My pen frantically moved on the crisp, white paper as I attempted to understand what my professor was talking about. After he clicked the PowerPoint remote one last time, the screen turned black, causing a sigh of relief to escape my mouth.

Professor Henwood was an old man, about six feet tall. His voice, borderline monotonic, could put anyone to sleep. He always wore khaki pants and a polo every single day; with his slicked-back gray hair and goatee, you would think he was an artist, not a teacher.

Don't be fooled, though. Henwood was one of the hardest teachers at Stanford. Each year, he started with about forty students in his class. At the end of the year, his class ended with twenty. From what I gathered, only the craziest and/or smartest people signed up for his class.

Or the most ignorant people, like moi. Nobody told me that his business class was extremely difficult. So, after reading the course description in a brochure, I called the Student Center, overjoyed that there were still spots open. 

Lucky me, right?

Wrong.

On the first day of class, he gave us a pop-test on the summer reading. I scored a twenty out of a hundred, which was an 'F.' That wasn't the worst part. Henwood thought it was a good idea to post the class ranking of the scores to 'promote competition.'

Guess who was at the bottom of the list?

Me.

Guess who was at the top?

Nicholas 'Douchebag' Monroe.

Okay, so maybe I didn't know what his middle name was, but it must've been 'Douchebag.'

"Well, class, what a great four weeks it's been so far! I've got a surprise for you!" His loud voice happily echoed throughout the classroom.

What could it be? No homework for a night? 

"It's project time! For the rest of the year," he continued, "you will be paired up with someone else to create your own fake business. At the end of the year, you will present to each other your findings. This project is worth half of your grade." A wicked smile crept onto his face, causing my stomach to do somersaults. "I made copies of the partner list, so pass them around." 

After about ten minutes, the Blondie in front of me handed me the sheet. I slowly read down the list until I came upon my name:

Belle Wilkes...

I took a deep breath as I looked at the name next to mine.

Nicholas Monroe

My mouth set in a firm line while I tried to suppress my screams. My hands, strongly shaking in clenched fists, were firmly holding onto the sides of my legs.

Why did God do this to me? I swore, if he just left me alone for one day, I would leave Stanford and go join covenant. 

Sister Belle Wilkes, a nun. Sounded good to me.

While I was having my inner panic attack, the rest of the class stood up and left. I remained in my seat, inhaling and exhaling slowly, until my heartbeat decreased. My erratic breathing and the nausea caused by lack of sleep nearly made me pass out.

I turned my head slightly, taking in all of my surroundings. A few feet in front of me, Henwood was mumbling to himself as he graded papers with a crimson red felt pen.

After a few minutes of inner turmoil, I decided that I needed a new partner desperately. There was no way that I could deal with Nick's sarcastic and offensive remarks for a whole year. It was bad enough that I had to live with his cousin; this would put me over the edge.

I stood up, brushed off the imaginary grime on my jeans, and confidently strode over to the desk. Henwood didn't notice me, and he continued to grade papers in a rhythmic pattern.

"Fail. You fail, kid. Can you add or subtract?" he mumbled. His hand aggressively smashed the pen onto the paper and scribbled a huge 'F' on the upper-left corner.

I stood there awkwardly, swaying back and forth on my heels and toes.

How should I start this conversation?

"Mr. Henwood?" I said quietly. My thumbs began fumbling. I was nervous, and I felt like I was going to pee all over myself if he didn't respond.

That would make a great impression.

His eyes squinted, and he rubbed his eyes with both of his hands. He looked up towards me, sparing me one glance, and a scowl quickly appeared on his face. My shoulders involuntarily hunched over in fear, and as time passed on, any confidence I had slowly was drained from my body.

"Yes, Miss...Miss...what's your name?" His voice, hard and emotionless, made me want to scurry away right then and there. He turned his face away from mine and looked towards the essays in front of him. After counting the amount he had left to grade, he capped the red felt pen and shoved it into his black suitcase.

"Sir, my name is Belle Wilkes." My eyes focused on the top of my Nike sneakers while I blushed. My cheeks were a thousand degrees warm.

"Ah, yes. How could I forget you?" he chuckled. My head snapped up to look at him. He continued to shove his possessions into his suitcase.

 He did? Fantastic! Maybe school was going well after all.

"Oh, did I do something memorable?" I asked. At this point, I stopped fidgeting with my hands, and I placed them flat against my sides. I gulped slightly while I waited for his reply. 

