Staring at Heath Myers is kind of like entering a time warp. One minute I'm thinking about how blue his eyes are and what our kids might look like if only he were aware of my existence. The next thing I know, an hour has passed and Mr. Gregor's already talking about the homework.

I let out a yawn before looking at Jax, something I haven't done in forever. I've gotten so good at pretending he doesn't exist outside of E.C, that it's strange to see him sitting there. He's leant back in his chair with his legs outstretched and a pencil in each hand. Whenever Mr. Gregor has his back to the class, Jax quietly taps out a rhythm on his jeans.

He looks good. Effortlessly good. Like he's just rolled out of bed but somehow still looks like a guy from a hair commercial. How come boys can always do that? How come they can just wake up and still look relatively normal? When I roll out of bed, it's with frizzy curls and dried slobber on my chin.

Jennifer Harland sits three desks away. Every time I look at Heath, it's like she can sense it. Her green eyes narrow, and she flicks back her long blonde hair in some kind of predatory warning.

I sneak another look in his direction, but my eyes somehow gravitate back toward Jax. God, why am I even thinking about him right now? What is wrong with me today?

I turn up my Medusa stare. I hate you, I think. Jax turns as though able to hear me. He stops drumming for a second. His eyes narrow. I hate you, they read. The balance is restored.

I return to staring at the back of Heath's head. Even though Heath is a football player and should be your typical jock, he's not. He's always polite, for one. He's opened the door for me on many occasions, even if he can't remember who I am. One time, when Jennifer told me my curls look like noodles, Heath demanded she apologize for being so rude. Yet another reason why someone like Jennifer does not deserve someone like Heath.

RJ sits tucked away in the corner of the classroom, staring at his hands. If he wasn't so quiet, I think he'd have half the girls in Carmel after him. He might not be athletic like Heath or confident like Tariq, but he's got this broody, mysterious thing going for him, like maybe he stays up all night writing poetry. Not to mention the fact he's over six-foot, with clear olive skin and eyes so green, it's hard not to lose yourself in them.

After class, Jax is swept away with all his basketball friends. I pack up my things and link arms with Izobel before heading to next period. In the three minutes it takes us, she's already recommended at least four songs as well as a horror movie. I don't bother to tell her I'm terrified of horrors; she thinks I'm cooler than I actually am, so I intend to keep it that way.

At lunch, she goes and sits with her actual friends. Jenna and I sit on our table by the window, which overlooks the parking lot. If I squint hard enough, I can just make out the outline of the ocean behind all of the flashy cars.

Sometimes, despite my lack of a license, I think about hiring a car and driving until I get tired. Or maybe until I get to a city that I like. Or until I run out of gas. The point is, I want to go somewhere without having a plan. I want to feel the wind in my hair and see nothing but open road; I want to finally do something.

I glance over at Jenna, who is poking at her meal like there's something on her mind. I think about asking her what, but I know I'll only get her generic, 'I'm fine.' Jenna's not one for sharing her feelings.

"There's a meteor shower tonight," I say. "You wanna watch with me?"

She turns and shoots me an apologetic smile, which always means no. "I wish I could, but I already told my mom I'd go Halloween shopping with her tonight."

This doesn't surprise me. Nobody takes Halloween as seriously as Jenna's mom, Doria. Every year, she throws a haunted Halloween party and invites pretty much the entire neighborhood. She goes all out, too, ordering fake blood and skeletons and creepy projector ghosts that dance around the ceilings. It must cost a fortune, but Jenna's family are the kind of rich where you probably don't think twice.

"What are we going to go as this year, anyway?" she asks.

I hold a few fries to my lips. "I kind of want to go as an astronaut."

As someone who loves Space as much as I do, I thought she'd be a little more thrilled. "Oh, come on, Ny. Halloween is the one time of the year where we can look sexy without being criticized for it, and you want to go as an astronaut?"

"Astronauts can be sexy," I insist. "We could get the spacesuits really fitted."

"Mm." She carefully steals a fry from my plate. "We'll see."

Across the cafeteria, Jennifer is practically sitting on Heath's lap. She's running a hand through his hair and nibbling his neck like the two couldn't be more in love. It gets me thinking about my own date tomorrow: what if this date is the start of something big? What if I end up meeting the guy I spend the rest of my life with? The guy I have kids with? That's a hell of a lot of pressure.

