I should, though. I should tell everyone that I kicked the shit out of him and beat him 20 to 6! No one would question me… at least not to my face. Quinton would be put in his place. People would tease him for finally failing at something, even if they know deep down he didn't. Teens are cruel like that. We don't care so much about the facts. If a rumor says it's true, then it is.

Why, then… why won't I do it? Why won't I crush the bastard? I could spread all the lies I want, all the rumors that could lose him his scholarship. It would be so easy!

Staring up at my ceiling, I wonder if I'm being too nice. It's okay to lie about it. It's okay if I tell everyone I beat Quinton. It's okay to spread rumors about him. He deserves it...

I bite my lip.

Honestly, I want to tell everyone, but I want to tell everyone the truth. When I do beat Quinton, and one day I will, I want to tell everyone about it. Even if they all think I'm lying, I want to know I'm telling the truth. It doesn't matter what they all think as long as Quinton and I know it's true. I want to see his face when I beat him. Will he be sad? Will he be angry? Will he be shocked and confused?

I want to feel accomplished.

Groaning, I roll onto my side and stare off into space. I'm being stupid, but I guess I won't be telling anyone about our game. Man, I suck. I need to grow a pair. What's so good about being the good guy anyway? The villains are always the best.

The game was supposed to calm me down and ruin Quinton, but now I'm depressed. I think I'm going to go get hyped up on some more sugar now. It's better to be hyper with no idea how to calm yourself than lying around your room depressed about some stupid fucking douche bag who needs to have his head smashed in! Argh, he pisses me off!

Quinton, you piece of shit!

To make matters worse, I couldn't seem to stop running into him. Every day for a week, I’ve been finding myself face to face with the bastard, and no, it didn't happen just once a day. More like a dozen times. We'd see each other in the cafeteria, in the library, on campus, in the gym, everywhere! To be honest it isn't his fault or mine. There aren't many people on campus. We're here by ourselves and we are both going to the places that we could do something to occupy ourselves… but still… can't he go somewhere else? Isn't he a bookworm? Stay inside and read, ya nerd! Stop coming out so I have to see your face. It drives me nuts. I want to pound his face in every time I see him. He always looks so smug, sitting on the couch like that with one leg over the other. His elbow on the armrest, propping his head up with his fist as he watches something on his laptop. Every now and again his lip press together in thought, eyes widening in shock or interest, and his hair keeps tickling his nose, making it wiggle in this chipmunk sort of—

“What do you want?"

Oh, he's talking to me. My expression must say I am not sure what he's talking about or something because he sighs.

"You're staring at me."

"I am not!" Because noticing that his nose occasionally twitches like a little baby squirrel or chipmunk is proof that you were obviously not staring at him. Oh god, I can't believe I was staring at him! Stop it, Aron, stop it!

Quinton leans forward to pause whatever it is he's watching. He removes the earplugs from his ears as he puts his attention on me. "Why are you here?"

"It's the game room. Everyone is allowed here." I have the sudden feeling of déjà vu… didn't I ask him that in the library last week? Heh, we're opposites from last time. Weird.

"Why would you be in the game room watching your, as you so put it, arch nemesis watch TV?" the son of Lucifer asks with one of his trademark blank expressions. His eyes show how curious he is, though. I can almost see the question marks dancing in his eyes.

He has a point, though… why am I here? Wasn't I complaining earlier about how seeing his face pisses me off? But here I am, watching him watch TV. I'm not even watching anything on the big screen anymore. I look over to see that what I put on earlier has ended. Some show I don't know the name of is now playing. When did I start watching him? And when did he notice? I bite my lip as I suddenly feel warm.

"Uh..." I don't have an answer. I'm trying to come up with an answer, but even my bullshit ones don't make sense. What am I supposed to say in this situation? Shit.

Quinton groans. Instead of waiting for me to respond he plugs himself back into his laptop, losing himself once again in whatever it is that he's watching. I'm a bit curious, so I lean over to take a peek. It doesn't look familiar, some type of crime show or something.

"What are you watching?" I ask. Maybe I was staring at him earlier because I got bored with whatever was on TV. I probably looked over and started staring because I was bored and needed something to occupy me… and that something happened to be Quinton… yep, that's it. We'll go with that.

Quinton doesn't answer. I wonder if his show is too loud. He heard me earlier, though, didn't he? Little shit is ignoring me. Growling, I yank one of his ear buds from his ear. The action makes him shoot a deadly glare at me.

"Don't touch my stuff," he says, which I ignore. I place the bud in my ear. It seems to be one of those crime shows. If it's like Criminal Minds I'm sure I'll like it. I'm actually pretty interested in shows like that. They always have cool storylines and characters.

"You really like this crime stuff, don't you?" I ask, still watching the show. I'm totally lost, but from the looks of it this episode is halfway over so obviously I would be. "I see you with those mystery and crime novels all the time. You want to be like a cop or something?"

To be honest I knew before I asked that he wouldn't answer. However, I did not know that he'd slam the laptop shut and rip his headphones from me. I am ready to give him a piece of my mind once again when he shoots up and he's already halfway out the door by the time I mange to speak. "Hey! Hey get back here! Quinton c'mere!"

"My life and interests are none of your concern," he hisses, and, without bothering to look back at me, he exits the room. I'm left lost on the couch, staring at the exit he took, flabbergasted.

I don't see him for the rest of break.