"Today, class, we're going to talk about complex relationships."

"Ay, mate, for the last time, your relationship wif Ms. Gulliver ain't complicated. It's non existent," Mitchell sneered from his usual seat in the back.

"Oy but your relationship wif Moira is better?" Chantelle was quick to come to Alfie's defense. "Better not to have one than to share her wif a psychopath. Shakespeare said dat."

Jing muttered angrily under her breath and Alfie's eyebrows rose. He asked quickly, "What's that about sharin' your gal wit Grayson?"

Ignoring the fact that he instantly knew Grayson was the school psychopath, Mitchell threatened, "Ain't fuckin' nuffin'. Keep your shitty lil noses outta me business or I'll empty your fuckin' bank accounts into a charity for gay eskimoes to get bum heaters for their cocks."

"He and Grayson are datin' the same girl. Moira Margaret," Joe spoke up, eliciting an evil glare from Mitchell. "I ain't got a bank account."

"Your parents do," Mitchell scorned.

"No way!" Alfie climbed onto his desk, rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist, and grinned at Mitchell. "Tell me which little gypsy wants to date you and Francis the Firelord."

"She ain't a fuckin' gypsy and it ain't none of your fuckin' business," Mitchell growled. His usual jovial demeanor was fading quickly and those around him were considering ways to get away. Mitchell was a twisted little shit but his usual forms of cruelty didn't do long term physical damage. Emotional and financial? Yes. But rarely physical. It ranged from posting your photo on a most wanted page to pilfering funds from your bank over the years, rarely the same person twice in a month; he was a hacker, not a monster. And he was notorious for violent dares and touches of violence, but he didn't do long term damage. The victim would be fine within a month.

"Let me get her facebook up," Stephan interrupted, his hands already frantically typing on his phone. "She's the next Jo Rowling, or Sylvia Plath, or Jane Austen. She's in advanced classes, she vacations in the Americas, and they say she made an Oxford professor cry in front of an entire classroom because she told him his dissertation was a pile of rubbish and contemporary American writers have a better thought process with their shit romance novels."

Mitchell smirked and said appreciatively, "She made her Chinese tutor piss himself. Told him that if he didn't stop making mistakes she'd fuckin' water board him like the Americans do in Guantanamo Bay. She had to get a new one. Fuckin' great."

Stephan handed Alfie his phone and Alfie looked from the picture of an elegant blonde playing a violin, up to Mitchell, and down to his phone again. Stephan said excitedly, "That's a silk champagne gown! Silk! And it's not wrinkled. She wears it like sunlight."

"Fuckin' right she does," Mitchell agreed. "D'ya wanna see one of her naked? Got a real good one of her last week in the baf tub."

"No, Mitchell. Like I tell Chantelle almost every day, that is illegal." Chantelle pouted up at him. "How did you convince her to go with you?"

Mitchell shrugged, "Just did."

In reality, he knew exactly how. He was hiding out in the poolroom because he managed to nick Fraser's phone and he was sending vulgar texts to everybody in his contacts list. He was up on the diving board when he heard the door to the lady's room open. She couldn't see him but he could see everything. Usually he considered girls talking pussy but she wasn't. He could see that from across the room and up on the platform. She glowed. Her blonde bob reflected the light back to him and her skin was a soft tan from vacationing in Florida. The white bikini she was wearing stood out so that he could see every line. He watched her stretch, twisting and elongating her body, rotating limbs, and lifting things above her head. He got half a chub watching her lift that leg up and over. Then, she got a running start and dove into the water, her body bowing so that she entered cleanly, without a splash. Her body broke the surface of the water cleanly.

He crawled to the edge of the diving platform fast so he could see her flash by in the water. She surfaced at the half length and then swam the rest on the surface. For ten minutes, he watched her do laps around the pool, completely oblivious to his presence. She swam to one end of the pool gracefully, rotated in the water, kicked off the side, and swam back to the other end. When she rotated in the water, her bikini would slip down a little bit. Not enough for him to really get a shot of anything but enough for him to imagine. But then, he got bold and he made a mistake. As she surfaced from the water, he raised Fraser's phone to take a picture and it slipped from his fingers. He winced as it tumbled down into the water, splashing, and alerting her. She stopped dead in the water and her glowing green eyes focused on him instantly. He expected her to scream, to shout for someone, to get out of the pool, and run. Instead, she said in a calm, cold tone, "That was a mistake."

Her accent was posh, crisp, and clean and her voice was a dark rasp, like somebody who smoked for way too long. He just watched her as she swam to the edge, climbed from the pool, and walked to the diving platform ladder. It was only when she started climbing that he realized he should stand up instead of staring like a retarded monkey. But it was too late; there was no escape. She made it to the top and he could focus on her barely covered chest in all of its well developed glory.

