Monday came with grey clouds, a stale croissant, and a deep desire to skip school altogether.
Spoiler: I didn't.
I walked through the school gates like I was heading into battle — hoodie up, earbuds in, avoiding eye contact with literally everyone, especially Lily, who had tried to FaceTime me twice over the weekend.
I hadn't answered. Not because I was mad.
Okay — yes, because I was mad. But also because I didn't trust myself not to scream-laugh while doing it.
She'd betrayed me. With dimples.
To make things worse, Literature — which was usually my once-a-week emotional battlefield every Friday — had been moved to Monday.
Why?
Because, apparently, the Civics teacher had been summoned to a last-minute "youth political engagement" seminar and Miss Gloria, ever the opportunist, requested a swap.
"Just for this week," she'd said in the class group chat.
Which meant instead of mentally preparing myself all week for Round Eight, I was ambushed with it right after a sleepy Monday morning. Fantastic.
I slipped into Literature class three minutes before the bell, heart pounding. Austin was already in his seat, scribbling something into his notebook with the annoying calm of someone who slept just fine after emotionally throwing someone off a cliff.
I didn't look at him as I sat.
I felt him glance at me.
Nope. Not today, Macbeth.
Miss Gloria entered with a loud clap that snapped everyone's attention forward. She dropped a stack of printed pages onto her desk with flair.
"All right, scholars," she beamed, "today is a bit different. We begin our group projects on Shakespearean plays."
Here it comes.
"I've assigned the pairs myself," she said cheerfully. "This is about balance, chemistry, and challenging each other intellectually."
I didn't dare look at Lily. But I could feel the smug rays radiating off her skin like solar flares.
Miss Gloria began reading the list. A few groans, a few surprised squeals, the usual chaos of forced partnerships.
And then — the hammer:
"Austin and Anne."
Several students actually reacted. A gasp from the back. A whispered "Yessss" from someone who clearly wanted to see bloodshed.
I didn't blink. I didn't move. I was stone.
Austin leaned slightly toward me and whispered under his breath, "Must be fate."
"Must be Lily," I muttered.
Miss Gloria handed out the assignment packets and launched into expectations: written analysis, dramatic reading of one scene, and a creative component — could be a video, an alternate ending, a stage concept, whatever we wanted.
"Your project will count for forty percent of your Literature grade."
My stomach dropped. Forty. Percent.
"So," she concluded, smiling wickedly, "make sure you choose your scenes — and your interpretations — wisely."
---
The bell rang, but no one moved. Everyone was watching me and Austin like we were about to throw desks.
I packed my things slowly, and just as I stood, Lily materialized at my side like a ghost of betrayal.
"Don't say anything," she whispered.
"I wasn't going to," I hissed back.
"I'm your best friend, Anne."
"Exactly. That's what makes this worse."
Zoey trotted over. "You're being dramatic. This is gonna be great. I give it three days before you two fall in love or kill each other."
"I'll take the second option," I said.
"Too late," Lily added. "You've already agreed to the first by showing up."
I turned away before I could say something snarky that I might actually mean.
---
Austin was waiting by the door.
I stopped. "Let's just get this over with. Library after school?"
He shrugged, easy. "Sure. I'll bring the dagger."
I narrowed my eyes. "Wrong play, genius."
He smirked. "There are so many."
And just like that, we were off. Two reluctant warriors, tied together by Shakespeare, sabotage, and something I really didn't want to name.
Not yet.
---