"Yes! You failed my last test." He turned his head towards me again, the ends of his blood-red lips tilting upwards. Since I was about six inches away from him, I could clearly see all the stubble on his cheeks and the worry lines. His skin appeared to be even paler than mine. The contrast of his dark eyes and his white skin made chills run up and down my spine.

Guess things weren't going my way after all. Figures.

"Yes, sir, I did," I mumbled incoherently. My fingers were playing with the hem of my ratty, gray sweatshirt. Beads of sweat began forming at my hairline; the situation appeared to be going downhill as the conversation went on.

Henwood huffed and placed a royal blue binder into his bag. Then, he placed his hands over his face and sighed deeply. "Look, Miss Wilkes," he groaned, causing me to flinch, "you're wasting my time here. Get to the point, so I can get home to my wife."

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Henwood was married to a typical California Bimbo. I heard she was twenty years younger than him, and she constantly flaunted her assets in tight mini skirts and tube tops. There were rumors going around that she was cheating on Henwood with one of the female English teachers.

Guess Henwood was bad enough to turn his wife into a lesbian.

"Yes! Sorry, sir. I was wondering if I could switch partners. I don't think Nick and I would work well together," I blurted out, rushing to get through the statement before Henwood could interrupt.   Hopefully, he was able to understand what I was saying.

Henwood crossed his arms over his chest. After a few seconds, with his right index finger, he began tapping his chin. His eyebrows furrowed while his teeth bit him bottom lip. 

"Nicholas Monroe? Yes, I remember why I put him with you. He scored the highest in this class. Impressive. I thought that might be a good example for you. Now, I realize that you may not particularly like Nick, but Miss Wilkes, remember that in business, you won't always work with people you like. You need to learn how to get along with others," he stated matter-of-factly. His dark brown orbs stared deeply into mine, causing me throat to vibrate.

Was he trying to teach me a lesson? If I wanted to learn life lessons, I could have just watched an episode of 'Sesame Street.' A puppet was more charismatic and friendly than the guy in front of me.

The only lesson I would learn from this project would be how long it took to kill a project partner.

"Yes, sir, I understand completely."

Yes, I totally understood. I understood that I wanted to beat the shit out of you. 

"I understand, too, Mr. Henwood." A low voice bellowed behind us, making my knees buckle as the  owner of the voice registered into my mind. Shooting my professor an apologetic smile, I turned around to find my project partner.

Nicholas Monroe.

"Great! Now, excuse me," Henwood said as he spun around and strutted out the door before I could continue our conversation, leaving me and the bastard all alone in the classroom.

Monroe's arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowing as he leered me over. Today, he was wearing a green polo with saggy, blue jeans and black sneakers. His hair was somewhat wet; it stuck to the top of his forehead.

"Hi, Nicholas. Fancy seeing you here," I chirped enthusiastically and grinned at him. My smile was spread from ear to ear.

Nick didn't find that amusing at all. His eyes became smaller, his lips puckering like he had tasted a lemon. "Well, Hillbilly, I was looking all over campus for you, so we could start tonight's homework. We have to start planning our company. Unlike you, I don't spend my time whining to teachers when I don't like something."

I rolled my eyes and smacked my right hand onto my hip. "Are you telling me that you actually wanted to be partners with me?"

He chortled noisily and took about five steps closer. Instead of three feet apart, we were three inches apart, and the proximity of our bodies caused knots to form in my stomach. He started leaning down towards my face, and it took about five seconds to realize what was going on.

Was he about to...kiss me?

When his lips were about to hit mine, he swerved his head, so his mouth landed right next to my left ear. His warm breath made goosebumps form on my arms.

"I'd rather get shot than work with you," he hissed, his voice laced with venom that could rival any snake's. He spat while talking, and as the saliva hit my face, I attempted not to gag. "But, we're partners, and we have to work together. You're going to do what I say, so we'll get an 'A.' After seeing your test grade, I'm afraid to let you work on this project without my guidance."

I blinked. 

Nobody had ever talked to me like that.

"Well, douchebag," I roared while planting my hands on his sculpted chest, pushing him off. I paused. "Do you mind if I call you that?"

His teeth gritted. I could faintly hear them scraping back and forth. "Don't call me that."