"Okay, spill," Jenna says.

"Spill what?" I ask.

She folds her arms in the same way Doria does. "Whatever has you gnawing at your cheek like a hamster."

I rest my hands on my chin. "I have my first date tomorrow, and I'm so nervous that I feel like I'm about to be sick and I know you hate talking about boys and I just–" I stop to take a much-needed breath.

Jenna lets out a quiet laugh before pushing my curls from my face. "You better take another breath before you hyperventilate." I do as I'm told before meeting her gaze. "And so what if I don't like talking about boys?" she asks. "That doesn't mean I don't want you to tell me stuff like that. You can tell me anything."

"I know," I say. "I think I'm just having one of those days. Like, I'm seventeen and I've never gone on a date before. I feel like I'll turn up and he'll just be able to tell that I'm some sort of dating virgin. And an actual virgin."

"He's not going to be able to tell," Jenna says, suppressing a smile. "Remember Harley? He couldn't tell I'd never gone on a date."

Harley Woodley was the sarcastic, gangly boy she dated during Sophomore year. I'd always thought they were an odd combination, but they seemed madly in love. When he had to transfer schools because his dad was in the army, Jenna was heartbroken.

"You just need to remember that dates are meant to be fun," she says. "You're just two people getting to know one another over food. Here, pretend I'm him and we're on a date right now."

I raise an eyebrow. "Hi, Chris."

When Jenna speaks next, her voice is about three octaves lower. "Hey, Nyla. So, what kind of things are you into?"

I nearly spit out my fries. "I can't take you seriously when you talk like that. You sound like a pre-pubescent boy."

She swats my arm before stealing another fry. "Excuse me, but last year, Miss Gomez told me I was a brilliant actress. And do you want to get over your fear or not?"

I throw my hands in the air. "Fine. I like writing, space, desserts, movie marathons, Diana Ross–"

"Okay, stop," Jenna says, holding up her hand. "Conversations are meant to flow. You're talking at me instead to me, and to be honest, I've already forgotten half of what you've said."

"Rude."

She smiles now, the kind of smile that shows off her crooked bottom teeth. It's probably the only insecurity Jenna has about herself, which means she's doing better than the rest of us.

When the lunch bell rings, Jenna and I clear away our trays before linking arms. We spend the rest of the day being extra childish, passing notes in Psychology and giggling during gym, and for a while, I forget about my anxiety.

After school, it's back into the editorial room for another round of Who Hates Who More. I am sat at my usual computer, reading and re-reading my article for next week's edition. One of the paragraphs just doesn't feel right, so I delete it and start again.

"What are you writing over there?" Jax asks. "I've never seen you pout so much."

I don't break my typing stride. "I'm writing a feature on running. Mellissa's on some health kick this week."

Mellissa showed up to E.C yesterday with a smoothie in her Star Wars thermos and her new running shoes on. It doesn't take Nancy Drew to know she wants to shed a few pounds, and she'll jump on an article like this.

Unsurprisingly, Jax is not impressed. "So, you're sucking up? That's not like you, Satori."

"Not sucking up," I say. "More like impressing her with my observational skills."

Despite what Jax thinks, I'm not stupid. I know the best way to get Mellissa on my side is to do everything she wants. And sure, while pandering to mini-dictators is not typically my style, it is necessary if I want to be like Diana and make my dreams happen. I mean, she didn't become a global icon by resting on her laurels. She knew what she wanted and she went out and got it; I need to do the same.

I try to get back to writing my article, but now all I can think about is the possibility of me losing this bet. Of losing Faculty Advisor to Jax Henderson. Winning won't mean much to someone like him, but it'll mean everything to me.

I'm tired of following Mellissa's rules. Of writing about meaningless things. I want to use my voice in a way that enlightens or encourages or helps someone else: I want to be heard.

I sit back and tear my eyes from the screen to glare at Jax. He's sitting all casually with his hands behind his head, like he doesn't even care that our deadline is looming. If only murder was legal.

"I like it when you look at me like that," he says. "Makes me feel special."

"Well, then you should see what I do to you in my head." I bite my cheek when I realize how...sexual that sounds. Jax must think so, too, because his eyes grow dark and he lifts an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate. "Murdering you in various different ways," I clarify.

"And what ways have you been imagining, exactly?" His voice is like velvet. If I didn't know better, I'd think maybe he is flirting with me.

