I wake up praying Jake will have forgotten about our arrangement. I'm not usually one to go back on my word, but now that I've had time to think and process, I know this will be a disaster.

Jake is unreliable, for one. If he can't turn up to classes on time, what makes me think he'll turn up to our tutoring sessions? Which brings me to reason number two: Jake and I are not meant to exist in the same space as everyone else. Sure, we go to the same school and live in the same town, but guys like him don't notice girls like me. And I'm fine with that. I like being invisible. I like drifting through the halls without people noticing me, and if I start tutoring Jake, it won't be long before the attention that's always on him starts to fall back on me.

I take my time getting ready for school, feeling like a zombie. Today will be the first time in months that I won't be having a cup of coffee, and a part of me is terrified it'll make the nightmares more frequent. Maybe it's just a coincidence, but I've found the more tired I am, the less likely I am to dream, and the frequent coffees help to keep me awake that little bit longer.

But another part is relieved. Maybe this is exactly what I need to get my habit in control. Maybe being forced to quit coffee by the likes of Jake Carpenter is actually a good thing.

On the way to school, I stop off at The Coffee Pod to grab a hot chocolate. I'm tempted to order my usual Espresso, but I persevere. I don't know what Jake is talking about. This will be easy.

When I get to the ice path, I'm surprised to see Jake waiting for me. His eyes drop to my drink. "What's in the cup, Hope?"

I narrow my eyes, surprised when he hooks his arm through mine and helps me to cross the ice patch. "Hot chocolate."

Without a word, he takes the cup from my fingers and puts it to his lips. I gasp in horror. "That's really unhygienic."

He licks his lips before handing it back. "It's hot chocolate."

"Like I said. Aren't we supposed to be ignoring each other at school?"

"We will," Jake says, his strides matching mine, "but I needed to make sure you got to school in one piece. I know how clumsy you can be."

"How considerate of you."

"Oh, it's not for your benefit." He flashes a grin. "I can't pass English if you're stuck at home with a broken leg."

I roll my eyes. As soon as we get to the school's entrance, we part ways. I dump my hot chocolate in the nearest trash can before meeting Priya at my locker.

"I have gotten myself into a precarious situation," I say, stuffing my bag in my locker.

"So have I."

When she turns, I gasp. Her beautiful eyebrows, of which I have always been envious of, have been plucked to within an inch of their life.

"You're looking at them," she says, slapping a hand over her forehead. "Stop looking at them."

"Of course I'm looking at them," I say. "Where on earth have they gone?"

She lets out a helpless groan. "My stupid cousin convinced me it was a good idea to let her tweeze my eyebrows. What am I going to do?"

I bite my lip, vowing never again to complain about my own eyebrows. "I don't know, pretend you're constantly surprised or something?"

Her eyes narrow. "Not helping."

I laugh a little, unable to help it. "What did your mom say?" Priya's mom is against any kind of modification, so I can only imagine what she had to say.

"She doesn't know," Priya says. "I rushed straight to school this morning without even looking at her."

I run a hand down my face. "Okay, I have an idea." I put my predicament on hold and lead her into the bathroom, where I proceed to use my brow gel to shade in what's left of her eyebrows. After a little time and effort, I turn her toward the mirror.

Her new eyebrows go all the way up. "Thank god they're back. I'm so glad my best friend is an artist." She turns to face me and forlornly adds, "I hope you know you're going to be doing this every morning until they grow back."

A smile escapes as I hook an arm through hers. "Obviously. Come on, we're going to be late for Art."

We hurry toward the art block before slipping into the classroom. Mrs. Vidal has her back to the class and barely notices as we slip into the easels near the back. She notices even less when Jake Carpenter strolls in, ten minutes later.

Ignoring him, I turn to the front. On the table at the front is a dark wooden fruit bowl holding various fruits. Mrs. Vidal tells us to draw what we see, so I grab my pencil and sketch away, completely in my element. I'm so focused on my easel that for a little while, I don't notice Jake behind me.

"Pretty good," he says, "but I don't see a lemon in that fruit bowl."

My head snaps up, and I'm horrified to find that same perfect grin. "That's because there isn't one, I just thought it looked better like that. And why are you talking to me?"

Priya nudges my shoulder with hers. "That's what I'd like to know."

Jake lifts a hand and places it on his chin, critically examining my work. "You're meant to be drawing what you see."

