°Bad Day With A Touch Of Orange Flavor

 Lunchtime at school has always been a welcome respite for me. A time filled with life. While I always struggled to choke down whatever I eat at home, meals at school are a different story.

At home, I only have to be 40% full, and gulp down water to unclog the flow, which takes the other 60%. The dining table is a physical barrier, a real social distancing, separating all of us into different dimensions, though physically seated in one huge room, enough to host a party for my classmates. Dad and stepmom both sit at their usual spots on opposite ends, engrossed in those loud business conversations that makes me feel like a third wheel. I just always have to be the quiet daughter, cluelessly having to listen to exchanged business jargons, cumbersome budgets and business plans I can't even bring myself to understand, and somehow they never even seem to notice me. I'm always the one scrambling for water if I accidentally feel choked because they never even see—feel me and I could die from choking without being noticed until it's time for them both to vacate the table.

Those aside, I always have to stick to their own choice of food. No one ever asked me what my favorite foods are and how much I dislike Oysters and Caviar. Not to mention how we all never eat spicy foods, just because those two can't tolerate the slightest red curry. I eat to live.

Like I said, lunchtime at school is a different world. I describe it as a refuge where students within the same age grade gather to eat and share fun stories. No one talks about business, budgets, expectations, or responsibilities. Instead, everyone discusses football, video games, makeup, fashion, crushes, celebrities, concerts, technology, and everything else that falls under the "not-so-serious" category. That's what an ideal life is. Not to mention how strongly I loathe weekends, when I have to sit at the table for breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Week days? I manage to get through breakfast, then, I find myself anticipating the beautiful lunch they serve at school, and then, I have snacks for dinner.

Without a second thought, I delved into my lunch,— Quinoa with Wagyu beef balls, diced carrots, cucumbers and plush Ruby Roman Grapes, alongside Greek yogurt. It felt like a reward for surviving yesterday, when I spitefully skipped dinner, and breakfast this morning. If only our school could reinstate the breakfast program, I would be the happiest person alive. Having breakfast and lunch at school, and some snacks for dinner would be a dream come true—simple and pleasant.

As I savor the flavors from a beef ball, surrounded by the pleasant chatter of every other students, I couldn't help but wish that life could always be this simple at home.

I had only just started savoring another beef ball when Ashley, my best friend, interrupted me with a question. "What were you talking about?" she asked. I hummed in response, my brows raising as I directed my gaze toward her. I sensed her hesitation, but I held my gaze steady. Finally, she gathered the courage to ask again. "You and Maverick. What did you talk about? You two were so close that I thought maybe..." Her words trailed off.

Laying my spoon aside, my face transformed into a mask of rough paper. I grasped the meaning behind her words, although I expected Ashley, of all people in my life, to know how much I hated Maverick. I couldn't even tolerate being near him. In fact, earlier today I had grasped his wrist, I hastily made my way to the restroom to wash my hands before heading here. That's how repulsed I was by him; I had scrubbed my hands diligently, as though trying to erase any trace of his skin on mine. My hands are still pale from washing.

"You're unbelievable, Ash," I scoffed, shaking off her ignorance, before returning my attention to my meal.

Hardly had I touched my Quinoa when the sudden vibration of the table and a metallic sound disrupted the the air around me. Instinctively, I lifted my gaze, only to be met with a sight that immediately made me reach for a tissue. Rolling it into a bunch, I held it to my lips, spitting out the half-chewed food and dropping it onto the table.

"I've suddenly lost my appetite," I announced, my words directed at Ash, who appeared stunned and at a loss for words. It was clear from her conspicuous curiosity as she darted her gaze from me to the intruder several times.

With a sudden surge of frustration, knowing I couldn't stand breathing the same air as the intruder, I sprang to my feet, only to hear my name being called by his annoying voice. "Morticia, finish your food." The sound of that voice jolted my brain, igniting an inferno behind my eyes. How dare he order me around? How dare he jeopardize the starving appetite I had endured for lengthy hours? How dare he choose our table when there were more than sixty—plenty of others available? And how dare he look at me with such overwhelming superiority? He looked like he'd punish me for not finishing my food, how dare he?

Honestly, I don't have time, energy, blood, or sweat to waste on Maverick. He can keep ordering the air around for all I care. His command will forever fall on all of my deaf ears. Does he think he's my dad?

