Hot diggity damn.

Okay, wait, let me slow down. Back to the beginning.

"Hello, children! How are we feeling this morning?" Ms. Somerset projected across the large classroom, and I peered around at drowsy students who hid behind their hoodies and yawned.

"Let's try that again! HOW ARE WE FEELING THIS MORNING?" Dean Wilhelm chimed in abrasively, causing us to jump.

"Good!" the chorus of our voices rang.

"Much better!" Ms. Somerset smiled before continuing, "Now, I'm sure you're all wondering what's on the agenda for today since we haven't posted it to our announcement blog - which, by the way, if you aren't following, what are you doing?"

"Thank you for the introduction, Ms. Somerset," the dean cut in, "Let's keep this brief. Each of you are seated in groups of four. Before the end of the day, we need you to come up with a project. The topic is anything you want it to be, but you only have these seven hours to thoroughly bring it to completion. Do not slack off on this! It'll go towards your grade, because this counts as a class. Any poor work you do now will be irreversible, and you need these credits to graduate, so I suggest you and your group get very comfortable with one another very quickly. Every hour we'll have fifteen minute breaks, and at half point we'll have a full hour for lunch. Poster boards, note cards, papers, borrowed laptops and such will all be passed out upon request from your teachers."

Blinking rapidly, Ms. Somerset intervened, "Of course! And as I was saying, check the blog for notifs daily! Oh, and no you will not have to present this. Once your group is done, you can submit your project, collect a college guidebook at the front desk, and go home. You can use any media you want for it! Be creative! Your time begins...now!"

I finally registered the existence of my group partners. There was a tall, thin girl with mocha skin who wore a heather grey tank top, a dark green army jacket, and black leggings. Her hair was long, straight and dark brown. She had on shades, though we were inside. Beside her was a plump, shorter girl with wavy hair in an ombre that went from black to fiery orange. Her skin was much more pale, and rosacea peppered her round cheeks. She wore white overalls and a yellow top patterned with sunflowers, matching the clips in her hair.

But...where was the fourth? Or was I exceptionally bad at math that morning?

As if on cue - because it totally is, because I'm telling this story - the fourth partner rushed in, hastily grabbing the remaining seat at our table.

And who was it? You guessed it! Or maybe you didn't. Anyway. It was none other than the employee from the café! Barista Boy!

Upon recognizing me, he chuckled.

"What's up, Window Girl?" he addressed me, "And don't worry y'all, my brother went here. I already know the rules. So, what's the plan?"

I took in Barista Boy's appearance. What a beautiful chocolate man!

In all seriousness (if I'm even capable of that), he was hot. With his neatly done black hair braided back, a button up red gradient shirt patterned with palm trees, a shimmering silver chain around his neck, and distressed jeans, I almost hadn't heard whatever the hell he'd said.

He smelled nice! My gosh, what was that? I could definitely steal his sweaters. The mint was surely coming from his mouth with those pearly whites, so what was that underlying scent? Citrus? Cinnamon? I'm bad at detecting smells and flavors and would be oh so horrible at a wine club because I'd always just say notes of grape, and what's even the difference between notes and hints, and-

Right! Okay, hauling ass!

But...damn. I would totally let Barista Boy park his big mack truck right in this little garage.

"Um...'scuse me. Did you catch that?" the thin girl asked me, snapping in my face.

"Huh?" I uttered, noticing that all their eyes were on me.

"She asked what your name is. 'Cause I told her mine is Candace, hon'," the plump girl informed me, the corners of her mouth perked up with amusement.

"Oh! I'm Kelita," I turned to Barista Boy, "But you can call me...any time."

Why the fuck did I say that out loud?

Barista Boy only blew air through his nose, "I'm DeMario. You can call me DeMario."

"...I'm Anais," the tall girl said after a beat of silence, cutting through the awkward atmosphere, "Yeah, anyways. What's the plan? Poster? White board? Slideshow?"

"We need to decide a topic first!" Candace insisted, "What category should it be? Research study? Science experiment?"

I zoned out as they tossed ideas back and forth. I wondered what was in my lunch pail. Like, I knew I'd just eaten, but it was probably good. Could it be spaghetti? Maybe sliders? A fajita bowl? Speaking of fajita bowls, that sounded so good! I hated the tomatoes, but I loved the peppers. Especially spicy ones. Or what if my siblings had pranked me again and left a pack of gum when our parents weren't looking? Was it weird that our parents still made lunch for us? I'd suspected food was their love language, so I never stopped them. Also, I'm lazy. Was that setting me up for failure? Would I be prepared for the real world? Technically I was already alive, so what counted as the real world anyway? And I guessed I'd been held back, so maybe it had always been the root of the problem! My parents had to stop making my lunch boxes or else I'd never graduate, and then I'd never get a job, and I'd spend the majority of my adult life raising my sugar daddy's baby, because let's be real, I'm very high maintanence and could not settle for poverty, and then he'd die under mysterious circumstances, and when the news came to see his grieving wife, I'd put on the show I was meant to in Hollywood all those years ago, and I'd project my trauma onto my infant because that's the way it goes, and-

"Kelita!"

