father. But that wouldn't help her get good grades. And it wouldn't help her get that scholarship she needed for her Ivy League college.
Scarlett sighed again as she looked down at her plain shirt and jeans; also known as: her usual wear. Her watch beeped, and she gasped as she realized she was running late. It was already seven fifteen. She only had fifteen minutes until school started, and it took about ten minutes to get to school. And if the traffic was bad…oh, shit.
It was about eight a.m., and Tristan was sitting in the back of his U.S. History class. This was such a boring class. He had no idea who had the sense to put this particular class as the first class of the day. No one was paying any attention to the professor who was rambling on and on about World War I, or was it II? Hell, it could have been a lesson on World War III, and Tristan wouldn't have known the difference. Everyone was either entertaining themselves in something more interesting or catching up on some much needed Zzzz's .
It was around eight twenty when the door burst opened, and a disheveled redhead skidded to a halt in front of the professor. "I-I'm so so-sorry for being late, Mr. Macgregor, but I o-overslept," Scarlett panted. "Um...my mother was...still sleeping, so I couldn't get her to write a note, but I will—"
"Enough," Mr. Macgregor silenced Scarlett with his palm. "Get a tardy slip and sit."
"A t-tardy slip? But, Mr. Macgregor, I have never ever been late for a single class in my entire life. Please, can't you just let me off with a warn—"
"Get a tardy slip and sit down now, Miss White," Mr. Macgregor ordered in a firm tone.
Scarlett hung her head and slowly walked over to the teacher's desk where she picked up a pink slip and stuffed it in her bag. She quietly walked to her desk and began taking notes on what the professor was lecturing about.
Scarlett was in Tristan's United States History class as well? Why hadn't he ever noticed this before? Was he really so oblivious?
Five minutes later, the bell rang, and all of the students quickly filed out of the classroom. He didn't know what made him do it, but Tristan came up behind Scarlett, "Hey."
Scarlett jumped from being startled, "Oh, it's you." Scarlett's bright green eyes narrowed. Tristan noticed her hair had loose strands flying about her face that had fallen out of the two braids she had done, as if she barely had any time to fix her hair properly. And he also realized that it wasn't in its usual ponytail.
"Yes, it's me—" he began.
"Well, I don't have time for your jokes and mockery today, Mr. Cox; I have to get to class on time."
"I wasn't going to mo—" But Scarlett was gone and out of sight before he could finish. What had he done to her in the past to make her act like this towards him?
Most of the time, Tristan wouldn't have given a crap about what others thought of him, though most thought he was a god, but, for some reason, he wanted to understand Scarlett's feelings and he didn't have a clue why.
In the past, he had just ignored her, but now he wanted to actually know her. And he didn't care about their different social statuses. Suddenly his previous fury about what Alice had done to him vanished, and an idea struck him. He was going to confront her. He was going to talk to Scarlett and find out what had happened between the two of them so many years ago.
But Tristan never got a chance to do it on Monday because he couldn't find Scarlett between classes to confront her, and at lunch, she had been gone from her usual table—even Alice was gone during lunch period—and even during lab, the entire class had to listen to a long, boring lecture about the proper way to complete the project. And then when Tristan had tried to get to Scarlett before school was officially over, she was gone. It was as if she was avoiding him. Well, that only made Tristan even more determined. And he was going to
Scarlett sighed again as she looked down at her plain shirt and jeans; also known as: her usual wear. Her watch beeped, and she gasped as she realized she was running late. It was already seven fifteen. She only had fifteen minutes until school started, and it took about ten minutes to get to school. And if the traffic was bad…oh, shit.
It was about eight a.m., and Tristan was sitting in the back of his U.S. History class. This was such a boring class. He had no idea who had the sense to put this particular class as the first class of the day. No one was paying any attention to the professor who was rambling on and on about World War I, or was it II? Hell, it could have been a lesson on World War III, and Tristan wouldn't have known the difference. Everyone was either entertaining themselves in something more interesting or catching up on some much needed Zzzz's .
It was around eight twenty when the door burst opened, and a disheveled redhead skidded to a halt in front of the professor. "I-I'm so so-sorry for being late, Mr. Macgregor, but I o-overslept," Scarlett panted. "Um...my mother was...still sleeping, so I couldn't get her to write a note, but I will—"
"Enough," Mr. Macgregor silenced Scarlett with his palm. "Get a tardy slip and sit."
"A t-tardy slip? But, Mr. Macgregor, I have never ever been late for a single class in my entire life. Please, can't you just let me off with a warn—"
"Get a tardy slip and sit down now, Miss White," Mr. Macgregor ordered in a firm tone.
Scarlett hung her head and slowly walked over to the teacher's desk where she picked up a pink slip and stuffed it in her bag. She quietly walked to her desk and began taking notes on what the professor was lecturing about.
Scarlett was in Tristan's United States History class as well? Why hadn't he ever noticed this before? Was he really so oblivious?
Five minutes later, the bell rang, and all of the students quickly filed out of the classroom. He didn't know what made him do it, but Tristan came up behind Scarlett, "Hey."
Scarlett jumped from being startled, "Oh, it's you." Scarlett's bright green eyes narrowed. Tristan noticed her hair had loose strands flying about her face that had fallen out of the two braids she had done, as if she barely had any time to fix her hair properly. And he also realized that it wasn't in its usual ponytail.
"Yes, it's me—" he began.
"Well, I don't have time for your jokes and mockery today, Mr. Cox; I have to get to class on time."
"I wasn't going to mo—" But Scarlett was gone and out of sight before he could finish. What had he done to her in the past to make her act like this towards him?
Most of the time, Tristan wouldn't have given a crap about what others thought of him, though most thought he was a god, but, for some reason, he wanted to understand Scarlett's feelings and he didn't have a clue why.
In the past, he had just ignored her, but now he wanted to actually know her. And he didn't care about their different social statuses. Suddenly his previous fury about what Alice had done to him vanished, and an idea struck him. He was going to confront her. He was going to talk to Scarlett and find out what had happened between the two of them so many years ago.
But Tristan never got a chance to do it on Monday because he couldn't find Scarlett between classes to confront her, and at lunch, she had been gone from her usual table—even Alice was gone during lunch period—and even during lab, the entire class had to listen to a long, boring lecture about the proper way to complete the project. And then when Tristan had tried to get to Scarlett before school was officially over, she was gone. It was as if she was avoiding him. Well, that only made Tristan even more determined. And he was going to
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