time onto the floor. I made it.

Still holding the cups, his forearm hooks around the back of my head, keeping me tucked against his torso while I fist the fabric of his shirt. I try to breathe through the panic, each inhale filled with his scent. Tears start falling once it dawns on me that I'm really safe. He's here. It's not my imagination.

"You're okay." He murmurs, his muscles flexing against my face as his body tenses.

And I believe him.