Out of nowhere, a hand grasped my wrist just as I was about to leave the table. Involuntarily, my hand jerked away, accidentally hitting Ash in the face. This is one of the reasons I try so hard to remain composed when Maverick irks me—I always end up doing something dangerous or hurting someone else—someone innocent. In middle school, I once accidentally hurled my hydro flask at a teacher out of pure missed target, prompting my dad to demand them to punish me by making me wash toilets and clean the staff room for half of the semester. Several other accidents have occurred whenever I faced Maverick head-on, which is why I always try to avoid him like I avoid pools. Lamentably, he always manages to find me, and no matter how cool I always aim to remain, he always gets on my nerves. Always!

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ash," I apologized as I cradle her face, until Maverick himself utters another word. "See what you did," he scoffed, seemingly trying to judge me. I instantly knew it was probably going be the last time I chose to ignore him. If he finds amusement in my rage like a sadist, then he wins.

"Shut the hell up," the words twist out of my lips as I pointed at him.

 "How would I eat with my mouth closed?" he tilted his head, his lips forming an innocent pout. What a fake! Bad chameleon.

"Fine," I smile, acting on impulse as I turned my plate upside down, emptying my fairly touched food onto his. He remained calm, seemingly examining the mess I made of his precious meal. But who cares? He has more to eat, thanks to the generous me. I'd have been 40% angel if not for him.

"You might as well help me eat mine since you suddenly appeared and ruined my appetite. Eat it all. Besides, you need more protein to—" Ash grabbed my wrist from under the table, but I ignored her. I will finish my statement, even if it becomes my dying words. "To help you grow into a man, little baby."

"Call me that again, and—" Maverick retorted, as if my remark was the sole reason for his annoyance. Wasn't he annoyed with the way I messed up his food and hurt his dear ugly pride?

"And whaaaat?! WHAAAAT?!" I challenged, raising my voice. However, just as I was about to continue, a resounding slam against a nearby table silenced me. I glanced around, realizing that the rest of the students had also fallen into an uneasy silence. And there she was, Vix—no, Vivian, always against both Maverick and me. It would only make sense if she hated just one of us. Her voice, dripping with sentimentality, rang out in a distinctly nasal tone, "Can't you two consider the people around you? You're so loud, annoying..., and I'm so sick of it."

Without another word, Vivian and her excessively caring boyfriend, Vincent, swiftly left the dining hall. I watched as he offered her a drink, patting her as if she had experienced something truly dreadful and traumatizing. When their shadows had left too, I turned to face Maverick, a slight unease creeping over me as I noticed his intense stare locked onto me.

"Or else, what?" I smirked, trying to rebuild the tension. I expected a reaction, a confrontation, with me naturally emerging as the victor. Yet, his unblinking gaze and motionless figure only heightened the eerie atmosphere. Even his elbows were held static by the sides of his overfilled plate.

Well, good for me. It's a relief that he seems to know his place today. With one final apologetic pat on Ashley's head, I finally freed myself from that damn table, striding triumphantly towards the exit. But my joy was destined to be short-lived, as reality was shattered in seconds.

"One more step, Tish, and you'll have to say goodbye to this," Maverick's voice echoed behind me. I rolled over my head with frustration, turning to face him. No matter what he does, he can't faze me. Or at least, I like to think so. But this time, I was proven wrong.

"My purse!" I exclaimed, my eyes widening at the sight of him holding it. I lurched forward to snatch it, but he quickly hid it behind his back, a smirk playing on his lips. With a raised eyebrow, he pushed his other hand holding his food plate towards me.

"Give it to me," I demanded, my voice sounding like a frustrated cry even if I wanted to sound intimidating. That purse was a limited edition and I feared I'd end him if he leaves any scratch on it.

"Only if you finish this food," he challenged.

"What food?" My brows pulled taut, confusion evident on my face. How could he possibly ask me to finish his own meal in exchange for my own purse?

"Take it on the count of three," he taunted.

I scoffed, my hand instinctively slapping the plate aside, causing it to crash onto the floor with a messy, loud and resounding clang. Maybe it was for the best; we both lost our lunch and would likely go hungry. However, I knew I would starve more than he would because the only thing I could resort to was snacks, but my purse was still in his possession.

"I'm not in the mood for your games—" I began, feeling my lips tying into something taut.

"Say goodbye to it," he interrupted, his eyes doing a weird motion of narrowing for a bit before going wide again. As he walked past me, I watched as he swiftly tucked my purse into his pocket, like a seasoned thief. I couldn't believe I had to watch him saunter away, the tassel of my leather purse dangling with an hasta la vista song. But who said I was going to let him have his way?