"Take off whatever you want to keep dry," she commanded calmly.

"What?" All the blood in his brain had taken residence in his cock.

She sighed in annoyance. "Shoes, socks, jacket, and pants. The pants only if you're wearing something under them. Are you wearing something under them?"

"Uh huh."

"Good. Shoes, socks, jacket, and pants, then. Take them off."

A hot bitch was telling him to take his clothes off. There wasn't a question in his mind as to why. It didn't matter why. He just wanted to get naked in front of her and potentially get her naked. He wanted it so freaking bad that his cock throbbed. He just obeyed the dripping girl in front of him, earning an irritated eye roll. When he was down to his shirt and boxers, his cock very clearly standing at attention, she walked over and shoved him over the side, very calmly and very quickly. He remembered right before he hit the water to curl in on himself and protect his spine. He still hit like Remdog falling from a tree. He sank in agony next to Fraser's cell phone. By the time he resurfaced, she was gone.

Luckily, Abbey Groves' student files were fucking stupid easy to hack and, with her hair and eye color and approximate age, he narrowed it down to ten and picked her out of the lot based on her picture. Moira Margaret Miller, age 15, daughter of Professor Harry Miller and cancer researcher Mary Miller. It was no wonder her name was fucked to hell and back with parent names like that. With that information, he had her facebook, email, and resume at his fingertips. Moira Margaret Miller. Progressive parents, followed American, British, Australian, and Chinese politics. New ager parents who wanted their daughter to have and do whatever she wanted, which was why she was in a public school. She felt that private schools were too prestigious and meant nothing in the long run because it allowed prestige based on name and not effort. She spoke four languages and was working on five and six. She was a published poet, an aggressive MMA fighter, and a lover of filthy humor. She was hot and perfect and completely out of his league and he decided that she was going to go with him.

It took him a week to work up the courage to approach her. But he finally learned her schedule and made his way to her locker. He made it just in time to hear her tell a third year football player, "Not if you were the last man on Earth and you'd stolen all the batteries."

It made him laugh and get half a chub at the thought of her using all the batteries in the world on herself. But it was also discouraging. Luckily for him, Mitchell was not one to be deterred. So he opened his mouth and said confidently, "Ay there, fancy a shag in the water closet?"

She turned to stare at him with one eyebrow perked up in an amused manner. She asked, "You know, I've won fourteen out of sixteen fights I've been in, right? Three were KO in under ten seconds. That means that I hit three girls so hard that I knocked them out immediately as the fight began. One of them was two weight classes bigger than me. You're about two weight classes bigger than me."

"Only record I'm concerned wif is how long it take you to shout me name."

She snorted and replied, "Okay, pool boy. You've caught my attention. Seven o'clock Friday night at the Italian place by that shitty McDonalds. The one where they found the rat in the sweet tea last year. You pay this time. If it goes well, I pay next time. We'll see about that shag some other time."

She closed her locker and just walked away from him. And he accepted it and the date was amazing. She cussed like a sailor but she was elegant and smart and she made him feel like he had something worth sharing. And, at the end of the night, she kissed him at the door and told him she'd see him at school on Monday.

"Okay, so acknowledging the fact that you've managed to land Jing's white twin." Jing glared dangerously at Alfie. "Why do you share her with Grayson? How do you share her with Grayson?"

"Monday- Mitchell's dick. Tuesday- Grayson's dick," Chantelle taunted.

"Ain't fuckin' like that so shut your fuckin' slag mouf," Mitchell growled. Stephan put his hand over Chantelle's as a warning. He shook his head at her quickly. "Look here, Moira Margaret ain't me property. She don't belong to me and she can do what she want wif her body. I like that she spends time wif me. She likes to spend time wif me. And she also likes to spend time wif Grayson. That's her business. It works out for all of us. I ain't bitchin'."

"You don't think it's weird that she's shagging the both of you?" Alfie demanded.

"He's used to watchin' his mum do it for ages. Shit, Moira Margaret's calm about it wif only two of them," Rem Dogg jeered from behind Mitchell. Mitchell turned and glared but he didn't snap at him like he did everybody else. The back and forth between Mitchell and Remdog was daily. It was what he was used to.

"And none of them are his dad," Alfie joined. "Anyway, how does it work?"

"It just fuckin' does. Shouldn' you be usin' your problems to teach us about World War two or somefin'?"

"You actually want to learn?"

"If it makes you fucks stop talkin' about me girlfriend, then yes. I want to learn whatever shit you want to teach us today."