"Present!" I jumped.

Anais raised an eyebrow at me, "Again, we're doing a science project. What's your suggestion for the topic?"

I wracked my brain for an answer. They stared.

"Ugh...what if we test if it's possible to feel spiciness and cold at the same time? Like, with hot peppers and mint gum?" I offered, tense, and they all nodded and shrugged.

"Cool," Anais said, "So, who's the test subject?"

Okay. So, maybe I agreed because I wanted them to like me. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be liked! But perhaps I slightly overestimated my tolerance for...well, everything.

"Hot diggity DAMN!"

My group partners laughed at me, DeMario filming my reaction.

"We're gonna have to bleep that out, huh, Window Girl?" he teased.

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad. It can't be," Anais rolled her eyes through her laughter.

Anais promptly plopped a pepper and mint into her mouth. She began to shrug as DeMario swung the camera towards her, but then her face went red and beads of sweat formed at her hairline.

"DeMario, do you want to know what hell fire tastes like?" Anais asked calmly, gesturing for him to try as he swallowed his hysteric laughter.

"He sure doesn't, but I do!" Candace beamed, following suit.

The senses in my mouth battled each other for dominance like the tongues of two straight teens in a cheesy Wattpad story.

Wait...

Anyways.

"Um, I'm taking field notes," DeMario answered sheepishly, steadying the camera on a desk and scribbling frantically on his sketchpad.

"Is that what you take orders on?" Anais asked, wiping her increasingly sweaty face with tissues.

"Nah, I use it as a pillow at night instead," DeMario said sarcastically.

"You sure need your beauty sleep, huh, buddy?" Anais retaliated.

"Let's be gentle with each other! The camera is still rolling!" Candace reminded us.

"Oh, shit," I replied, then froze upon realization.

The others only giggled.

"Cuts. A lot of cuts," Anais concluded.

"No, it's impossible to deny that Marnie and Sonia have the most chemistry. Marnie and Holden have a statistically improbable relationship," Anais told Candace on our way out of the building, brandishing the same "Student Debt Duck & Go" college guidebook I had.

"I kindly disagree, hon'. Both couples are childhood sweethearts. Why would one succeed over the other?" Candace implored.

"You guys got to the second book, right?" DeMario raised an eyebrow at them.

"NO SPOILERS!" the two scolded in unison.

"Damn! Okay! I'm jus' sayin', you'll find out why this argument doesn't matter..." he put his hands up in defeat.

"What are we talking about?" I blinked in confusion.

"Laser Tag. Duh. The mystery series," Anais answered shortly.

"Am I supposed to know what that is?" I scratched my head.

"It's only the best, most thought out series ever!" Candace exclaimed, "You have to read it so we can see whose team you end up on!"

"Like I said, that doesn't matter-"

Anais interrupted DeMario to speak to me, "I can't be your friend if you're team Persephone, by the way."

I lit up, "We're friends?!"

Anais stared silently at me for a moment. She wrangled a small smile, "Don't get so excited."

"Wait, why are we cancelling Persephone? She's the best love interest!" Candace countered.

"You kidding? The only one with actual potential as an LI is Rachel," DeMario argued.

"Rachel? The bitch?" Anais reiterated incredulously.

"Sonia was a bitch, too," DeMario noted.

"I really wish I knew what the hell you guys are talking about!" I cut in.

"Read the book!" they chimed at me.

"Okay, okay! I guess I will!" I gave in, giggling.

"I'll let you borrow mine. Borrow," Anais said, and she pulled the novel from her bag.

"You just casually carry that around?" I observed.

"You just casually look at yourself in random shop windows?" DeMario teased.

"Be gentle!" Candace insisted once more.

We all chuckled at that, the wholeness of the moment filling my belly.

I'd made my new connections. This was what life was all about.

Beep, beep!

We peered over and saw a woman bearing resemblance to Anais driving up.

"That's my ride," Anais said, then turned to DeMario, "And please never call Rachel a love interest again. She's a half used Netflix trope at best."

"Damn, that sucks!" DeMario chuckled, and we waved Anais off.

"And then there were three!" Candace chirped, "Do y'all think we'll get a good grade for today? Did I look okay on camera?"

"You were beautiful, and we will get at least a B-!" I answered.

"That's specific. Why the minus?" DeMario questioned.

