No Naley! Just kidding :)
Thanks so much for your continued support!
"This is a waste of time," the guy directly behind her grumbles loudly.
"Lighten up, Mr. Jameson," Mr. Michaels returns, his wisecrack tone causing chuckles around the room. "Think of it as an experiment after our discussion about self-image. I have taken the liberty of writing your names, so come on up. Gentlemen, choose a paper from the white container, and ladies, take from the green. No swapping."
"What's the point to this?" Russ Weyland asks.
"The point is that we are going to find out what your peers think about you."
"Why?"
"Just be a sport, Mr. Weyland, and pick a paper. Write one word beneath the name you have and we'll read them out loud. Okay, everyone ready? Let's get started."
He drops the containers on his desk, ushering the students to stand up.
"And kids…" Mr. Michaels looks around the room like in caution. "Be decent and refrain from saying things like 'hot.'"
The class laughs, and they all push away from their desks to pick up a paper from the respective containers. Murmurs, soft laughs and knowing glances travel around as they scribble into their papers.
Haley's pen lingers over the name on her paper. Manuel Zorrilla.
They are acquainted, when Manuel worked at the Tutor Centre for a time before quitting due to his commitments on the school band. Haley knows that he's diabetic, he has a boisterous laugh, and he plays the cello impressively. 'Nice' would be too generic to describe him, and reflecting on the conversations she's had with Manuel in the past, she settles for 'confident.'
In five minutes, Mr. Michaels has walked around the room collecting the completed assignment. Perched on the edge of the table, he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. "So who is our first participant in this experiment?"
He dips his hand into the white container. "Ladies first, and we have…Glenda Farrell. Goth."
The red-haired Glenda in the first row across the room rolls her eyes at no one, sliding farther in her seat, her hair falling over the side of her face.
Regardless of the teacher's directions, 'hot' and 'fine' have been used in plenty as he reads from one piece of paper after another. Others are described as shy, loud, short-tempered and nerdy, but most of them rate each other on a physical scale.
"I really do hope that I'm not about to read a descriptive word associated with physical appearance," Mr. Michaels says, plucking out a paper from the container with girls' names.
"Can you blame us, Mr. M? We see things at face value," Russ says with some cheekiness, his words earning approving chuckles across the room.
"I caution you about being shallow, Mr. Weyland," the teacher throws back with gentle warning, like an old man would at a youngster who has no knowledge about life.
"So far, this task shows that a majority of you do see your classmates in their physical appearance. I'm not judging you, but I urge you to see beyond the surface. Choose your cliché; still waters run deep, don't judge a book by its cover, people are not what they may seem. Whichever one it is, at one point in time, they have been proven true. Haley James."
Haley's stomach clenches, anxiety beginning to heave within her. She doesn't like being put on the spot.
"Social climber."
A chorus of "oohs" and "ouches" rip through the room. She expected some vicious things, but that never even came to mind. Except for Manuel, there's no one in the class she speaks to or has close association with.
She keeps her face evened out, not moving a muscle as she looks up at the teacher. The status of her reputation doesn't give her ulcers, but being thought of as someone who is out for social prominence has rattled her cage.
"Whoever wrote this needs to revise the basics of English because social climber makes two words. Therefore, Miss James is viewed as social by all of you."
She smiles along with everyone, but without any kind of humour, her brain wheeling as she shortlists who would think of her as a social climber. There's only one person who comes to mind.
When Mr. Michaels moves on to the next name, she glances around the room, searching for the one she thinks is responsible. Her eyes find Tim and the devious half-smirk on his lips as he glowers at her.
The only time she's encountered him since the party at Vegas' has been in class, and they never talk or acknowledge each other. Nathan took to sitting at her table in the cafeteria, despite the disregard that was a constant companion between him and Lucas. Could Tim be even angrier about that? His friend shunning their regular table to sit with her, his girlfriend?
