The rest of the period goes by without incident. When the bell rings I slowly gather my things, waiting for everyone else to get up and exit. This helps me to avoid bumping into anyone, or stepping on someone's feet which has happened way too many times. The girl beside me is still sitting there, so I act like I'm jotting something in my notebook. She finally stands and makes her way to the door without a glance back.

Throughout the entire class I had to restrain myself from looking at her. I wanted to know her name and where she was from, since I was 95% sure today is her first day at this school. If I had seen her before she would definitely stand out in my memory. How could she not? I kept my questions to myself and spent the whole hour staring a hole into my textbook. I have never been good at starting conversations, and I knew this wouldn't be any different. 

My next two classes go by slowly, so by the time I make it to English I am ready to claw my eyes out. This is the last period before lunch, and I'm relieved that I have made it through almost half the day. I have hardly seen any of my friends, only fleetingly in the halls. I'm one of the first ones to arrive so I quickly grab a seat in the back, lucking out yet again. 

I always hate sitting in front of someone, not wanting to hear complaints that I'm blocking the board. I lean back and try to relax as I watch other students slowly trickle in. English is my favorite subject because I don't have to try very hard. Unlike math. 

Mr. Jones is writing on the board as everyone talks, waiting on the bell to ring and class to begin. The room is almost completely full when she walks in. The mystery chick from first hour. She hands the same slip from this morning to Mr. Jones, waits for him to sign it and then looks for a chair. What are the odds that I get stuck next to her twice. 

I try not to be obvious as I shrink into my desk, resuming my position from this morning as I tilt my head. When she walks by to take the seat, the slight smell of mint fills my nose and I manage to not start inhaling like a psychopath. Chains on her pants clang as she plops down in the chair, immediately pulling out a notebook and starts scribbling. 

The bell rings, and the teacher turns, giving us a large smile. Mr. Jones is younger than most of his colleagues. He's one of the favorite members of the staff among the students.

"Everyone glad to be back from break?" He asks while shutting the classroom door and heads to the board at the front.

The room fills with boos, but a few kids towards the front nod. Suck ups.

"Well before we start I just want to introduce our new student quickly! Would you like to stand up and say a few words?" He asks kindly as he directs his intention towards the back of the room to the girl on my right. 

 I look over at the new girl. I'm totally not excited to find out her name, that would be weird. Not like we are going to be friends or anything. Her expression remains serious as she keeps her gaze on the notebook. The room is quiet as everyone turns, waiting.  She finishes whatever she's doing, and glances up. 

Instead of standing and introducing herself as expected, she just shakes her head. Apparently Mr. Jones wasn't prepared for that response, and it takes him a moment before he laughs.

"No problem, don't want to put you on the spot. Well everyone make sure to welcome Olivia and make her feel at home! Beck there can help you if you have any questions over what we cover today." 

With that he claps his hands and turns back to the board, like he didn't just shine the spotlight on me. I like Mr. Jones, but he has the nasty tendency to always suggest me as a tutor when students are needing help. He's a teacher, but I'm sure he can tell that I'm not well liked and that I don't want to try to talk to people. It's probably just him trying to be helpful, but it's annoying as fuck.

I quickly glance at her. This is the first time I have an up close, unobstructed view of her face. She has wide, blue eyes behind the blonde bangs sticking in every direction. Black and silver hoops go up and down both ears, and metal rings shine in her right eyebrow and lower lip. A scar on her left cheek bone starts at her temple and hooks down towards her jaw, faded red and jagged. While staring at the scar, wondering how she could have gotten it, her eyes narrow when they meet mine. Jerkily, I turn back towards the front to pretend I wasn't looking.

I feel my face heat and I try to concentrate on the review, but it's not going well. My heart is pounding, probably loud enough for the whole class to hear. Silently cursing my self for being so awkward, I valiantly tune back in just as Mr. Jones tells us we can have the rest of the period to catch up with eachother or ask him questions over the material. Great. I should listen to Emma and start skipping if I'm not going to learn anything and save myself the torture.

As I'm debating on how to approach the teacher and ask him to review everything he just went over without making it obvious I ignored him the last 30 minutes, movement in my peripheral catches my attention.

Olivia is hunched over her notebook, scribbling again. Not being able to see what she's doing, I casually lean forward in my chair, ignoring the way it digs into my stomach. Her movements are quick as the pen flies across the page, eyes focused in concentration. I lean forward a little more and my elbow bumps my pencil sending it rolling off my desk. 

Her eyes find mine as she jerks her head up, catching me being creepy. Leaning back quickly, the chair creaks and I'm starting to question the structural integrity of all of them in this fucking place. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, even though I don't know exactly what I'm saying sorry for. Being nosy? Interrupting her artistic flow? Existing? Before I can mumble my regrets, she holds up the picture.