"What?"

"There's no lemon in that bowl," he says. "The whole point is to draw it how it is, not how you want it to be."

I'm about to tell him to stop talking nonsense–or stop talking, period–when Mrs. Vidal sneaks up behind him, the biggest grin on her face.

"Well done, Jake. You've understood the point of this class perfectly. It's all about ignoring societal expectations of beauty and drawing what we actually see. Everybody come and gather around Mia's easel, please!"

I recoil in horror. It's already happening. Jake has somehow put me on the radar when all I want is to stay unnoticed. The rest of the class starts to gather around my easel, and I shrink even further in my chair.

Mrs. Vidal points at what I've drawn. "Mia has drawn a very nice picture. It's vibrant, it's beautifully sketched, but it's not real. Where is the slightly browned banana?" She points to my banana, using her finger to trace its curves. "Yours is yellow and ripe. Where are the slight brown cracks on the apples? The chipped parts on the fruit bowl?" The more she scrutinizes my work in front of everyone, the more I want to shrivel up and die.

"We as humans have a tendency of trying to edit the world around us," she says. "We try to make things seem more perfect than they are. We put filters on pictures, on ourselves. We try to edit out the parts that don't fit in with our narrative, or the parts we deem unattractive. The whole point of this class is that I don't want you to strive for perfection. I want you to strive for realism. Well done, Jake, for your astute observations today."

The class gives him a little round of applause and then Mrs. Vidal goes back to the front. I sit frozen for a minute, feeling as though I might cry.

Jake taps my shoulder, concerned. "Are you all right?"

The bell rings, and I'm saved from having to answer. I gather my stuff before turning to face him. "Stay," I say, gripping my pencil case, "away from me." Then Priya links her arm in mine and we make our way to English.

"Forget about it," she says. "You know your picture looked amazing. I know your picture looked amazing. Do you think anyone else is still thinking about it? No, so neither should you."

She's right, as always, but I've already decided that helping Jake is a big mistake. He's an egotistical jerk for one, who, up until needing my help, had never so much as acknowledged my existence. Besides, tutoring the most popular boy in school will more than likely lead to being noticed by others, something I most definitely do not want. I'll just have to tell him I've changed my mind.

"Oh, I forgot to give you this during the whole eyebrow fiasco," Priya says, and she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a strange purple stone. "It's called an Amethyst stone. I know you said you weren't sleeping too well. It's supposed to relieve stress and help you sleep better."

I'm not usually one to get emotional, but I find my eyes tearing up. "You're so cute, Priya. I love it, thank you." I take it and slip it in my pocket; maybe it'll keep the nightmares away during class.

We link our arms and make our way to English. Miss Duncan is there before us for once, standing at the front. Priya and I exchange a look before slipping into our seats.

Miss Duncan says something about the homework she'd assigned, but I barely take it in. The urge to rest my head on the table is almost too tempting. I tap my feet to the rhythm of Jingle Bells, trying to stay awake.

The sound of the door opening startles me. Miss Duncan stops talking as Jake takes his seat near the window. Miss Duncan resumes her speech, not bothering to acknowledge Jake's lateness. Of course she won't–he's Artwood High's golden boy.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He's taken off his jacket from this morning and is now in a gray t-shirt, the tight fabric pulled taut beneath his muscular arms. I focus on fiddling with the keyring in my pocket, hoping he won't notice me.

It isn't long before a scrunched-up ball of paper flies across the room and lands in the middle of my desk. My heart drums faster. I glance at Miss Duncan before opening it up.

I'm sorry. Coffee house tomorrow?

That's it, just five words, but they have the power to tie my stomach into knots. I wait until the end of class before I get to my feet, shoot Jake what I hope is a discouraging look, and throw his note in the trash.

My perseverance wavers as soon as lunch rolls around. Jake is sitting on his usual table with his nose in a textbook, looking all kinds of desperate. His eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth twisted into a frustrated frown, and when his friend, Kirk, says something, he doesn't even lift his head. My heart pangs, because even though I know I shouldn't, I can't help but feel sorry for him. I bite my lip and pull out my phone, sending him a message.

Okay.

He pulls his phone out beneath the table, then looks up. His eyes scan the room before falling to mine. A brief pause, and then a grin.

I pray I'm not about to regret this.

A/N
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