He had no idea what he was doing there. Oh yeah. It was his party.

It was his party and he was bored out of his mind. Sure, there were plenty of hotties to keep him company but there were all so goddamn desperate. He had flirted lightly with some random blonde chick while looking for the last hidden stash of beer in his parent's mini fridge- BIG MISTAKE. He had spent the last freaking hour trying to escape her as she followed him everywhere, begging him to let her see his room, until he finally introduced her to Kemp Hurley, and the two of them had hit off immediately. Psycho.

Most people were passed out on the floor. Guess they couldn't hold their beer. The only people awake were his friends- the idiotic, dumbass friends who convinced him to throw this post-game soccer celebration. And he wasn't even on the team. BOCD had beaten their rival all-boys private school, Ives High, today in the championships, and everyone, in a state of excitement, got piled into their cars and into the Hastings' house for a night of getting good and high. Thank God his parents were out of town. Derek Harrington, captain and goalie of the team, was on top of the tables, completely tipsy, singing in a terrible voice some random Brittney Spears song from 5 years ago. Josh Hotz and his slutty Spanish girlfriend with the huge chest were making out on his parents' favorite couch imported from Monaco. Cam Fisher and goody-two shoes Claire Lyons were cuddled in a corner; while Dylan Marvil, Kristen Gregory, and Chris Plovert were lying on top of each other watching 'Harold and Kumar go to White Castle', and seemingly, getting extremely comfortable. And then there was her.

Massie Block. The uncontested, self-proclaimed bitch of BOCD. She had given up trying to stop Derrick from making a fool of himself, and was sitting alone, fuming, on a chair against the wall. Though he would never admit it, she was pretty cool sometimes. She was the only girl who wouldn't faint in delight when a sexy, bad boy like him spoke to her; could cuss more than even him when she was pissed; and most of all, wasn't intimidated by him when he was in one of his notorious mood swings. But she was also a spoiled-rotten, self-centered brat who didn't have the decency to leave him alone when he felt like rolling up some weed. Rolling his eyes, he sat down next to her. She didn't bother even turning to see who it was.

"He's being a total jackass." she spat, her amber eyes flashing angrily. "So much for being the 'perfect boyfriend'. Those desperate skanks aren't missing much."

He took the last gulp of punch from a plastic cup, crumpled it in his fist, and tossed it in the trash. Massie looked disgusted.

"Are you drinking punch?"

"It's spiked. Duh."

"Whatevs."

He glared at her.

"If you hate his fucking guts so much, why don't you break up with him? Oh wait, don't answer that- I already know! You're too scared that you'll lose your stupid 'alpha' position in that stupid ass Pretty Committee. I'm not a freaking idiot, Block. Life isn't a fucking popularity contest, damn it."

"Shut the hell up, Hastings. You don't know shit. Now why don't you go, and screw 'busty blondie' who was stalking you for the past hour?"

"Go to hell."

"Make me."

He gave her a withering glance. She looked exactly how she always did. Hot, stuck-up, and bitchy. Her ultra dark, low rise jeans and glittering silver halter gave him a clear view of her tanned, smooth skin, and her dark hair was up in a high ponytail. Some expensive-looking black shoes were on her feet, and her legs were crossed. Her nose was scrunched up, as it always was when she was angry, and her lips were pursed in disapproval as she watched her boyfriend fall off the table and into a pathetic heap on the ground. He scoffed at her expression with an amused look.

"You're actually surprised? He always is like this."

"Not in school."

"Not in private either, I hope." he smirked. He watched the muscles in her jaw tense, in a pretty sexy way, he had to admit. "Does he act like this while you're making out too? Sloppy and drunken is not how I imagined Massie Block kissing." he continued, watching in pleasure as her face grew redder by the second.

"Bastard." she hissed. She stood up abruptly, grabbing her large, black purse, and stormed out the door. He shook his head, laughing softly, and leaned back in his chair. He was bored again. Looking around, he saw that everyone was either sleeping or making out. Two brunettes were still on the couch; while a blonde girl and a dark-haired boy had started to kiss. Then there were the two blondes in front of him, literally tearing each other's clothes off...

Hold on. Two blondes? He recognized the one on top, definitely. It was Olivia Ryan. Head cheerleader, third hottest girl in BOCD- after Massie and Alicia Rivera- and school slut. She had her fair share of appearances in his room, that was for sure.

"Get a room, skank!" He growled, and yanked her off the guy. He stared, startled, when he saw who was underneath her. A smirk grew on his face.

