“Good morning everybody and welcome to the first official day of the school year! School officially begins in 30 minutes so that means you need to be in class in 25. Have a great day,” The Headmaster says over the intercom.

It was the first official day of school and I could say that I was kind of nervous. I was used to starting new schools thanks to all the moving my family did, but every time it was harder. I never got to stay friends with people. I didn’t know anyone and I was never the best at making too many friends. Not that I'm introverted or anything. I just never wanted to make any friends in the fear that I’d leave again and lose contact with them.

Now, I was sure I was likely going to stay. Of course, that is if I don’t lose my scholarship. That can also play a big part in whether I stay until graduation or not. There was no reason I could lose it. The only way it was possible, per the deal, was if I were to fail the year. I had no intention to do that either. 

Fifteen minutes later, I was heading into first period. The first period, which is the same for everyone, was homeroom. One of the unfortunately many classes I share with Pricetown’s favorite idiot, Dallas Atkins. 

Jesus, that man pisses me off. The entire ride home yesterday he sat there with his dumb face and didn’t say a word. Not that I wanted to hear him run his dumb mouth, but it was hella awkward. I know that obviously he talks too much but during the ride he completely gave me the silent treatment. 

Now, as I’m heading to my first period, room 576, I’m stuck wondering whether or not he’d be there and if he’d run his stupid mouth. I don’t like the fact that I’m left worrying about him and if he’d be a distraction to my success. It’s idiots like him that give me headaches. 

When I arrived, it was empty aside from a red-haired lady that was likely our teacher. At least I think she is. She looks like none of the teachers that I’ve seen walk around here. She dressed like a hippie with her crazy red-hair thrown in a bun on the top of her head. 

Even though this is technically an art class, it looks like a witch lives here. Rugs cover the walls, automatic candles sit everywhere, and instead of desks there are low tables with pillows as chairs. I would love to see someone as big as Dallas sit in one of those spots. He likely wouldn’t fit. 

“Hello missy! Are you here for homeroom?” the lady says, noticing my existence by the door.

“Yes ma’am. Is this Art 3?” I ask her.

“Yep! I’m Ms. Hickey, but please call me Ms. H. I get enough crap about my name. You can laugh, it’s fine,” 

I smile before I open my mouth to tell her my name. “I’m Harper Caddell. My name isn’t very very funny but my middle name is Dawn like the dish soap.” 

“At least Dawn is used to clean ducklings as well. Harper, you can sit anywhere you like. Usually, I’d sit people in alphabetical order just so I can learn names, but since there are only two of yall in here currently, and only 13 in total, you can sit wherever. There is a student currently sitting on the couch over there in the back, so you can sit on the other side. It could be a good decision so that you can make a friend. The person who sits there doesn’t talk much though. He went and ran an errand for me. He’s been a student in my class since his freshman year, and he’s really good at art. So if you don’t like to talk or aren’t really good at art, it’s the best decision. I’ll leave it to you Harper. Once you find a spot, pick up a sketchbook in front of the seat and start the warm up on the board,” she says before sitting back down at her desk.

As someone who didn’t like to talk too much and couldn’t draw to save her life, the seat in the back on the couch was likely the best decision. I didn’t like to sit in the back because that’s where the delinquents sat, but the advantage was back there so I didn’t exactly have a choice. 

Setting my stuff down, I grabbed the sketchbook that sat on the table in front of me and began flipping through it. It was filled with some of the most breathtaking art I’ve ever seen. Now I was an art novice who didn’t understand art at all, but this had to be a professional who drew this. It was amazing and I've never seen anything like it. The majority of the art was faces done in charcoal giving it a monotone feel to it. Like sadness or darkness. The other pieces were filled with art that seemed oddly kind of happy. It was odd seeing those pieces in the sketchbook since they didn’t really seem to match the overall vibe. 