The bell rings while she's still in thought but she doesn't move from her seat. Students pass her as they aim for the door, and his face is not amongst theirs. He's usually one of the first out of the classroom, but it's as if he is waiting for her like she is him.
Mr. Michaels eventually leaves, and she hears the grating of a desk's legs on the floor in the corner of the room. Her palms resting over her books, she waits for him to get to her.
"I get it. You don't like me," she says through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice low and even. "You don't have to be so nasty about it."
Tim stops, turning around to glare down at her. "Nasty is all I know, you drip."
Bearing down the insult, Haley stands, wanting to level the playing field; he's literally looking down his nose at her.
"Is it just me you have a problem with or all of Nathan's girlfriends?"
The sinister way he's looking at her intensifies. "Girlfriend? Don't get too comfortable."
Haley's anger flares. Who does he think he is to be judge and jury on her relationship with Nathan?
"What's your problem? You want Nathan to yourself? You want to date him, is that it?"
His eyes are flashing as he takes a step towards her.
"Let me guess," she starts sarcastically, "You heard that we went bowling and you were not invited, so you've been pouting about it. Have you been going crazy wondering if he gave me a promise ring?"
"Say one more word and I will break your face," he snarls in fury.
His voice is eerie, sending a jolt of fear through her. In that moment, she knows that Tim would actually do it; he would hit her.
"I don't know what he sees in you, I don't know what the hell it is you've done to him that he's acting like such a lovesick puppy, but he'll drop you eventually. You're not good enough for him."
She backs up, tilting her head to the side. The thought of Tim being in love with Nathan is shaping up in her mind. Is she crazy to even consider it?
"As opposed to whom, you?"
Tim lets out a short, dry laugh that is more ominous than comical. "I'm as straight as an arrow, but I hate it when nobodies like you latch onto a life you have no right to have."
Haley wants to laugh in his face, unending laughs at the insinuation that all Nathan is to her is a ticket to popularity. "So I'm not popular enough to be worthy of his time? Pretty enough? Wealthy enough?"
"All of the above."
The corner of her lips rise in a small smile of challenge. As hard as Tim tries, she got the guy and she's not letting him go any time soon.
"You think this experiment will make me break up with him? Not gonna happen, Tim. You can call me a social climber, a drip or whatever you've been drumming up to throw at me, but I'm not going anywhere."
Tim looks about ready to whack her. They hold gazes for a minute before he smirks scornfully. Wordlessly, he shows her his back and leaves the room.
There's a deafening silence as muddled thoughts run about in her mind. Haley slumps back down in her seat. Her heart is racing wildly, eyes bugged out as they fall to her still-open books. She never saw it coming, so much hostility with the threat of physical violence just because she's dating someone.
She nearly falls off the chair when she hears her name being called. Lucas is rushing towards her desk, waving the clump of papers in his hand.
"Sorry I ran late. I got you the notes," he says, taking the desk beside hers.
Controlling the trembling of her hand, Haley pretends to read through the pages, when in actuality her nerves are quaking from head to toe. "No problem."
The touch on her arm shoots through her like a dart, and she jerks her focus back to Luke. He's frowning, looking worried.
"You okay?"
Pasting on a smile, Haley turns away from him to the same spot on the page she was pretending to read. "Yeah. Strange lesson today, that's all. Thanks for this. Lunch?"
In the noisy cafeteria, they find Peyton already at their usual table, a small bag of peanuts on top of her textbooks. Luke dumps his things on a chair and kisses her. Declining when he asks if she wants anything from the lunch line, Haley sits across from Peyton, digging into her bag for her packed lunch. She's not even hungry; that brief conversation she had with Tim has ruined her appetite.
Her eyes coast around the cafeteria to the window tables. Tim is perched on top of his table, laughing loudly over something Vegas is saying. She hates him. She hates him for being so diabolical and despicable.
Tearing her gaze away from the brown-haired jock who has managed to give her a stress ball in the pit of her stomach, Haley turns to Peyton. She's muttering in faulty German under her breath, her brow wrinkling further with every word.
