The risk I took was calculated, but damn am I bad at math.

For you to fully understand this risk, well let's start at the very beginning.

"Go out with me."

"No."

I guess I'm just one of those guys, you know those hot, sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, blessed guys, who just come out unlucky in one way or another. You see I could have gotten any girl who pleased my fancy, but I am one hot, sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, blessed- stubborn- idiot. Out of all the girls who deliberately followed me around, giggled about me at slumber parties and practically could start a fan base for me with their total mass, I had to pick the one girl who just couldn't give a fuck. It wasn't that she in total acted like I didn't exist (to insult someone you must know they exist...right?) she just had had it with my 'attitude' psh, women. Like I was saying though, I am shit out of luck as well as a complete and utter fool. And what can I say, I love a good chase.

"Why?" Exasperation, a key to pissing her off.

"Do you need an answer? Because I'm pretty sure that I gave you one the very first time you asked me that question - in the sixth grade. Now can you please leave? You're distracting me." She snapped, not even bothering to look me in my (amazing) eyes.

"Distracting you, huh?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking. Progress is progress and after four (middle of the fifth) school years of trying, it is welcome with open arms.

She sighed, set her papers down next to her, crossed her arms and gave me a very annoyed expression. "Once again you've taken a completely harmless comment and turned it into something dirty. Congrats."

"What can I say, I'm a boy of many talents." I replied, collapsing next to her and placing my hand around the sofa in our school's fabulously boring library.

"Cute." She quipped, picking her paper back up and continuing to exchange between writing in her notebook and reading her text book. Her thin fingers were currently flying across her paper with her pen, her sparkly purple nails glinting in the fluorescent lights leaving a trail of sparkly, navy blue words in its wake.

To quote the boys in the school's locker room (on more than one occasion) as well as any other boy who'd ever met Massie Block, she was really rather bangable. For a self-important, narcissistic pig (her words not mine), this was a humble opinion, that's if someone like me can ever really be humble. She had that kind of air of confidence that so many girls lacked. She was certainly pretty too, with her long, wavy chestnut hair, her doe-like, twinkling amber eyes. Both of those things complimented by her milky, porcelain skin and her rather cheeky smile and small, slender figure (shit I sound gay in my descriptions). Just the way she held herself, the way that she came across as intimidating yet so delicate was pretty much fascinating for a guy like me who believed my tastes were above those lesser than me.

Well, there was that and I rather like the way her ass moves when she walks.

You see, most girls find my self loving ways and cockiness to be charming in its own way, but Massie, well as you can see she doesn't give two rats' asses for it. Since I'm soccer captain and all, chasing her is the perfect exercise. Not mentally though. Definitely not.

"Stop staring at me," she spat, still concentrated on writing. It was perplexing the way she just knew that I was staring at her, that and the way her writing looked like it was some fancy font off the computer, I bet she got A's just for her goddamn penmanship. "It's creepy."

"No," I responded, placing my feet on the glass table in front of us, the pencil case that was carefully balancing on her thigh teetered back and forth, threatening to fall off. "My eyes aren't hurting you."

I assumed she was in a pleasant mood today for three reasons 1) She just said 'no', usually she yelled, screamed and told me that I was not even worth a walk in the park, 2) She usually gets up and leaves when I'm around, 3) She tends to use very un-womanlike words when speaking to me.

"Yes, but just knowing your still here does." She muttered, her pen practically stabbing the pages.

"Tsk, tsk, anger doesn't suit you." I said, shaking my head ever so slightly, and smiling all the while. She slowly turned her head towards me, a flicker of flames in her amber eyes and a flash of annoyance. "Go out with me." I recited again, she gave me a dirty look, gathered her things, scooping them up in her arms. "Go on, just say yes." I said triumphantly, even though there really wasn't much to triumph when the girl you have got it bad for is (has been) rejecting you and is practically rubbing her fat 'no' in you face. "Try something new, you know stop being so bland."

"You, Harrington, don't have the right to give me advice on what to do with my life. My life is filled with flavor, thank you very much. Just because I'd rather not waste my time with the likes of you and your anal friends doesn't mean I'm bland. Take your head out of your ass and get this straight, I will never go out with you. You are a horrible, good for nothing slacker who picks on people for no reason, and has the IQ of a dead squirrel." She said with a disgusted, contorted look on her face like how most mothers in Westchester would make when saying Kmart.

Now that is the Massie I know.

"Wow, your rejections get more original every time." I said enthusiastically, feigning carelessness and trying to cover up the fact that it actually hurt - just a smidge (more like a damn ton).

She huffed, turned on her heel and started to march away.

"Hey! Block! Wait!" But it was too late, her long hair had already rounded the corner of one too many bookshelves and the only person who paid any attention to my call was the librarian, who kicked me out without a second thought after seeing my Nike marks on the table.

This obviously was just event number one leading up to the shit of a calculated risk I happened to take.

Like I said earlier, I suck at math.

i just so happened to change course in my mind when writing the second chapter for 'reckless', that led to me deleting the story (its still saved in a draft though) and writing this. this came to me whilst re-reading harry potter and the order of the pheonix, snape's worst memory to be exact. if you're a harry potter fan, i'm sure you understand what specifically drove me to writing this. obviously though, this is not harry potter and obviously i am a little more than rusty when it comes to writing, summer does that to you. so sorry for messing up the whole tense in the story, i can never just stick to present or past. also, sorry in advance for any errors in the story as it goes on.

if there are any errors, i'll fix it later when i re-read it.
review?

-arielle