I was about to tie my hair into a bun for convenience, unsure of what I was going to do next. That's just me, like a suspenseful horror movie. But before I could even begin, I perfunctorily glanced around and noticed an opened yogurt on the nearby table. I could have used mine, but it's far from here and unopened. Without hesitation, I plunged my fingers into the cup of yogurt, feeling the chill against my skin, and immediately sprinted towards Maverick. He is going to regret this.

When I reached the perfect spot to sling the thick mass at him, I raised my hand. But as if he had witnessed this horror movie firsthand, or even directed it himself, he swiftly turned around, catching my hand mid-air and forcefully pushing it back towards my own face.

"Eeek!" I involuntarily exclaimed, feeling the cold yogurt splatter across my face, particularly my right eye. I was too stunned to consider the gasps of everyone around us, but surely we had caught their attention like wrangling celebrities.

"You're always so predictable," Maverick taunted, his words igniting a fire in my head. My other hand immediately shot towards his ear, not even needing to rise on my tiptoes because he had leaned down, his breath brushing against my skin, slightly warming the cold yogurt.

Once again, he seized my other hand, intertwining both and holding them together in an X.

"Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing around like a creature gone rampage. "Lemme go! Lemme go! Lemme go!"

"Is this… how you treat your soon-to-be..." I could see the nonchalant expression on his infuriating face through my other eye, and I knew he was about to finish his sentence. He had a knack for leaving statements hanging when I least desired it. He would excel as a movie director, keeping audiences on the edge of their seats perpetually. But now, he really wasn't going to leave his words with suspense. He's going to finish his statement.

"Shh! Shut up," I growled through my teeth, still attempting to free my hands. "Who said it was going to happen?"

"Are we supposed to be whispering now?" he whispered, and in that moment, I tried to kick his shin. But once again, he evaded my attack, moving his legs just in time, and laughing. I hadn't heard him laugh in eons, but I knew I despised the sound. It wasn't a grating, machine noise or a piercing screech from a vulture; it was a genuinely beautiful laugh, which only added to the one billionth reason I hated him. Did he have to be good at everything? I had numerous flaws, and they reassured me it was normal, after countless searches on the internet. But him? His only flaw was that I detested him with every one of my cells. Though, everyone at school adored him, even the janitors. Animals liked him too!

"Shut the hell up and don't say a word about that," I retorted, my right eye twitching as more yogurt seeped in, causing a stinging sensation. Now, it felt like such a waste for yogurt to be in my eye instead of my mouth.

"Ahh…" I heard Maverick's calm voice, and it sounded as if he had just realized something. "You don't want anyone to know about it, do you?"

Thank goodness he was whispering; it's as if it's the first time he's using that brain of his with zero EQ. He just has to keep whispering because I don't want anyone knowing about our planned union. I was going to ruin it before it even happens. Water and ointment don't mix.

"You don't want everyone knowing about our—" He spoke loudly this time, and my eyes widened into the sizes of eggs. I immediately interrupted him with a scream, "Maverick!"

"What?" I heard him say in the calmest voice as I glanced around with one eye open, taking in the sight of some students at their table, eating something—some even had popcorn as they watched us. Some were standing around, watching us too. Couldn't they just mind their own business? At least, I was minding mine, and I deserve it when it is reciprocated.

"Is it my purse you want?" I asked, feeling a cold sweat but hoping he wouldn't catch me sweating. I don't want him to think he's the victor in this fight. "You can have it."

"Ah!" He nodded repeatedly. Couldn't he stop playing these crazy games of acting like psychopaths in movies? I should probably learn to be a psychopath if that was going to conquer him!

"Your purse is a different case, dear."

I gagged at that spot. If I happen to puke, it was going to be on him, but who cares? How could he call me "dear"?

"You have to earn it back, Tish."

My face scrunched up out of reflex. Did he just say I have to earn my own purse? He's a pickpocket—! Oh! I forgot for a minute I left it on the table earlier. Still, he's a thief! A hoarder!

"You don't want people knowing about us, right?" He whispered in my ear, still holding my hands intertwined, and they already ache. How could he be so strong despite looking lanky? He's never going to be sinewy, and I know because I had always seen his body during our childhood days—those innocent years. I still remember the surgery scar he has on his chest.

"Answer me." He whispered again, and I felt the urge to scratch my ear. "If you don't, I assume you want them to know. I'll officially make the announcement."