"I'm assuming the cramming is not going well," Haley says, shredding off a piece of bread.
"I truly despise it that we're required to take a foreign language," Peyton grumbles without looking up.
"You may end up in Germany someday."
"Heute ist kein guter Tag," Peyton sighs, snapping her book closed and dropping it on the table.
Her eyes dart upwards as though she's mentally reciting what she's said. "Today is not a good day, mein Fräulein. My brain is so knotted that I don't even know what the hell it is I'm saying. Where's Nate?"
"Make-up literature exam. Hey, can I ask you something?"
Peyton pours out peanuts onto her palm and gives them a jiggle before popping them into her mouth. "Sure."
"Do you get along with Luke's friends?"
Peyton's momentarily silent before she nods. "I've met the guys who play at the River Court with him and they were nice, but that's about it with our interaction. You're the friend he hangs out with the most and I think we get along."
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly like she's sizing her up. "Why do you ask?"
"I have nothing in common with Nathan's friends," Haley says, avoiding answering the question.
Peyton turns in her seat to look over her shoulder at the jocks' table. "They're a tight group."
Haley's pissy mood emanates in her tone. "More like a clique that doesn't take kindly to outsiders."
"Are you talking about something specific?" Peyton asks tentatively.
"They can be jerks," Haley says, as far as she's willing to go with being truthful.
"They can be," Peyton agrees. "Someone in particular? Are they messing with you?"
"Who is messing with you?" Luke pipes up, a full tray in his hands with a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, a dinner roll, salad and a bottle of Snapple.
Haley glances briefly at Peyton before raising her eyes to Lucas.
"I didn't say that," she says, layering composure in her voice at her malleable truth. Technically, she hasn't said anything about anyone messing with her.
She catches Peyton's suspicious gaze, and a load of guilt piles on her shoulders at her evasiveness. She has convinced herself that Tim will not do anything to her.
Over lunch, Luke quizzes Peyton for her test and Haley picks at her food, managing to swallow down a few bites. Nathan doesn't show up in that time. She slips a note in his locker, telling him that she'll pass by the gym before leaving for her shift at the café. The bathroom is emptying out when she rushes in after the first bell rings. She's reaching for the latch on the stall when she hears her name mentioned. That never happens.
"…that tutor girl person. Haley."
Pausing, Haley steps away from the door slightly to listen. Who could be talking about her?
"He could date any girl he wanted, but he picked her. There's something wrong with that boy."
The voice is familiar, but she can't determine where she's heard it before. One of them laughs and the sound of zippers sliding open echo around the bathroom.
"This is the colour I was telling you about. Maybe he made a bet or something. You know, for sex."
"Please. She looks like a shrew. He'll wait forever."
They start giggling, shrilly giggles that make her shiver and ball her fists. A shrew? Just how high has the bar been raised on being a normal teenage girl?
"Weren't you friends with Peyton? I've seen them together."
Brooke. One of the girls is Brooke Davis.
"Yeah, but whatever. I don't need that backstabbing bitch around me." Brooke laughs dryly. "Looks like she got herself a replacement friend."
"Who looks like a shrew."
The girls start laughing jarringly again, the unfamiliar voice saying something about the colour of lip-gloss. It's becoming an awkward situation, embarrassment and anger bubbling within Haley. A replacement friend? How pathetic does that make her seem? And was Peyton supposed to have lived the rest of her life in misery following her fallout with her best friend?
Bracing herself, Haley slides the lock and steps out of the stall, the door creaking open. Her eyes lock on the mirror that stretches across the entire wall.
The mirror reflects two faces that are staring at her; Brooke pauses with application of her lip-gloss, and without even batting an eyelash, she looks away. Bevin's eyes are wide, like she's worried she conjured up Haley just from talking about her.
Head held high, Haley makes her way to the sinks, soaping up and washing her hands in that uncomfortable silence. Her eyes flash to Brooke's through the mirror as she crunches the paper towel over her wet hands.
