"I got two tickets to see Twenty One Pilots," said Skye's boyfriend, Jeffrey. "Are you up for it?"
"No thanks," Skye replied. "I'm not into Twenty One Pilots. They're not even a real rock band."
"Oh, come on. I heard you singing one of their songs the other day."
"No, I was not. It was somebody else's song."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Okay."
"But you should still go. Don't not go because I don't want to go. Take one of your friends."
"Okay. I just wanted to do something with you."
"Jeffrey, we do something every week. After you go to the concert, we could do something together."
"Like watch a movie in my house?"
"Sure. Whatever."
"Do you mind doing that today with me?"
"I have homework that I need to do."
"Okay. How about Saturday?"
"Then it's a date."
"Sweet!"
"Hey, I got to go to class."
"See you later?"
"Possibly."
"Cool. I love you."
"And... right back at you... sweetie." Skye ran inside the classroom that was by her as Jeffrey walked off to his next class.
Skye felt bad for not saying, "I love you" back to her boyfriend every time he said it. But she couldn't say it; she didn't feel the same way. She cared about Jeffrey but she wasn't going to say some words she didn't mean.
She sat down in her assigned seat before the bell rang. After that, the skinny, middle-aged teacher entered the classroom and closed the door. She stood in front of her desk and made a declaration to the students.
"Okay, kids," she started in her soft, British accent, "we will start off this class with our next project. You are going to have to write an essay on an issue or a subject that needs to be discussed more. It has to be an issue in the world or in this state, not something like why I don't have a chalkboard on any of the walls of this classroom. Anyway, you will not write the essay by yourselves. You will need a partner. But if I let you choose a partner, you're just gonna pick the same people you always pick. So I created a chart of who you will be partnering up. Yes, I'm evil. The chart is on my desk so you can come up and look. Don't steal my apple."
All of the students got out of their seats and walked up to the desk. Many of them were so irritated that they couldn't pick someone they work. Skye didn't care; her best friends weren't in her English class so she worked with whoever was the smartest. The students took turns looking at the chart and tried to find their partners. When Skye was in front of the desk, she picked up the chart and looked for her name.
"Who the frick is Dominic Westbrook?" she said to herself.
"He's over there," a girl said, motioning to the back of the room.
Skye looked in the girl's direction and saw a boy sitting by himself in the back row of desks. His feet were up on his desk and he was picking his fingernails. He had short, black, greasy hair and diamond stud earrings. He was wearing a black collared shirt with a long-sleeved white shirt underneath, dark skinny jeans, and black lace-up boots. He also had on soft, black, fingerless gloves.
"Yippee," Skye reacted sarcastically. She walked over to the punk. "You must be Dominic," she said.
He looked up at Skye with his piercing blue eyes. "You must be hot," he smirked.
"Ew."
"I go by Dom."
"I go by Skye."
"Is that short for Skylar or something?"
"Yes, it is."
"Why do you just go by 'Skye'? You think you're cool or something?"
"I just rather be called Skye. Why do you go by Dom? You think you're hot or something?"
"Oh, you feelin' it?"
"I'm not feelin' anything. Anyway, we have to write an essay together."
"Fun," Dom said sarcastically.
"I know, right?" Skye sat down in the empty seat next to him. "So we have to come up with an issue that needs to be discussed more."
"Okay. How about we write about you?"
"Why?"
"Because the issue here is that you're not in my pants."
"Ew."
"That wasn't the response I was looking for."
"Whatever. We need to write about a serious issue."
"Listen, I don't do essays. I just let my partner do all the writing then we both get A's."
"Well, I'm not a pushover. But if you have a hundred dollars, I'll handle this project by myself."
"I can barely make a penny."
"Then we're both writing this essay."
"Who stole my apple?" yelled the teacher.
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