My lips are still humming from yesterday's encounter as I braid my long blonde hair into the finest mess the eye has seen. I've got that type of hair that is neither straight nor curly and somehow manages to just look like a stringy disaster most of the time. I have no qualms with my hair though. In fact, I think I love its wildness... makes me feel as though it's a true extension of my personality.

I allowed myself to sleep in today since I have no classes, but I definitely should have embraced my pillow a little longer. I'm bored out of my mind! I'd purposely taken a light semester because I knew I'd regret packing my schedule with too much education. Now I'm starting to rethink my decision. When all your friends are being studious, it kind of demolishes the joy of having a little extra freedom.

Plopping down on my bed, I scan through pictures of butterflies until I've found a decent selection of different types and colors. Then I print them all off and cut them out. With scissors in hand, I cut several strips of plastic lanyard cord and string five or six butterflies on each one.

I'm smiling to myself as I climb on my bed—doing my best to balance on a stack of overstuffed pillows—and begin hanging each strand from the ceiling. It's a bit of a strain, but I don't mind the challenge... until I fall off my bed and slam my skull against the edge of my side table.

With a groan, I flop down and bury my face into the rug so I can yell out a couple of profanities without alerting any neighbors that there's an issue, and then roll back over to stare at my handiwork hanging above me. I've still got about seven strings to hang and my brain is quite literally throbbing from the impact. Mustering my way off the floor, I head to the bathroom for a peek at my injury and smile at the deep red line imprinted across my hairline. At least I have evidence to justify the pain.

My headache is motivating me to hurry up, so I head back into my room and pull a chair from my desk. Maybe the crushed skull incident actually knocked something into place, because the chair is definitely a more logical choice for the job than a pillow tower.

I hear the doorknob twist a few minutes later and the sound of my roommate's voice as she greets me.

"Sup," I respond, determined to get this one particularly stubborn string of butterflies to stay in place. I hear Emma drop into her bed with a groan and then there's silence.

"What?" I prod, jumping off the chair to grab another strand of butterflies.

And then she proceeds to tell me about this boy who hates her guts. I almost joke that that's not a possibility now that she's spilled all her guts out to me, but I bite my tongue. I like this girl. As whiny and reclusive as she sometimes is, there's something about her that's intriguing. I sense a little rebellion within her and my curiosity refuses to dismiss her before understanding it completely.

"So, what," I start to say as I plop myself down on my bed, "you're trying to make him fall in love with you?"

"No. That'd be impossible," she tells me. "Friendship; just friendship is what I'm hoping for."

Lies. All lies. That's what I want to scream at her. But considering I've only known this girl for three weeks, I forbid my tongue from being its true self and instead harness the judgment. My brain swims around for a moment looking for something safe to say and then settles on, "What have you tried so far?"

This conversation is beginning to feel like a plastic sack suffocating the sunshine from my day and I know it's time to find a new activity. Leaning over to my bedside table, I squeeze a drop of lotion into my palm and lightly run it over my sloppy braid, freezing momentarily when I catch Emma eyeing me with concern.

"What?" I shrug. "It keeps the frizzies away."

When I ask what his reaction was to her apology and she starts mumbling about not having done it yet and how much of an idiot she is, I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. Emma is the type of person I usually find myself avoiding. Not because I'm cruel, but mainly because I don't know how to relate to them on any level. I say what I need to say and I don't beat around the bush, but it seems Emma might crumble into a pile of broken glass if I start hammering her with the truth.

So I sit quietly for a moment, thinking. I know I need to escape this conversation before it blows up in my face, so I yank my shoes out from under my bed and slip them on. Standing, I throw my leather bag over my shoulder and turn to face my perplexed roommate.

"Well, as my friend Isaac Friedmann would say, 'forgiveness is the sweetest revenge.'" I grin at her as I let my own words sink in and then I realize just how little that quote applies to this situation. "Okay, I guess in your case 'sorry' is the sweetest revenge."

When she still lacks any sign of comprehension, I mumble something about giving him an apology and how actions speak louder than words, and then I'm out of there.

I breathe a sigh of relief the second the door closes behind me, and a strange twinge of guilt pricks at my conscience. Hopefully, Emma couldn't sense my lack of interest. Really, it wasn't so much that I wasn't interested, it's that I don't know how to handle people who aren't honest with themselves. She's in love with a boy who hates her and is doing everything in her power to convince herself she doesn't want more than friendship. It's sad and pathetic, but it also has me intrigued.

What made her so afraid of herself?

———

I wander the campus for quite some time, looking for anything worth my interest. A couple of kids sit studying beneath the shade of a large Oak, one of which is dangling upside down from one of the branches. But, other than that, I'm horribly disappointed by the lack of weirdness going on.

Dropping to the ground, I do my best to stare into the sky but the sun is relentless. Closing my eyes, my thoughts drift back to yesterday and the thrill of being so close to Seth. I try to dislodge the memory. I try to fill my brain with something else. Anything else! I refuse to be that girl who's obsessive and creepy. Yes, I might be obsessed with him, but I don't have to act like it.

And yet, here I lay, dreaming of nothing but his green eyes and the look of confusion on his face as he'd watched me pull away from him. I keep telling myself it was because he didn't want it to end. But in truth, he was probably just wondering who in the world I was.

Maybe he's wondering where I am. Maybe he's forcing himself to continue sleeping in this morning so he can keep dreaming of me. Maybe he's staring at his phone and wondering how he can text me without coming off too strong. Maybe he wants me as bad as I want him. Maybe... but I don't have time or energy to waste on wondering.

