°Two Diamonds Short Of A Picnic

 It would be a luxury to imagine a cozy home bustling with siblings aged five, seven, and ten, where Mum would fuss over us for messing up the house while cooking Jambalaya rice, and Dad would tinker with the latest air drone he'd brought home. Alternatively, it would be a luxury to have a home as serene as Floradale was this morning. I wasn't typically a latecomer, nor was I ever as early as I was today. The school grounds were deserted, devoid of students racing to avoid being last, for the fear of earning the dreaded label of "fat fool." Mr. Jefferson, with his trusty flat cane, wasn't around to chastise students with dyed hair, oversized earrings, flashy lipstick, bouquets of flowers, Nintendo Switches, blasting headphones, clogs, anklets, or acrylic nails. There was no one to shoot me disapproving glances either. Above all, I was grateful to have arrived before Maverick, which would give me time to collect myself and sort out the memories of yesterday. All I had to do today was return his phone and avoid any conversation. Maybe, just maybe, if he doesn't glare at me with lingering hostility from the day before yesterday, I could muster the courage to give him a proper apology for my thoughtless words – claiming his brother had committed suicide because of him. I still couldn't fathom why those words had escaped my lips. If I were in Maverick's shoes, I'd hate myself too.

The sound of my backpack hitting the floor echoed through the empty hall, an evidence that I was alone. One of the security guards had turned on the lights before leaving, and now I had the chance to rummage through my bag and retrieve a bento of nearly burnt toasts, overfilled with jam. I needed to eat first, and then prepare for what came next. Yesterday's dinner had been a disaster, with me forcing down food amidst overwhelming melancholy, only to end up puking it all back up. But today, I was determined to face whatever came my way head-on. Or so I thought.

As I ate a sandwich, the jam threatened to overflow, and I had to lap it up, getting some smeared on my hand. Maybe I should have woken up earlier and cooked something from a recipe online.

Just as I took a bite of my second abnormal jam sandwich, my ears perked up at the sound of footsteps. But I just arrived!

The incoming person trudged closer, heavy footsteps a stark contrast to their slumped posture, as if they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. I quickly shoved the toast into my mouth, making sure to chew slowly so I wouldn't choke. I shielded my mouth with my hand when I had the feeling I was chewing like an alpaca, but I doubted I was even noticed.

Like I had done earlier, they dropped their backpack to the floor and sank into a crouch, resting their head on their knees.

"What's that?" I spluttered, my mouth still half-full of toast. Why would someone be acting like that so early in the morning? But it wasn't my business. I averted my gaze and reached for my bottle of milk tea, grateful that I had at least managed to make that properly – after burning my left fingers, that is.

The sweet tea was a welcome relief as I gulped it down, but my eyes nearly popped out when Maverick appeared from nowhere, backpack in tow. I nearly choked, but managed to cough it out, barely.

It was as if he was possessed or mimicking my every move. My grip on the bottle slowly tightened as I watched him mirror my crouched position, avoiding direct eye contact with him. I had to be patient, or I'd end up wasting my precious tea on him. Besides, it was too delicious to sacrifice. My self made tea.

Maverick didn't utter a word, but the sound of his backpack zipper was loud and clear. Suddenly, a disturbing thought flashed through my mind: what if he was planning to get back at me with a pepper spray, or revenge for pulling him into a ditch of punishment when he could be studying so early?

Maverick, I almost called out to him, but thought better of getting away before it was too late. Instead, I inched my right foot to the side, trying to get away. But then I reconsidered. Should I apologize and try to diffuse the tension? Oh... I remember reading that physical proximity can give someone an advantage in negotiations.

"Maverick," I began, drawing courage from the warmth of my milk tea bottle. I had to apologize before it turned cold. "Maverick, I—" But the words got stuck in my throat when he suddenly grabbed my hand, took the bottle from me, and set it aside. How did he know I was relying on that?!

His other hand closed around my fingers, and something about his touch sent a shiver wave along my skin. Did he never get the hint that I hated being touched by him? How dare he approach me like a zombie, crouch like a statue, and then grab my hand out of the blue?!

He muttered something, his lips struggling to form words at a audible volume, before releasing my hand. But I wasn't curious enough to ask. I felt my brows furrowing, my gaze snagging onto my—

"A ring?!" I exclaimed faster than I could think. But before I could process the shock further, he produced another ring and slipped it onto his own finger.