"You didn't join in on the experiment! You know, Barista Boy, it's not too late!" I smiled, reaching to pull the items from the grocery bag we'd acquired during lunch time.

"Damn, shawty, it's actually so late. I have to get to my dentist appointment. Deuces!" DeMario sped off.

He's a runner, he's a track star...

He couldn't fool me. No way would someone with such perfect teeth not have already been to the dentist this year!

"Guess it's jus' you and me!" Candace smiled, "Reckon I can show you how to weave a flower crown with dandelions?"

"I reckon, in-fucking-deed!"

I sat on the grass with a dandelion flower crown.

Ha. I got weed on my mind.

I waited patiently for my dad to come get me. He took a while. I wondered if he'd forgotten.

I wondered if he had been so ashamed of me recently that he remembered, but just didn't care...

And suddenly, a shower of lukewarm liquid poured over me.

My hair! My beautiful hair!

"My hair! My beautiful hair!"

I wailed as a girl plopped down in front of me, ineffectually dabbing the liquid on my face until I could see my mocha-smelling-drink-wielding attacker.

"Hey, girly," the person smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes.

I peered up at a gorgeous blonde with ruby red lips. She lifted her rose gold sunglasses to reveal icy blue eyes. She wore a soft pink blouse with a sweetheart neckline, a stark white blazer patterned with black roses, and dress pants to match. An expensive looking clutch purse dangled by a shimmering rose gold chain across her body, matching her large hoops. Weirdly, she seemed to be wearing heels.

Damn! Glad I met this hottie in October.

"...hey. Quick question, cutie. Why the hell did you just spill a melted frappucino on me?"

As she dabbed at me, the blonde's smile morphed into a scowl.

"Oh baby, that was just what Bob Ross calls a happy accident. Like you, I'm sure," she replied.

"Excuse me?" I tensed, furrowing my brows.

"Alright," she carelessly threw the napkin to the side, "Let's cut to the chase. I heard from a little birdy that you're crushing on my boyfriend. It'd be in your best interests to let that go. Now."

"Your boyfriend? Who's your boyfriend?"

"Don't play dumb. It's DeMario."

"Oh!" I considered that for a moment, "Yeah, your boyfriend is hot. But damn, ma', I'd much rather get with you!"

The blonde blinked rapidly, her face turning red - though from anger or embarrassment I wasn't sure.

"What?!"

"I said what I said, boo. Ten out of ten would wear cherry chapstick for you."

The blonde visibly warred with her emotions for a moment before scowling again, "Look, I don't know what kind of games you're playing, but you need to stop! I'm being serious!"

"Girly, so am I. I might be an accident, but you called me a happy one yourself! And look at you, already getting me wet!"

She stood forcefully, almost tipping over.

"Ugh! Do you get the message or not, you fucking weirdo?"

"Message? Huh? You're not in my contacts," I opened my phone, "Silly girl! You just have to put your number in right here!"

The blonde scoffed, "As if."

"I got a thing for mean girls, you know. You've got the phenotype of Regina George, and I swear I would let that woman do naughty things to me-"

"Listen," the girl hissed through gritted teeth, leaning down once more so I could meet the snowy fire in her eyes.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. Campus was quiet. Cool gusts of wind rattled through my bones, leaving an aching in their wake. The playful defense mechanism I'd put up began to dwindle.

"I know exactly who you are, Kelita. And I know exactly where you come from. What you did, who you used to be with. And I really don't have time for your fucking antics."

"...what do you mean?" I froze.

"I mean..."

And then she told me. She recounted my downfalls to me. All the awful people I'd let use me. The reason my siblings resented me, the reason my parents willingly forgot me. The reason our lives were upended, and we'd landed here.

She shook me to my core with alarm.

"...so I suggest you follow this very simple request. Stay. Away. From. My. Fucking. Boyfriend. Or else. Is that understood?"

"...wow, I almost fought the urge to say, 'Yes, Mistress'."

The blonde seethed, opening her Instagram story and beginning to type it all out.

I lunged forward, suddenly serious. I lowered her phone in her hands, lightly grazing them.

"Wait! Wait. Okay. I understand, alright? Take it easy..."

"You'd better," the blonde said sternly.

I glanced down at the screen once more, tapping the story closed and reading her display name.

"Belle? That's your name?"

"Yes," she confirmed, "And what of it?"

Though inside I could already hear the music from my breakdown playlist, outwardly I winked, "Fitting."

"I'll be fitting my hands around your neck if you say something like that again!"

I smirked, "Oh, you just walked right into that one."

Belle stood again, shaking her head. She muttered profanities under her breath as she angrily strutted away, the click-clacking of her heels against the sidewalk each putting a pang into my chest. I picked up and discarded the litter she left.

How the hell had she found out? Who else could know? Was my time here up before it even began?

Damn...