"What?!" I exclaimed before I could restrain myself. Then I whispered, "We don't even like each other in the slightest. We hate each other. So why let others hear about something that isn't going to happen? I don't see any future for us."

"I don't like you, yes... It doesn't mean I hate you…" he earned an eye roll from me. "There is a difference. You should read more."

"Heyyyy!" A loud exclamation interrupted me just as I planned to give him a counterattack. Who told him I don't read? In fact, I read webcomics and other things outside educational stuff too—compared to him that just sticks to sciences and health!

"Woooaaahhh!" Another voice followed.

"Woooahhh Hoooo!" And another.

"What are you two whispering about?" Someone asked, mockingly.

"Don't you guys remember we're here too?"

"Go to the rooftop or the library! Stop making us regret being single!"

"I guess those two actually do get along."

"True! They're only trying to make everyone believe they don't get along! Don't be surprised if they're actually dating. Hehe!"

"SHUT UP!" I screamed, and immediately, I felt Maverick letting go of my hands. Was that all it takes? But I'm not paying attention to him right now.

"MIND YOUR BUSINESSES, NINCOMPOOPS! EAT OR GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS DINING! WHAT ABOUT US SAYS WE'RE DATING?! I'D RATHER EAT MY BOWTIE! WATCH WHAT YOU ALL SAY!"

Every single of the words had left my lips in a breath that I didn't notice my yogurt eye already flew open and I didn't feel it sting anymore. The veins on my neck nearly all exploded, but I wouldn't turn blind eye to what I just heard—people like those busybodies should get the fact straight. It was the most ridiculous thing to even hear that we're "acting" or "pretending" not to get along. I don't get along with Maverick and I never will. If we were the only ones trapped on an island, I'd find my way out without talking or planning anything with him. I wouldn't help him draw out an "SOS", make a bonfire with him or hug him for warmth! Never!

The silence that grew suddenly got interrupted by the loud sound of the bell. And before anyone could react to that, I was the Pavlov's dog that immediately made my way out after intentionally bumping against Maverick with my shoulder. He better not get on my nerves today. He could eat my purse if that would bring him solace.

⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

 Sleeping at home all day would have been more productive. I could have slept for satisfying hours, grabbed a couple of snacks from the pantry to eat, and then go back to sleep or read some webcomics.

Today at school was nowhere near a productive day, and I should have known that when I slept through most of Chemistry period. Not like I was engaged in any other classes either; most of the time I found myself dozing off, occasionally writing some notes and then dozing off again. I bet my notes were no different from the scribblings of the early men.

Now, in the ninth period, I found my gaze fixated on my wristwatch, counting along with the neon blue digital display. My eyes were still tired, but the walls of my stomach were even more exhausted, and I could feel them growl. I had already planned on skipping the last [next] class, by claiming sickness and needing to see the school doctor, but I had no cash on me. Maverick still hadn't returned what he had taken, so I couldn't follow through with my plan and buy myself some sweet snacks once I got out. I didn't even have the energy to write a note or a will anymore. So, all I could do was accompany time on its journey and count down, hoping that would somehow satiate my poor stomach.

Other students' moms always packed their bags with snacks and not just food, but me? I never know what it feels like for someone to pack me delicious lunch that feels like a Pandora of happiness, or someone to be concerned enough to ask me if I have eaten. I don't know how it feels like for a mom or dad to text me not to forget to eat my apple. My stomach acid is so glad right now.

"Good for you," I thought as I rubbed my stomach, trying to quiet it down, but as I raised my gaze, I noticed someone stretching their arm from behind me. I watched as a chocolate bar was dropped on my table alongside a sticky note attached. Instantly, I felt my mouth water uncontrollably, but I resisted it and focused on the note instead.

Eat up and don't let Mrs. Danforth catch you. Your stomach is so loud that I can't concentrate. It seems like it'll only quiet down when you die, but I hate seeing dead bodies.

I presumed Mrs. Danforth to be the Biology teacher currently in class, although names were never my strong suit. The note didn't say who it was from, but I recognized the handwriting.

My hand snatched the note from the bar and squeezed it tightly, feeling the anger coursing through my veins. In that moment, I also grabbed the chocolate bar and swiftly turned around, hurling it at his face. Luckily, he wasn't looking downwards or anything, so it hit him square in the face, and he instantly whimpered loudly like a mouse caught in a trap.