"What's going on?" My voice trembled in sync with my body, a cold shiver running down my spine. I racked my brain, but my mind was completely blank. Why was I and Maverick wearing couple rings when we should be sweeping and mopping an area six times the size of our classroom?

Confusion etched across my mind as I watched him struggle to rise to his feet. But I wasn't about to let him get away with this. I swiftly grabbed his collar, my fist tightening as he dropped to a forceful crouch.

"Answer me," I said, each word laced with solemnity. "What do you think you're doing?"

He responded with an infuriating facial expression, as if expecting me to magically understand him.

"What?" I scoffed. "Did you hit your head in the bathroom or something?"

Finally, he spoke up. "I'm proposing." The words still sounded ridiculous.

"Propo—"

"Stop playing dumb. That's how it's done."

A mix of laughter and fury simmered within me, waiting for the right trigger to erupt. Why was this even amusing? I should be screaming my lungs out and creeped out. I should be seeking a way to replace my finger with a new one and shove the ringed one at him.

"Make sure to take care of it," he added, his eyes lazily flicking to the ring. "I spent a lot of time finding the right one." With all ease, he freed himself from my grasp and slipped away. The utter disbelieve had me statuesque that my blood could have started freezing.

That was it. Laughter burst from my chest, a deep, painful guffaw that left my stomach aching. I could hear my laughter echoing back, but I couldn't hold it in; it wasn't a flame that could be extinguished like a matchstick. Tears streamed down my face, and I nearly lost my balance, accidentally kicking over my bottle of tea and spilling it, despite my intentions to have the last drop trickled into my mouth.

That wasn't how it was supposed to go. An eighteen-year-old proposing to a sixteen-year-old on an early morning, while she was innocently eating her unappetizing breakfast, and then walking away like it was no big deal? No, I wasn't going to be the only one feeling the mixed emotions. Maverick needed to know he had made a mistake, and he needed to fix it before I lost my mind. Before I make him lose his mind.

"Hey!" I yelled, storming towards him. To my surprise, he turned around, holding a coil bound book, pointing it at me. Was he planning to propose again, this time with a book, saying we'd be stuck together as study partners forever?

"Anything is fine with me," he said calmly. "Just go through the house plans here and give me feedbacks before Monday."

That was it. I swatted the book aside and glared at him with burning intensity. "Get your senses back, Maverick." I yanked off the ring and held it out to him, but he stood firm, refusing to take it. That left me with only one option. I tried to slip it into his front pocket, but he suddenly grabbed my hand, holding me back and foiling my attempt.

"I have no idea why you're acting like you've lost your mind, but Morticia will never own this ring. I have plenty of rings, one for each finger—"

"Then, I'd get nine more."

"You're insane! That's what I'm trying to say!"

"I had no idea people propose with ten rings nowadays—"

For the first time, I realized I was cutting into his words without courtesy, as he spouted nonsense like a lunatic. He looked uninterested, calm, and serious, without a hint of joking, "Why would I wear any ring from you?"

"It is what our parents want."

I laughed, now understanding the source of the absurdities. Our parents?

"Are you kidding me?!" I yelled, hitting him on the chest, and he finally released my other hand. "Are you stupid? You're not a kid! Why would you do that just because it's what our—your parents want?! Are you out of your mind?!"

Maverick let out a sigh, an infuriatingly nonchalant response to our heated conversation.

"You should be fighting against it!" It echoed.

"That our parents want us to get married, or that we're getting married this young?"

"Both!"

"Morticia…" He sighed heavily again, which only fueled my anger. If only he stands up against his parents the way he had always stood up against me— "Leave me alone."

Those three words ignited a fire within me, but he didn't wait for a response—an attack from me. He quickened his pace, but I would follow him to the ends of earth just to spark some rebellion against the absolute tameness he has towards his parents. He needed to go against them once, for us to escape the crazy plan they had in store.

I trailed Maverick, following him to the storage room as he gathered cleaning supplies, then to the men's toilet in the hall where he filled the spin mop bucket with water and added disinfectant. We returned to the hall, and I was still determined to continue our heated discussion. Only God knew what kind of trouble the ring would land me in if he didn't take it back.

