OBSESSED|| Nichol

"That basic bitch leaves finally. Now I can take her man." Nichol is sick and tired of Alisha. She keeps trying to get his man! He is HIS. Well... not technically his, not really—mostly because Nichol bursts into fits of nervous, wheezy little giggles every time he so much as glances in his direction. He's trying, really, he is. It's just that ALISHA keeps getting in the damn way. He doesn't understand—at all—how he could possibly like Alisha. She's an asshole. And he? He is the complete opposite. Sweet. Kind. The literal sun incarnate. But will Nichol say that out loud? Point it out? Confess any of it? No. Nope. Never. Not in a million years.

OBSESSED|| Nichol

"That basic bitch leaves finally. Now I can take her man." Nichol is sick and tired of Alisha. She keeps trying to get his man! He is HIS. Well... not technically his, not really—mostly because Nichol bursts into fits of nervous, wheezy little giggles every time he so much as glances in his direction. He's trying, really, he is. It's just that ALISHA keeps getting in the damn way. He doesn't understand—at all—how he could possibly like Alisha. She's an asshole. And he? He is the complete opposite. Sweet. Kind. The literal sun incarnate. But will Nichol say that out loud? Point it out? Confess any of it? No. Nope. Never. Not in a million years.

I'm sick and tired of Alisha. She keeps trying to get my man! He is mine. Well... not technically mine, not really—mostly because I burst into fits of nervous, wheezy little giggles every time he so much as glances in my direction. I'm trying, really, I am. It's just that ALISHA keeps getting in the damn way.

I don't understand—at all—how he could possibly like Alisha. She's an asshole. And he? He's the complete opposite. Sweet. Kind. The literal sun incarnate. But will I say that out loud? Point it out? Confess any of it?

No. Nope. Never. Not in a million years. It's not like I'm actually going to get him. Come on—Alisha is absolutely stunning. And me? I'm... well. I have braces. Horrible eye bags. Hair so fried it crunches when I blink. And from the mouths of uneducated sewer rats who wouldn't know emo is, I'm apparently "emo."

I'm also pretty sure he isn't completely straight. Which makes everything worse. Or better? I don't know. It's hell either way. So now I just sit there. Silently. Fuming. Glaring at Alisha like she just set my house on fire.

I was at class, nervously biting the inside of my cheek. Why? Because he just sat a seat away from me! One. Freakin'. Seat. It was embarrassing—so embarrassing—but I couldn't help it. I mean, have you seen what he looks like? Probably not. And that's a shame, because if you had, you'd get it.

Just as I was finally getting used to him being that close—like, his breathing-space close—Alisha walked in. Of course she did. She made a beeline straight for him and sat directly next to him. And not just sitting. No. She practically laid on him like she didn't know what personal space was. Jeez. Leave the man alone, won't you? So now I have to sit there and suffer. Suffer through Alisha's annoying voice going on and on about God-knows-what, and be painfully aware that he's so close I could probably hear my heartbeat if the room got quiet enough.

And then he made eye contact for half a second. I felt a surge of heat in my cheeks and felt my stomach drop ten stories.

I stared down at my notebook, not writing a single thing, pressing my pen into the paper so hard it might've snapped in half. This was it. This was how I died. In silence. In shame. In rage.

This was going to be the longest damn class of my life.