Rather than torture myself with more thoughts of him, I pull myself from the ground and head toward the cafeteria. I don't actually know what time it is, but my stomach tells me it's eat-o'clock and I never ignore her demands for food.

Pretty sure every fiber in my body is magnetized to Seth Vans, because the moment I step through the cafeteria doors, my ears tune into his warm voice and my eyes gravitate in his direction. I find him seated at a table near the windows, several of his friends with him.

I watch as he takes a bite of his chicken sandwich just as his friend says something funny. He brings a fist to his mouth, choking around his laughter as he hurries to swallow. Leaning back in his chair, he points at the Asian guy to his left with an accusing finger and a smile on his lips. He says something that has everyone cracking up and I find myself chuckling like a complete creep.

Glancing up, my eyes meet a pair of chocolate ones just on the other side of Seth and my smile slips. I hadn't noticed her before, but she's practically the sun surrounded by a roomful of meteors... and I'm a meteor. Not to bash my own appearance or anything because, come on, I've had my fair share of double-takes. But I am basically a dandelion next to this sunflower of a human being.

She is stunning. Too stunning, really. The kind of beautiful that looks too polished and I wonder how many hours she had to dedicate to plastering on her appearance. But now that polished, glammed-up face is looking right at me. She doesn't look menacing like I'd imagine a territorial, mean girl to look like. Neither does she look curious. She looks... wary? But confident, somehow. Like she wants to claim Seth as her own—and has every intention to do so—but she doesn't have the slightest idea how to do that.

One thing is certain though... I am her competition.

So, in typical Mercy fashion, I wave and make my way over to their table. Her shoulders stiffen as I approach, which only boosts my confidence further.

"Hey!" I greet, sliding into the only seat available... across from glossy-faced sunflower girl.

"Uh..." It's a simultaneous response from everyone at the table—including Seth.

Whatever confidence I thought I had just seconds prior is dashed. The guy diagonally from me is staring at me like I didn't just have my lips plastered to his twenty-four hours ago. The intensity of his eyes is making me sweat, but I simply grin, hoping he doesn't notice the slight, nervous twitch of my lips. He glances at his friends and then turns a puzzled expression my way again. I see the recognition slowly descend on his face, but my pride refuses to let him explain himself.

"I'm Mercy," I tell the group, resting my elbows on the table and crossing my arms. "Seth's girlfriend."

The deep chocolate tint of Sun Girl's cheeks deepens further before paling. I can practically see the internal desperation swirling inside her pretty head. She glances sideways at Seth before her brows lower into what I can officially call a glare. But the heat of her anger doesn't seem to be directed at me...

Seth catches her expression and lifts his hands in defense.

"On-screen, of course," he clarifies, shaking his head with a sigh when his Asian friend burst out laughing.

"Better be," Sun Girl berates, and though she's smiling like it's all a joke, we all know the truth erupting from her words. Basically, Seth belongs to her and I better back off.

But I never back off.

Maybe it's a flaw of mine. Or maybe it's the very essence of what makes me so lovable and warm. But, when my eyes meet Sun Girl's again, I start to wonder how dangerous she really is with her acrylic nails and stilettos. She's practically a weapon.

"This is Shonice," Seth introduces. "Ricky," using his middle finger, he points to the guy on my right. "Noah,"—a straight-up jock— "and Rob," the Korean.

I wave to each of Seth's friends, repeating my name again so they're sure to never forget who I am.

"Now," I say, sitting up straighter and pointing a lazy finger at Seth. "Didn't I specifically tell you to remember me?"

He nods, grinning to himself and then capturing my eyes in his own. "Sorry 'bout that." He shrugs. "It was the hair, I think. The braid threw me off."

"Oh," I nod slowly, sarcasm squeezing between my words. "So, I did the only thing I could think to do in order to sear myself into your memory—legally, of course—and you only remembered my hair?"

"Well..." he mutters, his grin causing weird twisting sensations in my gut. "I guess you have good hair."

Rob punches Seth in the shoulder, dropping his head to the table as he roars in amusement. Seems Rob's the only one, besides Seth, following what I'm getting at.

"Uh, no," Seth denies, stubbornly puckering his lips and crossing his arms, "there are definitely other ways of getting someone to remember you."

"Really?" I'm flattered, flicking my hair and batting my lashes as intensely as I physically can.

"And you just proved my point," Seth explains, proud. "See, if you'd acted like that yesterday, I definitely wouldn't have forgotten you..." he trails off, pondering. "But then you wouldn't have gotten the part. So yeah, I guess I see your point."

"Please, someone, explain." Shonice seems to have dropped her shield somewhat and is now purely curious.

"Well," I begin, "Your boyfriend here forced me to do unthinkable things simply to win the role of his beloved girlfriend."

Shonice's eyes narrow and she drawls out an unconvinced, "right..."

"Not sure if you're aware," I begin, leaning forward and lowering my voice to a whisper, "but I'm going to be murdering your boyfriend in a few weeks."

Seth chuckles softly, shivering in playful fear when Shonice points her sharp gaze at him.

"Not if I beat you to it," she growls, slowly turning her attention back at me with the most sickeningly sweet smile.

And I know right then and there, I'm met my match...

And I'm a little scared. 

----

Who remembers Shonice from Paper Bride? What do you think of her now?