"Can anybody explain to me what an idiom is?" Asked Miss Dawes. She looked at the ocean of grade eleven students in front of her, not a single one of them raised their hands. Her eyes wandered the room for her victim and she saw Owen Milligan. "Owen, can you tell me what an idiom is?"

"A stupid person," guessed Owen. The class roared in laughter at his stupidity.

"No, Owen," Miss Dawes rolled her eyes, "The word you're thinking of is idiot which is-"

"Owen Milligan?" said a voice in the crowd. It took a while for the class to process the punchline, but once they caught on, the class roared in laughter, once again.

Owen stood up out of anger, "who said that?"

"I did," a slim, brunette girl with crazy clothes and huge honking glasses stood in front of him.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Threatened Owen.

"Owen settle down," said Miss Dawes.

"Imogen Moreno, pleased to meet you," she gave him a smug smile. Imogen offered him a handshake but all Owen did was glare at her hand and then at her eyes. "I was just kidding," she offered him the fakest laughed he had ever heard.

"Whatever." Owen rolled his eyes, shrugged, and went back to his seat. Miss Dawes resumed back to teaching.

Imogen wrote on a blank piece of paper and attached a piece of tape on top. She taped it on to Owen's back. Abruptly, he turned around, mistaking it as somebody trying to get his attention.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry, again," lied Imogen. Owen gave her no response.

At the end of the day, Imogen opened her locker and shoved her books inside. All of a sudden, she realized Owen was leaning against the locker next to hers.

"Can I help you, Owen Milligan?"

"Yeah, I was just wondering why everyone's been staring at me ever since you patted me on the back during English?"

"Well, everyone stares at me. Maybe you interacting with me gave you that je ne sais pas that I have."

"First of all, it's je ne sais quoi. Second of all, people stare at you because you're a freak. Third of all, what did you do to me? Did you put something on my back?" Owen tried to turn his head around and looked like a dog chasing its tail in the process.

"Okay, stop!" Yelled Imogen. "You're making me dizzy."

"Then tell me what you did!"

"I'll tell you, on one condition."

"What?"

"First of all, stop making lists. Second of all, stop making lists. Third of all, stop making lists. I hate it when people do that." Imogen grabbed a book from her locker and shoved it into her bag.

"Whatever, just tell me what you did," said Owen, impatiently.

"Yoink," Imogen pulled off the piece of paper taped to Owen's back and handed it to him.

Owen examined the paper and saw a phone number on it, "Who's number is this?" He asked.

"Mine," said Imogen.

"Why?" Owen hesitantly asked.

"So you can call me."

"Why would I want to do that?"

Imogen stepped closer to him, "We all know that no guy can resist a freak." She gave him a suggestive smile and walked away. Owen smirked to himself and slid Imogen's number into his pocket.

A week later:

Owen put his arm around Imogen, "you know I think I'm starting to like your stupid habits."

"Well if you're going to be my boyfriend, then you better love them, Owen Milligan."

"See, like that stupid habit of calling everybody by their full name. I'm starting to love that."

"I'm frickin' glad to hear that."

"Yeah and I'm going to love it even more when you yell out both my first and last name when you orgasm."