Maverick began sweeping the floor from the podium, ignoring me as if I were a tiny bug. I snatched the brush stick, refusing to budge, even as he stood there, glaring at me before shifting his gaze and fixating it on the floor as if searching for something fascinating.

"I'm not doing this—" Before I could continue, he exploded, his voice booming through the hall.

"You think I want this too?!"

My limbs trembled before I could even attempt to control them. His deep, masculine voice reverberated off the walls, piercing my eardrums like needles. He just claimed he didn't want it, but why was he taking the first step towards it?

"You're too young to get married, you're not mature in any way," he hurled at me. "You see me as a competition, you hate me, you never take your future seriously, you think your life is messed up, you get into trouble every day, and I'm afraid you could end up killing me on the first day of this stupid marriage."

Maverick's words caught me off guard, their sharpness aimed directly at me, stabbing at my chest mostly. He was surely trying to defame me, but his words cut deep, hurting like hell.

"We're on the same page," I blurted out when he reached for the brush stick, as if nothing had happened between us. "I'm too young to be married to an eighteen-year-old grump," I continued, my frustration boiling over. "He's always too serious about everything, even studying during dinner. His perfectionism irks me, and his presence bothers me to the bones. He acts like a good person, but in reality, he can't wait to make my life hell every day—"

"I'm in this punishment because of you," he reminded me, his tone even.

But I wasn't finished. "You're one boring person, unlike my ideal type—" I said, my voice rising.

He cut me off again, folding his arms across his chest. "Jay Sullivan," he said, his eyes locked on mine. I was taken aback – how does he know that?

"Stop interrupting me," I gritted my teeth, trying to shake off the shock. "My ideal type is none of your business. I don't like you, not one bit. I'm afraid of this stupid idea of getting married to a grumpy, OCD affected, narcissistic "teacher" rather than a "best friend" kind of person. We don't fit. We don't match."

He smirked, his words dripping with condescension. "I like intelligent girls... girls who think rationally and have their future planned out. Girls who speak kindly and never curse. Girls who walk with grace and respect themselves. Mature girls; not someone who would hug and comfort me tightly, and then stab me in the back in the future, saying I'm the reason my brother committed suicide."

His last words felt like a dagger to my heart. I knew I would regret what I said that day for the rest of my life, but I never expected the repercussions to start so soon.

"I'm…" I hesitated, swiftly concealing the brush stick behind my back as he reached for it. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" The tone of his response was laced with incredulity, accompanied by a brief, mocking laugh. His expression then turned blank, his eyes closing as he bit his lower lip.

"I-I didn't—" My words caught in my throat, but I knew I had to continue right then. "I didn't mean to say that. I only said it to hurt you—"

He cut me off, his voice trembling. "W-well, y-you did! You did it!"

My gaze widened as his words hung in the air. I was running out of options, so I gripped the brush stick tightly. It was unlike Maverick to lose his composure, and yet, here he was, on the verge of tears. His lips parted, then closed again, quivering with his eye brows. His eyes glistened, and the tears that rolled down his cheeks were hastily wiped away by his sleeve.

"You reopened a wound that hasn't even had a chance to heal," he said, his voice cracking as he struggled to hold himself together. He wouldn't want to break down in front of me, and I realized that I might face further punishment from God for making someone hurt to the extent of crying.

"I'm sorry—" I began, but he interrupted me, his voice rising to a yell.

"Stop saying that! It creeps me out... You know what? Every time... Every time I believe you, trust you, try to rely on you, you always let me down. You always give me reasons not to... It's not your fault, Morticia... It's mine, for expecting too much."

Those words struck a chord. I couldn't believe that Maverick, of all people, had tried to believe in me, trust me, and rely on someone like me. Maybe I really messed up. I could easily admit to that whilst watching as he turned away, grabbed his bag, the binder book, and stormed out.

"Hey, Morticia! Did you two have a fight again?!" A voice echoed through the hall, jolting me back to reality. I had no right to fall apart. I could save my tears for later, when I think about the impending marriage... But, if Maverick and I ever make it that far, only then could he exact his revenge by being the cruelest "husband." 

"NO!" I shrieked, not realizing I'd spoken aloud until my gaze landed on Maverick's blonde friend.