"So, I didn't think the rumors were true, Harrington. Have you honestly taken my spot as school playboy? I thought you'd have a bit more class than to do a slut like her," he glanced at Olivia's appalled face, "At a party where your oh-so-perfect, and not to mention possessive, girlfriend is."

He grinned in sadistic contentment as his friend's drunk face suddenly grew sober. He leaped up in fear, and grabbed his arm.

"Dude, you cannot tell Massie. She'll fucking whip my ass!"

"You deserve it, you freaking asshole. She doesn't need your shit. She already deals with you- why would she listen to your pathetic excuses?"

Smiling at Derek's shocked face, he popped an unlighted cigarette into his mouth, and strode out to find Massie. He didn't have to look far. He knew, since Derek was her ride to the party, she'd still be there. But that didn't stop her from trying. She was screaming into her phone at her driver, who apparently, by her wishes, was already at home, in bed.

"I don't give a damn if you just got home, Isaac! Pick me up now!"

She slammed her new, purple enV shut. Poor guy. Then she noticed him standing there, leaning against the door, observing the scene.

"What the hell do you want?"

He gave her a lazy grin.

"Ah, nothing. Just thought you should know that your butt-wiggling, immature boyfriend was in there, kissing the crap out of Olivia Ryan."

He watched her, waiting for the scream- or maybe the 'whipping' as Derek referred to- to happen. But she did neither. Instead her gold-flecked eyes grew watery, and her breath grew hitched. She lowered herself to the ground slowly, and pulled her knees to her chest.

"What the fuck is wrong with me? I put out for him, make out in public, and act like the perfect girlfriend in front of his friends. What the hell? Why does he do this to me?"

He was alarmed. Of all the reactions, he didn't expect the this. He had never in his life seen Massie Block cry, let alone brawl her heart out.

"He's an ass." He replied, sitting down next to her, trying to appear calm and nonchalant. She stayed silent. "Look Bloc- Massie. He doesn't deserve you. Sure, you can be bitchy and controlling and pure torture sometimes, but what does a ditzy, airhead slut like Ryan have that you don't? Nothing."

He knew that wasn't exactly what she was looking for, but wanted to give her some comfort at a time like this.

"I guess so." she said finally. She turned to him. "Sorry I'm such a bitch."

"Don't be." He responded, smirking. "How can I be a total bastard to you if you're nice, huh?"

She gave him a small smile, and looked ahead at the moon above her. The trees rustled in the wind, and small goosebumps ran up her bare, pale arms. He wanted to cover her with something, but stopped. How awkward would that be? Her mascara had streaked down her face- but she still looked beautiful, in a sinewy- almost gothic- way. He had never seen her look like that before. He was always the hot druggie punk, and she was popular, perfect prep. She looked at him again, and this time he didn't hesitate. The space between them disappeared instantly.

The next day was Monday. Griffin knew that a party on Sunday night was stupid, but evidently, no one else thought so. Almost all the A-listers had come in late, with professionally practiced excuses for their absence. At lunch, everyone was discussing only two things- game, and the huge blowout at the Hastings' house afterwards. He sat there, barely touching his sandwich, his large, bottle-green eyes scanning the large cafeteria forthem. Suddenly, a large bang came from the front of the room, and five model-beautiful girls strutted in. Two blondes, decked in pink; a tall redhead, wearing baby blue; a Spanish beauty, in bright yellow, and finally her.

She was wearing the most distressed, torn pair of Sevens jeans in existence, a black Prada wifebeater with a cinched, studded belt around her tiny waist, and black, crocodile skin, spike heels. Her silky brunette bob was in a messy bun, and a large black and silver tote hung on her thin arm. Her amber eyes were outlined in black eyeliner, and she looked had a blank, steely look in her eye as she walked down to table 18 like she owned it, which, technically speaking, she did.

As she sat down, whispers erupted.

"Is she going goth?"

"No, definitely punk."

After about fifteen minutes of countless faces gossiping and staring at her, Massie stood.

"May I have everyone's attention?"

Everyone went silent.

"I am nawt going goth or punk. This is a combination of Chanel's and Dior's newest look during Fashion Week in Milan. Get with it people!"

She sat, and everyone started buzzing. Griffin was bemused. Was that the only reason? His question was answered almost instantly. Catching him staring at her with curious eyes, she gave him a knowing smile and winked. He smirked back. The hot one in the black and punk makeup? Yeah, that's my girlfriend.