"I should include shrew to the list of insults that are thrown at me," she says with a strange reasonability and calmness.
Her vulnerability when it comes to dating Nathan knows no bounds, and every day is a learning curve about having a thick skin, especially in school.
Brooke barely glances at her as she inspects her lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Something about Brooke's callous attitude tells Haley that this is not a new dance for her. "Why do I get the feeling that you're not the victim you claim to be after what happened between you and Peyton?"
Brooke's hazel eyes are fiery when they look into Haley's, anger crossing her face. She struck the nerve she was looking for.
"What the hell would you know about it?"
Haley shrugs casually. "Enough. I think you knew that you had no chance with Caleb from the beginning. Even so, you ended up hating Peyton because you didn't understand why he liked her more than he liked you."
Brooke strikes her as the kind of person who would be greatly annoyed when a guy didn't return her affections. She takes much effort with her appearance, her designer clothes and shoes, her impeccable makeup, and attention is an expected reward for being at her best. Whether it's a gushing, breathy word from a friend about her newest jeans or an appreciative look from a guy, recognition is expected in Brooke Davis' world.
"Shut the hell up, nobody," Brooke shoots angrily.
Suppressing a retort, Haley shrugs again unapologetically and throws away the paper towel in the bin. She breezes past them and walks out of the bathroom. Never will she attempt to make friends with Nathan's friends. Obviously, they want nothing to do with her, and unless Nathan sets up a bowling night for all of them, she won't bother trying to be nice. They can all go to hell.
"You're working me too hard," Nathan whines, falling back on the couch.
From the floor, Haley lightly slaps at his leg without looking up. "Are you complaining about your improved grades?"
Unable to make time for their session this morning, they postponed it for the evening, and they've been studying at the Scotts' beach house. It's a much different environment than when it's littered with partying students and plastic cups, the place very roomy and showing amazing views.
At Nathan's lengthy silence, Haley pauses from her work to turn her head to him. His eyes are closed, hand over his stomach, and he appears to be asleep. Everything about him is relaxed; thick, dark lashes lay against smooth cheeks, his chest rising rhythmically with each breath he takes in and releases.
"Nathan?"
He fidgets slightly, mumbling in answer like he can hear her through his passed out state. He looks so peaceful that she hates to disturb him.
"Nathan."
He jerks at her hand on his thigh, eyelashes fluttering. He lazily opens his eyes and squints at her, and then blinks and raises himself upright. Smiling apologetically, he scrubs a palm over his face.
"I wouldn't be like this if someone hadn't kept me up until midnight on the phone."
Haley pinches him playfully. "You called me, remember?"
"Nope. I don't think so."
Curling her hand into a fist over his knee, she props her chin on it to look up at him. She studies him, his brows pulling together after a moment at her unwavering gaze.
"What?"
He called her after a particularly intense argument with his father, profanities spilling out of him for a while before she could understand what it is he was saying.
"Last night when you called…"
Nathan offers a faint smile, his eyes, however, lacking warmth. "He just wanted to pick a fight, and as usual, my flaws were the target."
"Is that why we came here? Are you avoiding him?"
"Needing space is more like it."
He snorts, pushing the books on his lap to the cushion. There are those times the fatigue in him extends right to the core of him, and today is one of those days. Haley uncurls her fist, resting her palm on his knee and giving it a light, comforting pat.
"Want to hear a secret?" he says.
At her nod, he turns towards the French doors, face looking haggard. "I'm afraid I may never break free from him."
She can hear the defeat in the heat of his admission.
"But then I think of graduating and going away to college, and it gives me hope."
With a bitter laugh, he kneads at the back of his neck. "Two more years. Exactly one year and six months, and I can be free of him."
This is the Nathan she sees, the one who sheds his armour and doesn't put up a happy-go-lucky front like he does for everyone else, the one who tells her his secrets and shows her his vulnerabilities, the one who makes her feel brave.