"Y-you d-didn't have to shout," he said, his tone laced with hesitation. Fortunately, he seemed oblivious to our fight, so I struggled to compose myself, bottling up the swirling emotions of melancholy, self-loathing, anger, and regret.

"It looks like you haven't started cleaning," he observed.

I nodded languidly, finding it hard to muster enthusiasm.

"Let me help you," he offered, clicking his fingers and flashing a smile. It was only then I noticed he had his earlobes pierced and one of them with a tiny black stud.

"Why would you help me?" I asked in a jiffy, brandishing the brush stick like a shield, taking a step back. We had never been friends, and our longest conversation had been just yesterday – and it wasn't exactly personal. Maverick's friends normally didn't seem to care for me much either.

"Ah..., did I say I was trying to help you?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

My right eye twitched. That's exactly what he said.

"I'm here to help Ricky," he explained, shrugging. "Seems like he's not ready to face you. He just left without doing anything. I guess you really hurt him a lot."

The broom began to swish in my hand, as if I was trying to sweep the blonde away. Maybe, as Maverick's friend, he was determined to resolve the conflict from my end, because Maverick could not possibly be at fault – and that was somehow true. I had let my emotions and words get the better of me, leaving a permanent stain on a blank canvas that only Maverick could help me clean.

"I'll sweep the other half of this place, okay?" He said finally, stepping away from the brush.

⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

 Mrs. Madden knew exactly the right punishment for any student. I wouldn't want to cross her until graduation from Floradale, but the recipe for my survival was to pray fervently that Maverick steered clear of my path. Normally, I would have ditched cleaning since he did too, but the guilt gnawing at my insides compelled me to give in. It probably wouldn't be enough to atone for my sin against Maverick.

"Spare me... some water."

I paused, shifting my gaze to Maverick's friend beside me. He looked like he was on the verge of collapsing, and I still couldn't understand why he had gone to such lengths to help. Ash had always been a good friend, but not to the extent of jeopardizing her own well-being and helping me with my own punishments. This guy must be a minion of Maverick's. Their friendship was a crazy puzzle I could never bring myself to decipher.

"I told you to leave earlier," I scoffed, handing him my bottle after taking a few sips.

"I told you..." he paused, taking a long swig from the bottle. "I was only helping Ricky." He exhaled, wiped his mouth, and returned the bottle.

"Did I have to remind you not to drink directly?!" I exploded, unable to contain my frustration. His gaze faltered, like a clueless kid, and the most infuriating part was how he looked like I needed to spell it out for him. Maverick, surely, was smarter than this.

"I'm a girl," I stated, jabbing my finger at myself before pointing it at his face, "you're a boy—"

But he cut me off with a cheeky grin, reminding me of Maverick's annoying trait. "You're overthinking, girl. It doesn't mean anything. Who says it's a sin for us to drink from the same source?"

"U-us?!" I stuttered, taken aback.

"I mean, a boy and a girl. It's not like..." He continued to chatter, his grin and gestures growing more animated, but his words fell on deaf ears. My teeth clenched in frustration, and I could feel my anger simmering just below the surface. I immediately spun around, picking up my pace.

"Hey! How about your bottle?!"

I stormed up the stairs, my footsteps loud but drowned out by the unexpected chatter of students in the hallway. It seemed like they had nothing better to do than loitering, blocking the way..., and some were even flaunting their public displays of affection. I couldn't help but think that Mrs. Madden's threat only applied to me, since these students were getting away with their brazen behavior.

Contrary to my earlier thoughts, it seemed the students were better off loitering and flirting. As I entered the next zone, eyes locked onto me, piercing and direct. None of them bothered to look away when I met their gaze, and with every step I took, they began whispering to each other behind me.

What was so interesting about me, anyway? I was tempted to care, but maybe it was time to give up. It wouldn't take more than a month for everyone to lose interest in the rumors and news about me. After all, nothing anyone said would ever be more than 80% true, and the lies would only continue to spread even if I hated it.

Slide.

The front door slid open with my shift, and I was met with the faces of my classmates. Ash was the first to catch my eye, but she quickly averted her gaze, rolling her eyes as she began chatting with her seatmate. Still angry with me, it seemed. Next, I noticed the girls who had started whispering, their hands covering their lips as they snickered and shamed my presence.