I spin in my chair so that I'm directly facing him. "Back in 1608, America introduced the first method of execution. Death by firing squad. Instead of Captain George Kendall being the first man to be executed, I imagine you in his place."

Jax breaks into a boyish grin. A dimple escapes, and he quickly works hard to conceal it. "Why do you even know these things?"

"I'm not finished," I say, putting a finger to the air. "My other method is drowning you in a puddle of hot lava. I figure that one is a little more effective than the first, because it means there will be nothing left of you behind."

His grin only lengthens. Dimples, dimples everywhere. "Sounds like you think about me a lot, Satori."

I used to. I used to lie awake in bed wondering what kissing him would feel like. I used to watch him walk the hallways with Jennifer and pretend it was me he was smiling at. But that's always been the problem with wishing for things: it never seems to change anything.

The tap on my shoulder is a welcome distraction. I spin in my chair, grateful to find Tariq peering down at me.

"Hey, Satori." He flashes a smile that always makes my heart do this little somersault. "What are you working on?"

When I first met Tariq, I had the biggest crush on him. Sure, I was still licking my wounds from my fallout with Jax, but Tariq's carefree nature and constant smile made it easier to forget. He's got this in your face confidence that I surprisingly like, with dark skin, cropped black hair, and a pearly white smile that is always on display.

"Nothing much," I say, glancing at my screen. "Just an article on the perfect make-up free, make-up routine."

We share a smirk. Tariq understands better than anyone my burning hatred for the things that I write–he's the one I get to complain to.

"We're getting together tomorrow after school for milkshakes," he says. "There's a double fudge sundae waiting with your name on it. You coming?"

I find myself grinning. When I first joined E.C, it felt like I'd finally found my place at school. I'd tried various clubs over the years, all of which I ended up quitting after a week or two, much to Mom's horror. But this club–this club somehow stuck, and I've been loving it ever since.

"I'd love to," I say, "but I can't. I have a date."

Tariq is clearly impressed. "Damn, who's the lucky guy? Anyone I know?"

For some unknown reason, I glance at Jax. His eyes are fixed on his own computer, but his posture is stiff, composed, like he's listening intently.

I turn back to Tariq, casually waving a hand in the air. "Just some guy I know outside of school. It's really not a big deal."

Tariq laughs. It's a deep, hearty sound that brings warmth to my cheeks. "Alright, I see you. Don't worry, I like a bit of competition."

I roll my eyes and get back to typing. "Don't you have enough girls on your plate?"

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I love women. They love me. What am I supposed to do?"

It's not exactly a secret that Tariq likes to play the field. He's never had a girlfriend for longer than a month, though the girl who came closest was Avery Jenson in the tenth grade. She lasted thirty-two days.

"Oh, I don't know," I say. "Pick one?"

He grins and wishes me luck before grabbing his bag and heading out. I turn back to my computer, acutely aware of Jax watching me closely.

"What?" I ask.

He frowns slightly. It's the kind of frown that makes me want to gently pull up corners. "He likes you, you know."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Tariq? No, he doesn't, he flirts with everyone."

He shakes his head, which only serves to irritate me. I know Tariq way better than Jax ever will, and I'd know if he liked me.

"And you say I'm oblivious," he says, swiveling in his chair like a little kid. "So, you nervous for your date?"

"Terrified." I meet his gaze, realizing that in my attempts to concentrate, I've let the truth slip. Fortunately for me, Jax doesn't seem like he's in the mood to torture me.

He leans back in his chair and folds his arms, a playful glint in his eyes. "If you're that worried, why don't we have a practice date?"

My fingers hover before the keyboard. I blink twice, trying to decide whether or not I've heard him correctly. "You're asking me on a date?"

"Don't get excited. I said a practice one."

I look at him suspiciously, wondering if this is some kind of trap. "Why would you want to help me? You do know how this bet works, don't you?"

His half-amused, half-irritated expression is back. "Like I said, I want this to be a fair fight."

I think about this for a moment, feeling conflicted. On the one hand, I don't exactly want my first-ever date to be with a guy whose guts I hate. On the other, getting a little practice in before the real thing might not be such a bad idea.

"Fine," I say. "The diner, after school. Now be quiet. You're distracting me."

Jax smiles before turning to his computer. Dimples and everything.

A/N
Who's excited for Jax and Nyla's practice date?! ❤️