It wasn't as if I felt embarrassed for having my stomach growls heard by Maverick or for him being frustrated enough to give me a bar of chocolate. What bothered me was his last statement in the note. Human, dead bodies—we're all the same. Everyone dies, so what gave him the audacity to hate seeing dead bodies? They are still humans—just without life. Everyone will die someday, but it doesn't mean we cease to be humans; we simply reach the end of our time and become a "body."

"Morticia Katz!" I could hear the stern tone of Mrs. Biology after my classmates gasped as if I had just committed murder. This world would be a better place if people minded their own business at the appropriate times. Only Maverick should be the one making loud sounds, because I knew I had just shattered his pride.

"Get out of my class!"

⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

 I'm used to this. As I regularly do, I'd start by wiping the white marker board clean. Then I'd move on to the slider windows, carefully cleaning away any dirt or smudges especially those lipstick marks. Next, I'd grab each chair, one by one, and place them over each table. And then, sweeping and mopping comes after. Viola! It's a routine that usually takes an hour and thirty minutes, but today it feels like it's dragging on forever and it's going to take me three good hours or more. I could feel the hunger gnawing at my stomach, threatening to consume me at any moment.

Being sent out of Mrs. Biology's class was a relief, at least for a moment. I had planned to head to the infirmary, but before I could make my grand escape, she crushed my dream. It was only five minutes and three seconds until the end of her class, and she shouldn't have taken offense to anything I did. After all, her class was about to end anyway. But instead, she decided to punish me with this afterschool chore. It's unfair because she never bothered to ask what happened. She just labeled me as the mischief-maker, and it is probably because everyone seems to favor Maverick. I guess it's my fault for always looking like the unruly one.

People always say to look on the bright side of things, so I'm trying to do the same now. School is now quiet and serene, and the sunlight casts beautiful orangish hue into the classroom, dancing across the floor. It's a small consolation and it makes me forget how I was treated unjustly. Even if going home after school isn't what puts smile on my face like everyone, I deserve to head home like everyone already.

I finished cleaning the board and admired its pristine white surface. As I reached for a chair's support whilst wiping the board, I couldn't help but wish I was a little taller than Maverick. Maybe then, I'd have the chance to knock some common sense into him often. But it was just a fantasy—something that will never become a reality. Even nature herself is unfair, because we had the same height in middle school, but now, he's like much more taller.

Now it's time to clean the windows. As I worked with a towel and a spray, I suddenly heard a sound coming from behind me. Instinctively, I followed the source of the noise, though in hindsight, I probably should have ignored it.

And there he is, the root cause of my punishment, entering through the back door and casually dropping his bag on the books locker. I rolled my eyes and continued to wipe the windows with even more vigor than my tired muscles could handle. I wished it were his stupid face I was scrubbing that way.

Clank! Another sound caught my attention, and I discreetly glanced in his direction. Immediately, I saw he was busy arranging the chairs, flipping them over the table.

"Who asked you to help me?!" I yelled on impulse, my voice echoing through the empty classroom.

To my dismay, he didn't respond. I expected him to, and that was why I felt even more annoyed. In the past, he had always been the weirdo who waited at the doorway until I finished cleaning [punishments]. I've never bothered to ask him why. I simply do my work and leave, pretending he's invisible. So, is he trying to get my attention this time? Why?

"I can do it myself," I scoffed, but he didn't stop either. Normally, I'd have to use both hands to carry the chairs, but he effortlessly lifted them with one hand, flipping them over like they're lightweight plastics. Maybe he's here to show off his strength and give me a menacing warning to never mess with him?

With my energy dwindling from attempting to communicate with someone who seemingly didn't care to listen, I strode over to him and grabbed his arm sleeve. Although I could've grabbed his wrist, I despised the sensation of his skin against mine. Nobody can understand this aversion of mine, for I always felt an overwhelming need to wash my hands after touching him. The warmth emanating from his skin was something I could never stand that long, so I always end up washing my hands like someone with mysophobia.

"I said I can handle this on my own," I uttered, my gaze fixated on one of his eyes, which appeared reddened, almost as if he had conjunctivitis.

"I know."

"So, kindly get out of my face."

Once again, I could see him chuckling for the second time today. But this time, two dents—I mean dimples appeared on his cheeks, a sight that made me cringe. What was so amusing about my request for him to leave? I was practically confessing my hatred for him, but he just seemed to be making it all the more evident that he must be a psychopath. A first class psychopath.