How will I deal with these fools thinking they are better than me?

In a silent plea, I wished for a grueling Thursday, for the teachers to be merciless, pile on classwork, assignments, and projects. That way, no one would have the time or energy to gossip, and their only thought would be how fast weekend has to come.

"Ain't you gonna go in?" A warm whisper suddenly caressed my left ear, making me jump. I stumbled backward, feeling like a fool to anyone watching. The loud hisses from inside the classroom seemed directed at me, but I wondered why anyone would scare someone like that – so uncouth.

"Did you do something bad?"

Blonde, again! My fist clenched, trembling with the urge to punch him where it would hurt. He seemed oblivious to my anger, mirroring my former position as he peeked inside the classroom before swiftly turning to me.

"There's no threat to your life inside." He tilted his head, his lips pouting and eyes darting sideways before meeting my gaze again. "Oh! You left your bottle."

"I didn't leave it," I huffed, exasperated. "I don't need it anymore."

"What?!"

His loud voice would only draw more attention, so I finally mustered the courage to step away and enter the classroom, sliding the door shut in his face. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, trying to avoid meeting anyone's gaze, but I could still feel the discomfort of the entire class falling silent in unison, as if planned.

No one would dare mess with my chair, right? Before sitting, I meticulously inspected my chair for any potential threats – glue, chewed gum, nails, paint – and my desk for trash. Thankfully, all was clear, and my tranquility remained intact. I bit down on my lower lip to stifle the sigh of relief that threatened to escape.

Next, I needed to settle my backpack, so I hung the straps over the frame of my chair. Better, I thought, until my gaze wandered over to Maverick. I resented him for not cleaning the hall with me, as if he were above the law and Mrs. Madden's wrath was nothing to fear. But I also despised myself for being foolish. If only I had stuck to my daily resolution to always avoid Maverick with every fiber of my existen—

A wave of shock suddenly crashed over me, disrupting the fragile tranquility that had just begun to bloom. It didn't take five seconds for me to lunge at Maverick. With fervor, I grasped his hand, and the textbook he was flipping through clattered to the floor with a loud thud.

"Who told you to wear that?!" I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper. Undeniably, Maverick would be the end of me. He was always reckless and thoughtless, but today's was inexcusable. I immediately vowed to make another resolution to avoid him forever, starting tomorrow. But not today. Not when he was flaunting the ring on his right finger. If he were seated by the window, the shiny reflection would undoubtedly draw attention from other students and even the teacher, and I knew Maverick would be brazen enough to reveal the truth when they press further.

"What's this about?" Maverick finally raised his gaze, his eyes moving from my face to his clenched right fist. Was he seriously asking me that, trying to get back at me? Was he planning to blurt out fake news to everyone – that I was pregnant and we were getting married because of it? What if Ash thought I was a bad girl? Whore?!

"Take it off!" I whispered again, my hands trembling with urgency. I was using both hands to try and pry the ring off his finger, but Maverick's clenched fist was unyielding. I pressed, twisted, and scratched, but my sweaty hands began to slip off his skin.

Finally, I resorted to amicable ways, whispering, "Maverick." But the word came out strained, like a mouse caught in a trap. My life would never be the same if everyone found out about us. I wanted to say that, but I knew it wouldn't go unheard by those sitting closer. "Let's talk, hmm?"

"I'm busy," he replied curtly, his amusement at my distress evident.

"Pppllleeeaaaaassseee." I couldn't believe I was begging Maverick like this. Since childhood, I doubt I had ever easily uttered words like "sorry," "thank you," "excuse me," or "please" to him, but things had taken a drastic turn. A good change that was, in a way, a bad change.

I couldn't accurately gauge my facial expression, but I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead. Even if my skin melts completely with sweat, I was determined to never let go of Maverick's hand, not until he removed that ring. It was a battle I had to win, no matter the consequences, and like I just gained support out of the blue, a hand laid on my shoulder. Moving my hopeful gaze, it met with Maverick's friend, clueless of my turmoil. "Morti, are you sure you don't want your water bottle again?"

I hesitated, unsure if I should ask him to help me convince Maverick to talk to me outside or confide in him about the ring. What if he freaked out and spilled everything I whispered to him?

