(Disclaimer: I obviously don't own How to Get Away With Murder or any of its characters. My God, I wish...)

"Need the locker, buddy," Asher Millstone heaved between breaths, running up to me and hurriedly spinning the combination lock to open the locker we both shared. "Nice perk of you being gay- I know you have a mirror in there somewhere." Asher grinned as he rifled around through my stuff.

"You know almost everything you just said was offensive, right?" I pointed out with a sigh. "Like, all gays aren't fashionistas."

"They're not?" Asher stopped and looked up, genuinely surprised.

"Annnnd this is why you have no other friends." I shook my head and deftly pried a compact mirror from between my textbooks, tossing it to him.

"Sorry, dude. I'll remember next time! How's my hair?" Asher raked a few fingers through his hair and straightened the tie at his neck that was identical to mine. "How do I look?"

"Like the rest of us clones."

"Okay, but like, maybe a hotter-than-the-rest clone? I mean, do you think she'll notice me today?"

It was easy to see how Asher and I had become friends. Thanks to my mom dying of cancer when I was twelve and my dad being the Philadelphia Police Commissioner, I had just been yanked from boarding school and gotten dumped here at William Penn Academy, the private school for parents who hated private schools. It was supposed to "foster the growth and development" of humble students while sacrificing none of the academic opportunities. That was what the website said anyway, and it was a load of shit. The kids here all thought I was a snobby, rich queer. And I thought they were all sheltered wannabes, desperate for a public school experience but too scared to enter one. I mean, I already knew I was a snob, but at least I wasn't posing. Asher, however, was the poser king. Upon first meeting him, I could easily pick up on three things: 1) he was absolutely desperate for his father's approval, 2) he was absolutely desperate for social acceptance, and 3) he was absolutely desperate for a girlfriend. And right now, being the hopeless romantic that he was, he was pining away for the Senior Queen: Michaela Pratt.

"I can't stand that girl," I muttered.

Michaela Pratt was everything I hated about being a teenager. She was popular, smart, pretty (of course), and her parents were loaded. Her mother was some big-shot lawyer who'd divorced Michaela's big-shot father years and years ago so she was practically swimming in money. People like her expected the world to bow down to them because, of course, it always had. People like her needed to be stopped at all costs.

"That's just because you're not attracted to her," Asher retorted, returning my mirror back into the locker's depths. "Shhhhh! There she is!"

In strode Michaela, looking 100% like your classic 90s teen movie queen bee. I don't know how she did it, but she even managed to make the olive plaid knee-length skirt and wool vest combo look good- not like most girls here, who mostly just came off looking like Scottish overlords. Her black hair was shoulder length with a slight wave, her rich brown skin was smooth and radiant, and her smile lit up the entire hallway. She looked like a teenage Olivia Pope. I checked my pants.

Nope, still gay.

"H-hi, Michaela." Asher ventured. Michaela approached us, glamazon friend in tow.

"Hi…" Michaela squinted. "Aaron," she decided.

"Um, Asher," Asher corrected her. I swallowed a laugh.

"Oh, sorry," Michaela apologized absently. "Well…bye." She turned around to keep moving. Or floating, whatever the hell she did.

"But- but…you can call me Aaron if you want," Asher volunteered, getting Michaela to turn back. "It could be like a nickname. Like something between just us two…"

Michaela raised an eyebrow, but then her friend piped up.

"Hey, aren't you that kid who transferred here, like, a month ago?" She asked me. "Connor, right?" All three of them turned to look at me in unison. I promise you it was just as creepy looking as it sounds.

"Uh…yeah, that's me," I said begrudgingly. Asher bristled, but I shrugged.

"I'm Laurel," the girl said, extending her hand "Laurel Castillo." She was just as blindingly beautiful as Michaela, although in a different way, with her creamy pale skin and blue-gray eyes. Up close, I could kind of understand why Asher turned to mush. If I were even the slightest bit interested in women, both of them probably would've had me stuttering by now, too.

"Nice to meet you." I shook her hand with slight suspicion.

"Pleasure," replied Laurel, with zero sarcasm. "I just want you to know, Penn isn't like other schools. As Vice President of Debate Club, I want you to know that I personally make sure we're very open minded here and won't tolerate any kind of bullying."

"Uh…great." I tried to say it like a statement, but I wasn't sure if she meant I would be the bully or the bullied.

Michaela noticed my hesitation and frowned. "Look, she's only trying to make you feel welcome. You don't need to be rude."

"I wasn't trying to- "

Asher cut me off. "Oh, he's just shy! Isn't. That. Right. Connor?" He clutched my arm with a tourniquet-like grip, his eyes boring into mine.

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered, ignoring Asher's pleading eyes. He turned back to the girls apologetically.

"Here, let me take your bag, Michaela. That looks heavy- oh, and Laurel's too? Uh, yeah. And gym bag? And car keys…ah, um, okay. Sure thing, ladies." With unmasked distaste, I watched Asher struggle, but Michaela seemed to take this as an acceptable apology. "Wow, what a gentleman." She exchanged glances with Laurel, who nodded minutely. "So…you guys wanna come to my Homecoming party this weekend?"

"Yeah!" Asher volunteered. "I mean…you know, yeah, sure, if we're not doing anything. Right, man?" I just looked at him like he sprouted two heads. I'd rather die than go to some lame high school party.

I was probably being dramatic. But still.

I really couldn't stand girls like that- girls like them, who did whatever they wanted and thought everyone worshipped the ground they walked on, who used straight men and collected gay ones, girls who were beautiful, but didn't use that to get anywhere, just to put others down. Guys did it too, of course, but it was easier for men to get ahead without relying on their looks. Guess it was sexism at the root of things, but for me right now in this moment, it was high school hell.

Laurel and Michaela both giggled profusely. (Why do girls do that?)

"Okay," Michaela said. "Find me on Facebook. I'll send you the invite."

"You bet," Asher beamed under the mountain of stuff he was carrying.

"Our homeroom is upstairs," Laurel hinted. "On the third floor."

"Oh, yeah. Totally." Asher began huffing towards the stairway.

"Asher," I warned. "The bell's gonna ring in 5 minutes!" We were right outside the door of our own homeroom.

Asher gave me a very pointed look that said: bitch, don't kill my vibe.

"Uhhh…guess I'll just…go in, then," I finished weakly.

"Uh, durrrrrr." Asher muttered.

"You are just such a sweetheart, Aaron." Michaela smiled broadly at him, and for a split second I forgot my name, too. "But we've gotta run or we'll be late. Meet you there!" She and Laurel sped off.

"I am so in there," Asher grinned.

"Maybe," I admitted. "If you can ever get up there." I pointed toward the staircase.

"This will just be a funny story to tell our kids someday, " Asher chuckled, nonplussed.

"If she remembers your name."

"Dude— "

"Later, Aa-ron!" I winked and badly mimicked Michaela's floaty sashay walk, then slipped inside our classroom before he could retort.


(A/N: What'd you think? This story was by request, so it's different from what I usually like to write but I had fun! What do you think will happen at the party? We all know Connor will get dragged there lol. Leave me a review, please! It REALLY helps!)