"You probably assume you look like a predatory lion ready to pounce on its prey, don't you?" He asked calmly, "But, to be honest, you look more… like a sugar glider."

Uncertain whether to be offended or relieved due to my ignorance regarding what a SUGAR GLIDER is, whether it was an animal or an offensive term, I chose to ignore his comment. I just hope it isn't anything dirty.

"So, kindly get out of my face," he mocked, chuckling again. Nevertheless, I refused to release his sleeve, wishing in that moment that I had the physical strength to carry him over my shoulder and give him a smackdown—

"Do you believe I'm actually helping you?" he inquired.

I cringed as I watched him sweep back his lustrous hair from his forehead, even my own hair, as a female, couldn't compare in terms of being shiny. He's a piece of artwork and that's so annoying—unfair!

"What is your motive?" I questioned, gripping his sleeve tighter.

"It's simple, I don't want you to escape."

As though my brain cells had to do some booting, I blinked for a while before I could finally get a hold of the situation. He's crazy.

"Is this what you consider your so-called prison?" My other hand gestured towards the sight of the classroom. If he were planning to lock me up there as some kind of revenge, there's always a way out. I could jump from this floor downstairs, sprain my ankles and finally be absent from school.

"I plan to kidnap you and take you to my prison."

I immediately felt my face smoothen into an expression called "nothingness" and I started to wonder if he were serious or trying to crack a joke. His prison?

"Sorry, but little babies with a red eye shouldn't be making such statements. It doesn't even come across as a threat." I admitted quite easily, without even thinking before the words slipped out.

"You're the reason I have this red eye," his nose crinkled as his frontalis muscle flexed. "Is that my reward for showing you kindness?"

"That's—" I hesitated as it dawned on me that I had wasted far too much time exchanging words with Maverick. The instant I became aware of this, I released his sleeve and reached for his backpack, forcefully shoving it at his torso.

"Leave," I demanded, observing as he gazed down at his bag, not even bothering to hold onto it. And because the bag was heavy, I had to grip it tightly with my other hand.

"Oh..." Suddenly, he held his jaw, his gaze seeking the ceiling like he was reading his lines from there. I was tempted to take a perfunctory look at the craziness there too, but there was just something invisible to me. "I thought you would've been wise enough to look for your purse. It's far too pink and childish—"

Before he could utter another word, I reconsidered my decision to let him have his backpack and swiftly dropped into a crouched position, immersing myself in the depths of his hefty bag. I unconsciously pondered how he manages to carry such a weighty item every day, but it mattered little to me at that moment. All I desired was to find my purse.

To my surprise, I found only a few books and a pair of textbooks inside, with the remaining space occupied by a variety of snacks. Animal Crackers, Chewy candy, Butter Shortbread, Rice Krispie Treats, Cinnamon Sugar Pita Chips, Fruit Snacks, Funnel-shaped chips, Wafers, Skittles, Chocolate Mints, M&Ms, Ring Pops, Oatmeal Cream Pies, Pringles, and an entire crate of chocolate truffles. Hungry instincts propelled me to inspect each one, until I was abruptly snapped out of my reverie. "Have you forgotten about your purse?"

"Ah!" I murmured to myself, momentarily forgetting my purpose, only to hear a soft chuckle. What was that again? Was I salivating? Did I look foolishly entranced by the sight of those snacks?

"Did you honestly believe I would allow you to have it so easily?" He sighed audibly, seemingly relieved, and I immediately redirected my gaze toward him as he grabbed himself a chair and seated. "You'll have to earn it, Tish."

"I'm dead serious," I threatened, my voice full of fury. "Give me back my purse."

"Ohhh... That makes me so curious that I want to open it so badly."

I remained silent, knowing that exchanging words with this dimwit would only result in endless banter. He just seems to find amusement in my responses and rage. Psycho!

"Is it by chance your crush photo in there?"

I rolled my eyes and continued searching through his bag. If he was trying to distract me by suggesting it wasn't there, he was mistaken.

"I have no idea what snacks you like, so I bought a lot," he suddenly said, causing goosebumps to crawl over my skin. Did I hear him correctly? Why would he buy all those snacks for me? Besides, I had always turned down anything he gave me in the past, so it would be the same today. That aside, he's such a self-centered jerk. Like commiting something to my memory, I know the things he likes, things he dislikes, and his allergies. But he? He doesn't even know I dislike Chocolate Mints.