"You haven't mentioned emancipation since we talked about it," she says kindly.
It was only a day ago, and even in the way he speaks with despair, it's like she hardly mentioned it and it's nowhere in his trajectory.
He sighs, resting back on the couch and looking up at the ceiling. "I don't want to do anything rash right now. I'm used to what he does."
The protests are burning her throat, protests about him self-sabotaging by letting Dan have so much power over him.
"You know what I think you should do," she states with as much casualness as she can draw together.
His gaze slides to hers, a pleading look on his face. "Can we not fight about this, Hales?" he asks softly, leaning forward just a little.
She says nothing, her clasp tight around the pen as she represses the urge to say something about him making excuses for his father's behaviour.
"No fighting," she replies mechanically.
She leans back slightly, picking up the spiral notebook over the math textbook and extending it to him.
"If you get this last one right, we can make—"
"Algebraic equations, right?" he says with a hint of eagerness, hurriedly reaching for his discarded pencil.
"You're that eager to cover sines and cosines?"
"What? You said that we'll have time to make out when I finish this."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"You assumed I was going to say that we'll make out."
His mouth curves up into a crooked grin. "How could I not? You were giving me a condition on getting the right answer. I'm a teenager, a raging beast of hormones, and you can't blame me for thinking that."
She smiles, picking up her soda and downing a sip. "A beast? Should I be running into the night?"
Nathan gets off the couch to take a seat beside her. "Your fear of me means the world to me."
Less than half an hour later, they've both wrapped up their work. Haley suggests a walk on the beach, Nathan getting up from the floor to get them a snack. He returns carrying two small cups of frozen yoghurt and two plastic, disposable spoons. She almost shrieks with glee when she reads the label on the one he hands her.
"Butterscotch and toffee? I love this one."
"I know," he says with a beguiling smile.
The boyishness of his grin is so adorable that she fists a hand in the front of his shirt, pulls him down and kisses him full on the lips. The taste of peach in his mouth has her pulling her body closer against his to sweeten the kiss.
Head slanted the other way, she teases her tongue across his lips. When his lips part, she sneaks her tongue into his mouth to play with his. With a murmur of masculine hunger, Nathan wraps his free arm across the small of her back to pull her closer still. She can feel that part of him pressing against her stomach, and a tide of satisfaction washes through her at being responsible for it.
The kiss seems to have caught him by surprise because when they break apart, there's a dazed look on his face. She's certain that she resembles a deer caught in headlights.
"Walk?" he says hoarsely between breaths.
Her spinning mind vaguely registers his question. She gives him a tiny nod, releasing her hand from his shirt and stretching her crooked fingers. She's frightened for a moment that she's beginning to enjoy this kind of sexual teasing too much.
She follows him towards the French doors, her eyes running over his frame. He stands at six-foot-two, the dark blue jeans fitting him nicely, the black shirt snug around his broad shoulders. She enjoys the fact that he is so much taller than her, so much bigger and well-built that it makes her feel inordinately feminine.
They trot down the back steps and onto the beach. The beach is deserted this time of night, a crescent moon hanging in the sky. Sticking her spoon into the melting, creamy treat, she scoops out a portion and puts it in her mouth.
"This is so good," she groans at the heavenly mixture, rolling it around in her mouth. "Wanna try?"
Nathan chuckles, dipping out half a spoonful as she holds her cup out. "'s good."
"Are you going to let me taste yours?" she asks.
He shakes his head, turning to face her and beginning to walk backwards. She catches his smirk, and spurting into action, she leaps towards him. He laughs, jogging with long strides as she tries to catch up with him. When he stops suddenly, she lands with a smack against him. He hooks an arm around her waist and twirls her around.
"Greedy little thing," she says in a teasing voice before leaning up on tiptoe to kiss him.
