My head drops down. Today is one of the days where I didn't have caffeine so my withdrawal is kicking my ass. I also didn't have a nap in sixth period like I usually would because I cannot stand maths anymore. My eyelids get heavy and I let out a deep exhale, the first sign that I'm going to fall asleep at any second so if I don't want to collapse on a couch for the whole library to witness, I should probably find something to do with myself. I pick up a magazine and try to focus on whatever it's trying to communicate. The cover alone would be enough to give me a headache. It can't decide if it wants to talk about a conspiracy on a famous Upper-class baby, the most recent scandalous show or rumours of a stalker. I know that I would prefer anything from the shelves over this horrible collection of articles on dramatic Upper-class celebrity break-ups and what not, but I don't think I have the energy to go get a book without face planting. I also know that I could literally just steal away to our little corner and fall asleep but I want to wait by the door so I can see if Calvin has shown up or not. 

Since day dot, we've known that we probably won't know whether the other person can't make it or not until it's too late, but I blame class regulations for that. Domestic communications are blocked between the zones. The only way the two classes can message or call each other is a special plan that you have to trade an arm and a leg for which allows you to receive or send messages so long as one of the two are in the Middle. Otherwise, it's pointless. And I definitely don't have the money for that plan, so Calvin and I have to make do. 

I flick through: scandal, scandal, scandal, advertisements, dieting, scandal, relationship advice that I'll never take, models. One magazine and I've seen everything. After a few more minutes of hopeless flicking I give up on the magazines and let my head flop back and rest against the couch. The sound of tires on gravel makes me turn my head to the side and I watch a stark white, handsome Mercedes roll into the park. And the equally as handsome Calvin Wood steps out and pushes through the library door, making his way over to me. 

He looks different today. His hair is still slicked neatly to the side, but there is something new about him. That's when I noticed his clothes. He's wearing a white sweater and shorts, which seems a lot more casual compared to his normal expensive look. But that doesn't make him look any less of an Upper-class. You could probably dress him in rags and he'll still look like an Upper-class. 

"Sorry, I got caught up," he says as he looks down at my lifeless blob, "You seem a little tired." 

"If I can recount correctly, I don't believe you've seen me with energy," I smile at him. 

"Well now that you say that I don't think I have." 

We wind through the shelves to our little hide-away. I walk behind him so I can admire his new look without getting caught, something which he has been doing way too much recently to not raise questions. I'm just glad he hasn't raised questions. His figure looks a lot more relaxed in these clothes. His sweater isn't too tight, nor is it too loose. And his shorts are simple light khaki, that somehow make the entire outfit look effortless. Like I said, there's not much that he can do to take away his Upper-class look. 

Calvin sits down with a long sigh. 

I sit next to him and watch him with a cautious eye. He's not usually someone who gets frustrated. "You okay? You seem a little worked up." 

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." he answers and I raise a questioning eyebrow at him. If he thinks he can avoid this question with 'I'm fine', he has another thing coming for him. His head falls to the side and I meet his gaze with an expectant expression. "It's just my so-called friends. They stole my keys then cornered me trying to get me to tell them why I'm not answering their texts or going to their parties and what-not. It's stupid really but I just really can't stand them anymore. 

"And that wasn't the worst of it, after I snatched my keys back and stormed off, my ex, if you could even call her that, was leaning against my car door trying to chat me up. She's been trying for months and just won't get the message." 

Calvin looks over to me and his face drops once he realises what he just dumped on me. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be so... you know." 

I know what he means but I play dumb. "Open?" I say with a coy smile. 

"Oliver," he scoffs, "come on, you know." He whacks me in the arm and I laugh. ' 

We stay quiet for a little bit, just so he can wind down a bit. I watch him, even if I shouldn't. Calvin stares out, scouting through the shelves, admiring the place and soaking in the ambience. It's nice to see. 

"You can always rant to me, you know that right? I may have my own problems, but I can still listen." 

He looks at me through the side of his eye, without moving his head. Something about the way he looks at me tells me he knows I have been watching him, but that might be the anxiety talking. Calvin's gaze softens and he smiles, kind of like his way of saying thank you. 

He looks forward again. "Not trying to be mean or anything, but sometimes, I just want to hit my friends with a car." 

What he said was so unexpected that I lost it. I fold over laughing. "Please don't hit them with your car, I would cry if it got dented," I manage through giggles. 

"It would be a lot more than dented," he says. 

"Jesus christ Calvin... how hard are you going to hit them?" 

We both stare at each other, one smirking, the other slightly concerned. Then we burst out laughing again. Our laughter seemed so foreign in the usually quiet environment, so we tried to shush each other, and failed. We lent in close and tried to keep our laughter in but as soon as one laughed, the other generally followed suit. 

When we finally calmed down, I realised just how uncomfortable my beanbag had become. I tried to shuffle myself to fix it, but the awkward weight distribution made me fall backwards, evidently causing more laughter. 

It never seems to be boring around Calvin, not that I've been around him very long, but he's not the type of person who would let things be boring, even if I'm half asleep and he's reading. And the silence isn't usually that awkward, it's like we're just enjoying the fact that we're together. Or that's how I feel around him, I have no idea if he feels the same. 

Once I'm securely back on the beanbag, I turn to face him and pick up conversation again, "People in Lower-class aren't much better." 

"Is that why you say you don't really have friends?" Calvin asks. 

"Well that, and because I'd rather not be friends with suicidal teens whose favourite pass-times include drugs they can't afford and their neighbours. I've already got enough on my plate." 

He seems to mull over my answer, opens his mouth to say something, but then decides not to. Calvin changes his path of conversation, laying back next to me. "That sounds exactly like Upper-class, except they can afford anything and aren't afraid to show off about it." 

I laugh, "Looks like class law didn't work that well after all." 

"For two reasons," he says and I look up at him, clueless to the second reason. He gestures down at us, specifically focusing on the little space there is between us. 

I scoff and shove him away.