It was absolutely beautiful. Ms. H definitely wasn’t lying when she said they could draw really well. It was a good decision that I had decided to sit here, knowing I couldn’t draw well even with concise instructions. 

“I don’t believe that belongs to you, Itsy-Bitsy,” a voice from above me says.

There stood Dallas in all his 6’4 glory. Looking down at the sketchbook in my hands, I flip to the cover and spot his name on the lower right corner. I hadn’t noticed it before when I had first grabbed it. Dallas didn’t even seem like someone who enjoyed art, let alone someone who could draw this well.

“Are you going to hand it over or sit there in shocked silence staring at me?” he asks, sitting down on the other side of the couch as if I had cooties or something. 

I hand it back at him as he looks me dead in the eyes. It’s strange being under his excruciating gaze. His eyes staring into mine sent unwelcome tingles down my spine. Even though I’d hate to admit it, his eyes were absolutely gorgeous. They were a sight you could get lost in.

“Dallas, I think we should start over. Clearly we got off on the wrong foot, and I’d rather not be your enemy. Plus, If we’re going to be stuck together for quite some time, it’s probably best that we become something akin to friends,” I say after a moment.

“Friends? And why should I agree to that?” he asks, not yet looking away from me.

“Because it benefits both of us. If we learn to get along, then we wouldn't have to worry about wanting to cut each other’s heads off. It’ll be a mutually beneficial relationship. You’d spend less time thinking about hitting me with your car, and I’ll spend less time thinking about how great you’d look burning in hell,” I tell him. 

Maybe that last part wasn’t very needed in my negotiation process. I included it to bring some humor into the conversation, but as I look up to see his face, it hasn’t moved one bit. He looks away and I watch his jaw tighten a bit before looking back at me and relaxing. I guess he’s realized I don’t plan to bite him anytime soon.

“You spend time thinking about me? That’s awfully forward don’t you think? Personally I’ve never been burned, but I might look amazing. How did you picture me, Itsy-Bitsy?”

“You might want to calm down before your head gets bigger than Jupiter. No one likes an egotistical maniac. You'll die alone,” 

“That didn’t answer my question, Itsy-Bitsy. I’m aware my ego’s quite inflated, but that’s not what I asked. How do you picture me?”

I can feel my cheeks heat up before I can even say it. I know he sees it too. Any lie I come up with after this is practically void now.

“If you really want to know, you don’t look all that bad. But I am a god-worshiping woman, who has no attraction to devils. So you can burn alone,” 

“So you do find me good-looking. That’s nice to know, I guess,”

“Do you only hear what you want to? Is that like a medical condition or something? Or are you just too good to be bothered by what other people say or think?”

“Are you too good to care about the opinions of other people?”

“Now who’s the one who doesn’t answer questions? Don’t be a hypocrite, Dallas. It’s very sad,”

“That wasn’t me avoiding your question. I was just asking because I wanted to know if you’d be bothered by the fact that the entire class is watching you. Well, us, but I’m not bothered by them. To answer your question,”

During our conversion, I failed to notice that the room had gone silent. Looking away from Dallas, I notice everyone’s stares. A couple turn their heads as I look up, trying to avoid my stare. 

Jeez, what is it about this idiot next to me that causes me to focus my entire attention on him? I can admit that he’s fine and fits the description of the majority of women's book boyfriends (mine included), but that shouldn’t cause my entire world to revolve around him the moment he’s in my space.

I can feel Dallas’ gaze still on the side of my face. As I turn to him, he’s smirking slightly like some sort of dark king who knows he’s won. And frankly, it kind of pisses me off. 

“Is everything all right, Itsy-Bitsy? You look a little pale,” he whispers so low under his breath I could hardly hear him.

“I’m fine. I just realized I don’t have a nickname for you. It’s not very fair I have one but you don’t, don’t you think?” I ask. 

I didn’t want him to know I was freaking about everything. Unlike I had thought, he didn’t get on to me about changing the subject. I guess maybe he can be nice and read the room.