"Fine. Is 'ass' better?" I smirked, flipping my head so my pony tail would whip him in the face. "Let's get going, ass. I have other work to do." My feet began stomping towards the door, but his strong hand gripped my arm tightly, his hands almost acting like handcuffs.

"I don't trust you. You'll try to ditch me, and I'll have to deal with this project on my own. You're coming with me in my car," Nick declared. He pulled me as he ran out of the classroom into the parking lot. 

Normally, I would've protested, but this was a different circumstance. For one, my car was still at home, so I would've had to take the bus home. I also was on my period, so I was a bit emotional and lazy. It would've taken me an hour to get to my dorm, but in a car, it would've taken a measly ten minutes. 

When we reached the parking lot, Nick didn't even have to tell me which car was his. Out of all of the regular cars, there was one, brand new, Aston Martin Virage Volante. The car was a sleek, heather gray silver convertible with cream leather seats with black lining. The hood of the car was round, and there were two eye drop-shaped lights on each side of the hood. The back had the word, 'Virage,' written in light silver script on the fender. There were two rectangular lights on the back.

I would sell my soul for this car. Actually, I would have sold Mel's life, my parent's life, and my life for this car. 

But then again, I wasn't the best driver, and I got into at least two accidents when I first got my license. One accident wasn't my fault. I was attempting to eat my burger while driving, and a pole just happened to jump in front of me while I was smashing meat into my face.

Nick noticed my reaction. I was clearly in love with his car —my mouth was shaped like a huge 'O', and my eye balls nearly popped out of my head. He grinned before clicking a button on his keys that automatically opened the two doors.

"Get in," he commanded while I was too busy staring at his car to move. He placed a hand onto my lower back and lightly propelled me forward. I hopped into the car, and Nick shot me a death glare.

Emotional, much? Was he on his period, too?

"What?" I glared back at him. With my right hand, I snatched the seat belt and smacked it into the belt receptor.

"Don't touch anything in this car besides the seat belt and the door. I don't want you to break anything since this car is worth more than your life."

I was going to respond, but I closed my mouth tight. No need to start a fight while he was driving. For the rest of the time, Nick's eyes either were looking towards the road or were sending me nasty looks. I tried concentrating on the fact that my hair was getting whipped right into my face.

I probably looked like Cousin It.

After five minutes of silence, at a light, Nick leaned over and turned a black knob. The radio turned on, and a One Direction song began playing. I winced in pain as the beat of the song began booming from the speakers. "What Makes You Beautiful" had been playing a thousand times a week for the last few months. Their song was like salt in an open wound.

"Ugh! Can you please change the station?" I begged while covering my ears with my hands. I shook my head back and forth, obviously disapproving the song choice.

A snicker left the boy's lips. "What?" he questioned smugly, tapping his hand on the steering wheel to the beat. "Don't like the song?"

Now, the worst thing possible happened. I was scarred for life.

"You're insecure," Nick bellowed, causing a smile to appear on my face. "I know why for sure. You don't turn heads when you walk through the do-o-or. You need makeup to cover up. Being the way you are is definitely not enough! Everyone else in the room can see it. Everyone else but you. Belle, you taint up my world like nobody else.The way that you flip your hair gets me vomiting."

My jaw plummetted the floor, along with any hope of us actually getting along to do this project.

"But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell," he continued. I couldn't really understand the rest because he was laughing while singing. "You don't know--oh--you don't know you're not beautiful.If only you saw what I can see, you'll understand why I hate you so desperately--"

"Shut up!" I scolded while throwing my hands up into the air, waving them around to get his attention. "Shut up!"

Nick's blue orbs rolled. With one turn of his head, his messy hair perfectly fell into place once again. He flashed me a toothy grin. "What? Don't like my song? I thought it was fantastic. I deserve a Grammy."

He deserved a kick in the ass.

"I really hate you. I hope you know that."

"Oh, I do. The feeling is quite mutual, Hillbilly." 

The car slowed down as we arrived at our destination, my dorm. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a pair of black aviators and planted them on his face. He then eyed himself in the left side-view mirror and nodded in approval. 

Narcissist. 

"Giddy up, Hillbilly! Let's get this show on the road!" His fake Southern accent reappeared as he trotted out of the car.

How was I going to deal with him for the whole year?

__________________________

So, what do you think of Nick's song XD

Nick's car is on the right. 

Random dedication to a commentor! So, comment if you want a dedication :]

*Dedicated to Sailboat for her constant support of my story! <3

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Until next time, Peace!