They stroll along the shore, talking casually while eating, later stopping on a dry mound of sand a foot away from a large chunk of driftwood. Nathan plops down on the sand, discarding his cup and bracing elbows on his knees. Haley eases beside him, stacking her cup on top of his and looking out into the endless expanse of water. Lights from several boats sparkle in the distance, soft splashes of the moving tide rippling as waves wash up and recede against the shore.
She kicks off her sandals and wriggles her toes into the sand. It's soaked and cold, and she shivers, but she doesn't mind because it still feels good.
"It's nice out here," she says softly.
She's always liked staring at the ocean, especially in the evenings. The sense of peace that washes over her as she catches the sunset or moonlight glinting on the water is breathtaking.
"Yeah."
For a few minutes, they stare out over the horizon, at the stars floating in the patch of dark sky.
Nathan seems to hesitate for a second before he asks, "What's up with you today?"
"What do you mean?" she stonewalls, tilting back her head to steal a glance at his profile.
She knows what he means, and she poses the question as she weighs her response. She's been more than distracted today since social studies class.
He turns to look at her, concern shading his features. "You've been quiet. Everything okay?"
She could just tell him about her conversation with Tim earlier in the day, but at the moment, it doesn't really matter. She's stomped down on the idea of being someone who whines about her boyfriend's friends not treating her kindly.
She gives her head a little shake before looking up at him with an enforced smile, saying softly, "I've just been thinking."
"About what?" he presses.
"About…" she starts haltingly, fixing her eyes on the sky. Heat is flaring up on her skin, but she doesn't think that she's blushing too badly.
"I found the condom in your wallet," she says quickly.
On second thought, she's running a fever. She inhales deeply and meets his gaze. The mischievous smile playing across his lips sends the blush flooding her fiercely.
"Have you thought about us…you know?"
That smile arches further into a teasing one. "'You know?'"
Haley blushes hotly, nudging him with an elbow. "Don't tease me."
"Oh, you mean sex," he whispers conspiratorially.
As she rolls her eyes, a nervous chuckle escapes her. The embarrassment that follows scorches her body; she badly needs to slap herself. They've had fascinating, exciting and near-intoxicating make-out sessions, and talking about sex shouldn't have her acting like a sixth grader.
So bravely, she raises her head to look directly at him. "Yes. Sex. Us."
His eyes blaze in response, flicking to her lips. "I have."
Her mouth goes dry, that warmth seeping through kick-starting a pulse in her gut at the riveting gaze that's pinned her in place. The moment stretches on, and in it there's testimony that they have something in common; he's not the only one who is a raging beast of hormones.
Nathan lifts his hand to her face, his thumb smoothing across her bottom lip. "We haven't been together long, but sometimes I feel like we've lost too much time already. With you, I don't give a damn about taking it slow."
She swallows hard. She's much aware of the heat flowing between them, and as much as she wants them to be together in a sexual sense, she needs to be sure that it's not only going to be a physical release. She wants and needs a hell of a lot more than that.
"I'm in awe of you, and I'm going to wait," he mutters huskily, voice deepened. "I like hanging out with you. I like finding out stuff about you. I like that we're getting to know each other without the sex, because when the right time comes, it's going to be more than just sex. It's going to mean something, and I want that."
All breath has left her. Finding her voice, she says meekly, "I want that, too. All of it. I love spending time with you and getting to know you, and…"
She cuddles closer into the embrace. "And when I'm ready, I promise to tell you instead of posting it on my social page."
He laughs, and like in slow motion, he leans forward and kisses her with tenderness. "I have no problem with that," he smiles against her mouth.
He settles his arm around her shoulders, holding her close and tucked against his side. She rests her head on his chest, nose nuzzling his neck. She wants to trust in the perfect moment and give in to the impetuous, euphoric need to spill out what her heart feels. But it's frightening that she could be the most vulnerable one if she declared her love for him and he rebuffed her.
Closing eyes to her chickenheartedness, she lifts her head, her lips finding his jaw and leaving a light kiss on it. It's still too premature to take such a leap of faith.