"Woah! Why does it feel so chilly between you two?" He asked, placing a hand on mine, which was still grasping Maverick's. "You don't have to take it out on Ricky..."

"Jake..." I heard Maverick inhale deeply, as if he'd made a decision. "Can you excuse us?"

My eyes barely blinked as Maverick set his other hand on Jake's, yanking it away, and springing up, glaring at me. My hands, still dedicatedly holding on, but more clammy for I feared Maverick could easily slip free and raise his fingers for everyone to see. He could easily get back at me right then and right there.

"What's happening now?"

A distinct voice pierced through surrounding whispers, and I couldn't help but wonder too, What's happening? Curiosity and fear swirled together in my chest, rising up my throat.

When Maverick finally broke his gaze, he led the way out of the classroom, closing the door behind us as we walked far away from the school building. Maybe I should be grateful to him for that. What's wrong with me?

"No one's here," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Let go of me now."

"What if you run away?" I accused, my double grip on his hand tightening.

Maverick's left hand traveled up his face, trailing through his front hair before letting go. With a twist, his hand was free, and he wiped it on his trousers. I would've done the same if I were in his shoes.

"Why are you wearing that?" I asked, my eyes fixed on the ring.

"Why do you care?" he retorted.

So, he was going to answer my question with another question. How rude.

"Why wouldn't I care?" I tried to grab his hand again, but he raised it above his head. "This isn't only about you."

"Whatever I wear isn't only about me?" He shot back as I watched his face slowly scrunching up. That expression always made me feel insignificant. He worsened it by moving his gaze up and down in two repetitive motions.

"It's a ring," I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth, fueled by dwindling self-esteem. Right, he's always better than me, but looking at someone that way was a sin.

"So what?" he replied, his tone nonchalant. Or maybe sounding daring.

"You're not dumb!" My spirit finally sparked to life. I stepped closer, my finger jabbing his chest repeatedly. "I know you're doing this to screw me over—why would you, a student, wear a ring?"

"Why would we, students, be so close to getting married?" he countered, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Out of reflex, I covered my face and turned away, trying to steady my breathing. He knew exactly how to get under my skin, and he just kept pushing.

"I'm the only one wearing it, so why do you seem affected?" he asked, his voice laced with scorn.

"Stop asking me questions!" I yelled, spinning back to grab his wrist again. But he dodged my grasp, his hand slipping behind him as he wore a deep frown.

"Stop yelling at me," he whispered, taking a step closer. It was as if he was highlighting our contrasting styles – he speaks softly, while I always tend to be in a frenzy. He stands tall, but I'm probably just at a medium height.

"Stop wearing that ring!" Frustration boiled over, and I stomped my foot. "What if people ask about it?"

Expecting a rude question in response, he raised an eyebrow and said, "Tell them about it. I haven't committed a crime. I never stole the rings... I'm just following my parents' orders."

If only he knew how ridiculous he sounded to me after uttering those naïve words. It would be pointless to explain to him that children should obey their parents, but also know when to refuse detrimental decisions made on their behalf. A multitude of questions swirled inside me – What then, after marriage? Do you even know what it means to be a husband? Have you never loved someone with all your heart and want to spend forever with them? If we end being the most toxic couple, would your parents take responsibility for it? Are you not mature enough to think for yourself? Are you a child or just a puppet controlled by your parents? Do you know how I'm repulsed by thinking of being called your wife? More and more questions churned in my stomach, making me feel queasy.

I dug my hand into my pocket, desperate to escape the situation. I grasped his hand, placing the solitaire ring on it.

"I'm not participating in this madness," I said, my voice surprisingly calm. I realized, perhaps for the first time, that there was no need to yell. "Keep wearing that... ring, but keep my name out of your mouth."

Turning away after making myself clear was the most elegant act. Tranquility somehow bloomed within me again, but not until he's standing before me again, blocking my path. I averted my gaze at that, only to feel my hand grabbed.

"Why—" I started to protest, reading Maverick's intention. "I said I don't want it." I struggled to keep my fist clenched.

"It's yours, and that's why I can't have it with me," he said, his voice firm. Now, he's forcing a ring on me when I just failed at taking a ring off his finger.

