After lunch is World History with Mr. King. The sixty-year-old teacher is probably my favorite because he has the oddest sense of humor. I once asked him if he was related to Stephen King. He laughed and said he wished he was. Then he proceeded to give a history lesson/rant on the author.

I'm not sure why I had asked him in the first place, other than pure curiosity. My mom was in a Stephen King thriller/horror movie a few years back. She made me read three of his books and I had nightmares for weeks. I was too scared to see the movie so she made walk the carpet and then had Kevin take me into the dressing room and watch Friends while I slept.

Mr. King begins class today with an overview of the Dark Ages. He claims that this period of time was his favorite because they buried live kittens in the walls of their buildings. He has something against cats that I really don't understand. I mean, what's to hate about adorable little fluffballs that meow and purr when you touch them? To me, they're like the perfect alternative to stress balls.

When the teacher calls on me to read an article that we were supposed to review, I reach into my binder, sighing. I don't bother to open the rings, and instead rip the paper clean out. Summer is almost here—I honestly don't care anymore. I read the text clearly so that everyone can hear, then exhale loudly in the last sentence.

"Thank you, Micah," Mr. King says, winking. I swear this guy has some issues, just like everyone else at the school. I would bet that more than half of the teacher use some illicit substances in their downtime. Most of them are just as rich as their celebrity students, though a few come from New York and the rest of the east coast.

As I go to stash away the article, I hear a small 'blip' in my pocket, the sound that an incoming text makes. I sneakily take a peek at the screen. There is a text alert, claiming to be an unknown number.

Confused, I raise my hand, and Mr. King calls on me.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" I ask, innocently.

As soon as he nods, I dash out the door and down the hall, turning into the girl's bathroom. I click on my phone, going straight to the iMessage app.

Who is this? I type in, sending it.

I wait for a few seconds, then a reply pops up.

Nick, I read.

I sigh, relieved. No one can even guess how many times people have looked up my phone number on some creepy "date-a-celeb" website and asked me out. People have even started sexting me and I had my mother find them. They received...ample punishment.

I got your number from my mom, Nick types. I can pick you up after school if you want.

My heart stops for a second, then resumes its drowsy ticking. It's not like he loves you or anything, I tell myself. Not yet. Shut up, Micah.

I text him an okay.

Aren't you in class? he asks.

In the bathroom, I reply. I could ask the same of you.

My school gets out early.

I reach up into my hair, pulling out the tie that keeps it up in the twist. It falls down in gentle brown curls, bouncing around on my shoulders. I wrap the hairband around my wrist, shaking my head to loosen up the strands.

Absentmindedly, I comb fingers through my hair as I stare down at the screen. Sometimes I enjoy the long brown hair I have been granted with, but other times I wish it was short. My mom won't allow me to cut it though, so I don't have much choice.

See you later then, Nick texts.

K, I reply. I flick off the phone, tucking it deep into my pocket. Officially, we aren't supposed to use any kind of electronic, especially phones, in school, but, as I said, the teachers don't really care.

I stand up, flushing the toilet in a nearby stall, just for security. Then I walk out of the bathroom and down the hall. As I slide into my seat, I look up to see Mr. King standing over me.

"Back a little late aren't we miss?" he says, sounding cocky.

I gulp. I begin to prepare a speech concerning menstruation, while is always the right card to play on men, but then he bursts out laughing, striding back to his desk. "We all know exactly what was happening in there, Ms. Micah," he chuckles.

I suck on my teeth, staring around the room. I suppose number two works just as well, assuming that was what he was referencing.

After school, I collect my stuff from my locker, then make a run for the exit. My eyes search the street next to the school building, and I spot Nick standing next to his silver Bentley. I smile and wave, strolling over to where he waits.

He awkwardly pulls me into a warm hug, which isn't a good thing considering the 90-degree weather. Once he releases me after an uncomfortably long time, he smooths back his tousled hair, grinning down at me.

"So, how was school?" he asks, sounding eerily like Alex.

I shrug. "Average," I reply. I don't feel inclined to tell him about Norman yet, as it seems he wants to be my boyfriend or something like that.

I've never been in a romantic relationship with anyone ever before, and I think that Nick is the perfect candidate. He is sweet, smooth and funny, which are all good things to notice in a potential boyfriend. Plus, he knows the best restaurants, if you're picky like that. Which I can't say I'm not.

"Where's your school, anyway?" I ask him, curious.

Nick extends his finger north, indicating the direction. "Up," he says.

"Very specific," I giggle, unable to keep the sound in. I'm sure I sound stupid but I can't help what I naturally am.

Fortunately, Nick takes my awkward reaction in stride and grins broadly, pleased to have humored me. "Specific is my middle name."

I bite my lip, then I crane my neck to look over his shoulder and into his waiting car. "It is very hot out here," I mumble, dreaming of the sweet air conditioning that surely awaits me.

He seems to get my clue, and quickly asks if I'm ready to go.

I nod.

Some boys just need a little encouragement. I'm sure he would have loved to stand and stare at me forever, but I have places to go, thank you very much.

Nick opens the car door and I slide into the passenger seat. He winds around the front of the car, then hops inside, inserting his key into the ignition. Turning it slightly, the car starts, the dashboard lighting up even though it is still day.

He smoothly pulls out of the parking spot, driving down the road, away from the school. Someday, I'd like to learn to drive, though I'm not sure if I can risk it, seeing as my mother would leap at the opportunity to buy me the fanciest car in the world.

As we speed down the highway, Nick turns to me, asking, "Where to, my sweet?" He's acting like my personal chauffeur. How endearing.

"Wherever you want," I reply, smiling back at him.

"To Hollywood it is then," he exclaims, stepping on the gas.

I feel my smile widen as the car quickly speeds up.

Soon enough, we are streaming along the highway towards the famous wood of hollies, also known as Hollywood. We fly past the fancy mansions and resorts, and pretty soon I can see the symbolic letters standing on the hillside. I press my face to the window and stare out at the scenery.

My mother goes to Hollywood practically every day, but I don't often come along, either by choice or not. In total, I've only been about ten times, scattered through my life. I've always found it to be intimidating, and snotty, but with Nick as my companion, I don't mind at all.

In the afternoon, around three hours of driving and touring later, Nick pulls up at my house. I step out quietly, closing the door behind me, and Nick rolls down his window.

"Thanks for the ride, Nick," I say to him, smiling.

"Anytime, Mikes." He winks, grinning widely.

I start up the stairs, then turn back around. "Want to come in?" I offer, gesturing towards the front door. "I haven't had dinner yet."

He shakes his head. "I would love to," he says, "but my mom will be expecting me home soon."

I nod, then continue up the white stone staircase to my house. At the top of the stairs, I pause, my hand on the doorknob and I glance over my shoulder one last time, but Nick's car is already gone.