I darted up from my knees and decided to search the one place I realized my purse should be. But as I reached for his pocket, he reacted swiftly, intertwining my hands tightly together. We could have tripped backward, causing him to crack his skull, and me to suffer a slight concussion, but he managed to hold himself steady and keep the chair from toppling.

"W-what d-do y-you think you're doing?"

I could see the tension in his body. So, my purse was still there. It was so obvious!

"I want my purse," I said firmly, my voice commanding. "You're holding my hands!"

"You just touched me! Did you forget I'm a guy? That's sexual assault, punishable by law. I could sue you!"

My mouth fell open before I could stop it. He had confiscated my purse and was still holding onto it like a thief in broad daylight. Yet now, when I'm only trying to retrieve it, I'm being accused of sexual assault?

"I swear, I hate you," I confessed once my lips could move again. My teeth gritted, and heat rushed to my chest. I wished I were a dragon for two minutes so I could roast this idiot to char.

"I know," he nodded, finally releasing my hands. It was ridiculous how he then crossed his legs and sat like a king, as if he hadn't just called me something offensive. I had never even experienced anything they called "romantic," let alone "sexual." Sexual assault?! Now, I'm only realizing Maverick is like my stepmom, quick to brand me promiscuous over lingeries. Did she expect me to keep wearing baby singlets and panties?

"You can keep it for all I care," I finally said calmly, determined not to let my anger obvious. I'd be the loser if I lost control while he remained calm. "Leave whenever you want and do whatever you want—"

"You're hungry," he suddenly interrupted.

"That's none of your business!" I yelled, causing him to spring up as if he were about to attack me. Fine! This classroom would turn into a boxing ring, and I'd fight with every ounce of strength I had.

"I know."

"Stop telling me you know everything. I know you know it all, so quit with the show-off act," I spat out in one breath, quickly moving away to continue cleaning. It felt like he was stalling, and I hadn't even noticed when the beautiful orangish hue casted into the classroom had faded into partial darkness.

"I'll tell everyone about it," he suddenly intercepted me, blocking my path no matter which way I tried to go. Right, left, or backwards. "You want to keep it so badly from everyone—"

"Are you threatening me?" I raised an eyebrow, quick to notice that he was being cautious too, evidenced by the way we're all alone in the classroom and yet, his inability to even say the word "marriage." He hates the idea of us being a couple too, but not as me.

"If that's what you call it."

My lips fell slightly open and I felt my stomach rebelling against me even more begrudgingly. If that's what I call it?

"I'll tell everyone we're going to have kids together too. I'll tell everyone you're pregnant and that's why we have to get married soon." His words brushed against my ear, a chilling reminder of his psychopathic demeanor. Was he insane, trying to have my attention at any cost, or was he simply reveling in my misfortune? No matter how I always tried to have my day Maverick-free, he's always going to appear no matter what.

A smirk curled at the corner of my lips as I challenged him. "Go ahead," I taunted, defiance lacing my words. "No one will believe you. Everyone knows how much I can't stand you—"

In his typical fashion, he cut me off once again, his interruption a stark example of his lack of common courtesy. "Who believes the troublemaker over the class president? Who believes you against me? Besides, you look pale and weak these days."

Heat rose to my face, fueling my anger and making my circulatory fluid bubble like tea. But instead of getting in a battle of words, I remained composed—a little composed. Still, he went on and offered a sinister suggestion, his voice dripping with nonchalance. "Oh, I could just save time and write it on the board while you continue cleaning," he proposed, a dark glimmer in his eyes. "A permanent marker would do the trick, right? I had better share the invitation once the date is chosen."

May that day never come. I only look pale and weak because everyone is slowly killing me in their own way! 

True to his words, he began moving toward the board, not even stopping. Panic welled within me as I realized he was serious, indicating that I needed to act swiftly.

"Stop, you idiot!" I cried out desperately once he drew a board marker from his pocket and uncapped it effortlessly. "Stop. Stop."

He turned to face me, standing tall on the stage with the marker poised between his fingers, as though he were going to make an artwork better than starry night. But, the weight of exhaustion settled upon me unexpectedly. It was late before I could realize that I had unknowingly used up the little energy I planned to serve my punishment on this despicable soul.

Dizziness clouded my vision, threatening to send me crashing into the nearest obstacle. At that, I sank into a crouch, closing my eyes and seeking a momentary rest from the turmoil surrounding me. I wouldn't be surprised if Maverick was created to kill me. He's surely my grim reaper.