My leg darted out swiftly, hitting Maverick's shin for the first time. For the first time, I didn't miss my target. He doubled over, clutching his leg, and I seized the opportunity to make a run for it. I sprinted into the school building, racing through the lobby and up the staircases. The morning was already draining me, and I couldn't take any more.

Footsteps echoed behind me, but I didn't dare pause. Unfortunately, a hand finally grasped my sleeve from behind, and I yanked away with all my might. I shouldn't have done that.

Rip!

The sound of tearing fabric was followed by a loud gasp from my lips. It was unbelievable as it happened so fast. My shirt was now ripped down the shoulder, exposing my skin. The shock still lingered as I watched Maverick swiftly hold the torn fabric against my skin, as if he had the magic to mend it.

"I— Uh— I—" He stumbled over his words, and I realized he was more irritating than I could ever be. But, on the other hand I was more than determined to avoid the marriage, no matter the cost. Even if it means to hurt myself badly.

"Let go of me," I growled, stepping closer, my teeth bared. Maverick reflexively retracted his hand for the fear of being bitten. I was furious, and there was no going back. I didn't expect an apology from him; we were better off as villains in each other's story. Villains don't apologize.

I sprinted towards class, the bells having rung while I was only at the lobby. The hallways were now silent, but that didn't bother me. I burst into our classroom, sliding the door open forcefully and marching in. It was no surprise that my classmates' attention shifted from the teacher to give off gasps, whispers, and scornful glances. My brain was on high alert, but I spared them no attention, instead making a quick bow to the teacher before heading to my seat and rummaging through my table's locker. Thankfully, I soon found what I was looking for and tweaked it until the blade was exposed. Now, it was time to confront Maverick, and just in time, he walked in, already trying to unbutton his shirt further.

Without hesitation, I closed the distance between us, grabbed his sleeve, and dug the blade of my pencil knife into the fabric. As quickly as possible, I tore his sleeve messily and dropped the knife. The sound of it hitting the floor gave me a sense of satisfaction, like we were now even. What gives him the right to rip my shirt?

"Morticia," a voice with an accent called out, but Maverick reclaimed my attention as he suddenly grasped my ears with both hands, holding them tightly until they felt like they were going to explode.

"Someone stop them!" the accented voice ordered, as I grabbed Maverick's hand and we began to wrestle around the front of the class. It wasn't the time to worry about who was getting embarrassed; we had both already humiliated each other since the start of our lives, and we just had to keep up the pace. It was a do-or-die situation.

"I'm out of here, Teacher," Vivian's muffled voice reached my throbbing ears. Meanwhile, Maverick took advantage of his height, strength, and longer hands to overpower me. It would be a miracle if I managed to reach his ears in return.

We weren't exchanging words or shouting insults, but Maverick was gaining the upper hand. I desperately needed to reach his neck and scratch him, at least, but all I could manage were his arms, which I pressed and pushed against repeatedly, trying to get him to release my ears. Those ears would either bleed or throb for three days, but no one was willing to intervene. Perhaps no student dared to, fearing Mrs. Madden's punishment, nor the language student teacher, fearing being pushed away for her fragility.

"Arrgh!"

I felt my ears suddenly freed, but Maverick's loud cry sent a shiver down my spine. In the blink of an eye, I caught sight of something crimson staining my hand. I wished I could detach my hand, as the color matched the stain on Maverick's shirt too.

Gasps filled the classroom, and aside from the student teacher, I was the only one standing, holding my stained hand like a criminal caught red-handed. Maverick, suddenly was on a crouch, holding arm and writhing. The red stain spread further down until the fluid peeked out of his sleeve, and that made me paralyzed, unable to flee or beg him to stop bleeding. I frantically checked my hand again for any sharp object, but the only thing that could have caused the wound was already on the floor, abandoned even before Maverick grabbed my ears.

Faster than it takes to snuff out a lit match, my knees buckled, and I tried to hold Maverick steady. It was then, as if on cue, that a crowd surged forward, one of them shoving me aside.

I have done something wrong again. My gaze swept across Maverick's outraged friends, and there was Ashley, the one who had pushed me earlier. Everyone is talking about me. Our eyes met, and the most stupefying insult left her rosy lips, aimed directly at me: "You murderous b***h."