"D-don't—" My voice trembled, showing my fatigue in 4D. I knew I couldn't muster the strength to project louder than a murmur with pants. "Don't write anything on the board... I just… cleaned it, and I still have… a lot… to do."

Dampness prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let any tears escape. He had succeeded in frustrating me, but I wouldn't allow him to witness my vulnerability. I was already drained, weighed down by a multitude of burdens at home. I only seek nothing but solace within these school walls, yearning for a semblance of happiness and tranquility, yet Maverick always seems to persistently disrupt my peace. I really never asked for much—just a sliver of contentment.

"Good. Good." The sound of a loud clap shattered the silence, followed by approaching footsteps. "I'll keep my mouth shut. But you have to be good to me and stop calling me idiot, dimwit, little baby."

The bitter taste of disgust lingered on my tongue as I retorted, my voice laced with the contempt he deserved. "You're the bad one here. You're evil. More than an idiot. Stupider than a dimwit. I hate you really… really… a lot."

Suddenly, my arms were seized, and I found myself being dragged to my feet, my wobbly legs struggling to support my weight as I staggered. Not having a normal meal for almost 24 hours had taken its toll, betraying me at the most inappropriate moment. Why now?

If Maverick thinks I'd be grateful, he's so wrong. He gestured towards a chair and I reluctantly sat, my trembling hand instinctively rising to hold my face. The sweat on my palm felt so clammy and my energy had completely drained. I could feel sweat trickling down my neck too.

Fizz!

I turned my head at the sudden sound, unable to resist Maverick's act as he took my hand and wrapped it around a cold can.

"Drink this," he said, taking his seat at the edge of the table.

"Are you trying to poison me?" I manage a weak laugh. "My ghost will haunt you till death and appear in your loved ones dreams."

"Think about that after drinking this," he retorted. "You're so stubborn and light weight."

I dropped the can on the table, choosing to face a natural death of starvation and stress rather than being killed by Maverick. I don't want to lose to him my last breath.

"Morticia, stop acting like a baby," he scolded, his words hitting me like daggers. Who does he think he is, scolding me? "Even a baby knows when to eat."

I ignored him, but suddenly, I felt his hand on my jaw. Before I could react, he forced me to drink the orange-flavored poison. It was a bizarre way of poisoning someone, serving it chilled. He could have just made it hot. But I still didn't want to die at the hands of Maverick, so I immediately spat it out when he released my jaw.

Silence immediately descended—the most uncomfortable silence I've ever experienced. I normally enjoy peace and tranquility, but this silence felt suspenseful and uncomfortable. Especially how I could feel him staring despite having my gaze turned away.

Later, I watched as he moved and wiped his hands with a handkerchief from his pocket before intently gazing down at his stained white shirt. Was he planning to suffocate me with that handkerchief? My mind started racing, thinking of ways to defend myself if it came to that.

"You know," he began, and I could feel my body preparing to leap out of the chair. "Even people who hate you will either cry when you die or just pity you. But that only lasts for a maximum of one year. Even your friends will forget you. You may be lucky to have them remember you twice a year — on your birthday and on your death day. If you happen to die on your birthday, that makes them remember you only once a year. What I'm trying to say is, every little thing has its way of killing you... Ah," he paused, a smile playing on his lips as he averted his gaze, going silent for a minute. "I can't believe I'm trying to lecture you."

I couldn't believe I was actually touched by what he just said. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Every little things like skipping proper meals and having my blood pressure rise because of Maverick has its way of killing me. It would all pile up and maybe kill me someday—maybe my brain doesn't have enough glucose to counter his opinion just yet. He just seems right.

"Drink up and make sure to eat enough snacks to give yourself some energy," he said, rising from the table. "Don't even think about sneaking away, because I won't hesitate to announce it on the class group chat if you misbehave. I'll take care of cleaning up here."

It was strange again, but I thought Maverick could be a gaslighter too, as I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt, as if I had done something terribly wrong. As he spoke the previous words, before his back turned towards me, I couldn't help but feel like I'm the bad person. My mind is utterly clouded right now and my brain wouldn't even entice zombies.

I'm truly acting out! My hand almost reached for the poison, but maybe not "almost". I slowly grabbed the cold can and downed its contents without a second thought. If I happen to be alive tomorrow, I'll consider myself fortunate among the people on this planet. But if I don't, I'll likely be forgotten within a week… with Maverick being the happiest of all. I highly doubt he'd shed a tear or feel any hint of sympathy or guilt.

I only have one regret… I still procrastinated writing my will till the last moment.