Chapter 1-

I walked into my biology class and turned my head. There on the whiteboard was two stick figures of a male and female, forced to link hands With little x's on where the private parts where meant to be. On the board was a little invitation to the class. "Welcome to the human reproduction. [Sex]" Great a new topic. On sex. Who's excited? Not me.

At my side, my best friend Carly said "This is exactly why the school puts no camera phones in the school rules. We could take one shot, post it on the eZine and Bam. The school would outlaw this subject."

"Why Carly, I would've sworn you've been looking forward to this topic for a very long time."

Carly lowered her eyelashes and smiled wickedly "This class isn't going to teach me what I don't already know"

"With Pete?"

"Oh don't you know it."

Our biology teacher, Coach Bruton, walked in. "Seats team!" Everybody walked to the seat where they normally were. "It may not have occurred to you kids that sex is more then a fifteen minute trip to the back of the car. It's science. And what is science?"

"Boring"

"The only class I don't care about"

Coach's eyes tracked down the front row. He had to stop at me. "Sam?"

"Ummm… A subject?"

Roll of the eyes. "What else?"

"A study of something"

"More detail"

God PLEASE kill me. "Science is an investigation?"

"Yes. Science requires us to transform into spies. Good sleuthing takes practice"

"So does sex." A back-of-room comment.

"And that won't be apart of tonight's homework. Sam you've been sitting beside Carly since the beginning of the year"

"Yeah. And?"

"And I bet you know quite a bit about each other"

Carly kicked my leg under the table. I knew what she meant with that action. We were best friends and lived by the "No Secret" policy. Carly was a dark brunette with brown eyes. She was a girly girl but not so much that she made me want to puke. And I was the smokey-blue eyed, blonde curly hair chic. My curly hair has been unbeatable, for my 15 years of life, against every fight with some of the best flatirons. She was my un-twin. My real twin was some school in some American state.

"And I bet each of you knows the person sitting beside you well enough. You did pick the seats for a reason right? Familiarity. Well guess what? The best sleuths don't familiarize themselves. Which is why we're going to create a new seating plan. Everyone in the right hand of the table stay where you are. People on the left move up one."

Carly began to open her mouth but I beat her to it. "What the hell? It's April. As in, it's almost the end of the year. You can't pull this sort of crap now"

Coach showed a small, evil smirk. One of those smirks I could slap until it was erased from his face. "I can pull this sort of 'crap' any time I want. And if you don't pass this subject you'll be back with me, and in the same position."

Smart arse.

Carly scowled her famous scowl at him. You know the whiny, whingy kind of scowl? Apparently Coach didn't see it. Carly shoved her notebook into her bag and ripped the zipper. I smiled at her and gave a small farewell wave. Then I turned to check who would be my new partner. I knew everyone except for one. The transfer. He's in our year but Coach never called on him. He sat on the table behind me and on the left. Great. He had short light-ish brown hair with chocolate eyes, which were holding a steady gaze forward. I didn't for one second believe he would sit in class and just stare into space the whole time. He was thinking something and it seemed like I would never know. He put his books and equipment down and sat on the chair.

"Hi. I'm Sam."

His chocolate eyes bore into mine. His lips tilted up slightly. My heart fumbled a bit and in that pause a feeling of gloomy darkness seemed to slide like a shadow over me. It vanished in an instance, but I was still staring at him. His face wasn't friendly. It was a smile that spelled trouble. With a promise.

I stared at the whiteboard, hoping that the pictures would just start talking to me. Actually no. That would mean I'm crazier than just then.

"Now human reproduction can be a sticky subject-" cue the chorus of ew's "And it requires mature handling. And like all science, the best approach is to learn by sleuthing. For the rest of class, practice this technique with your new partner. Tomorrow bring a write-up copy of your discoveries and believe me, I'm going to check for authenticity. This is biology people, not English, so don't even think about fictionalizing your answers. I want to see real interaction and teamwork." You could hear the or else in his words.

I sat still. I had tried to be polite and look how far that got me. I wrinkled my nose trying to figure out what he smelt like. Cigarettes? No. Something richer, fouler.

Cigars.

I looked at the clock counting the minutes left till end of period. I had my eyes pinned forward, but I heard the soft glide of his pen. He was writing. What though? Sitting together for five minutes did not qualify that he knew everything about me. Stealing a look towards him, I saw half his paper already filled out.

"What are you writing?"

"And she speaks English. A new one to add to the list." Douche bag.

"What did you write?" I demanded.

He reached for my unused paper, and crumpled it into a ball. Then he threw it across the room and into the trash can behind Coach's table.

I stared at the can a moment, locked between disbelief and anger. Then I flipped a new page open in my notebook and wrote down 'Douche bag' straight away.

"What's your name?"

No response. He was getting on my nerves.

"Your name?"

"Call me Freddie. I mean it. Call me."

He winked when he said it so I was pretty sure he was making fun of me.

"What do you do in your leisure time?" I asked.

"I don't have free time."

"Oh and are you an angel as well? I'm assuming this assignment is graded so do me a favor?"

He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. "What kind of favor?"

"You know what I mean"

"Free time. Hmm. I take pictures"

I printed Photography underneath my first line.

"I wasn't finished," he said. "I've got quite a collection going for an eZine columnist who believes there's truth in eating organic, who writes poetry in secret, and who shudders at the thought of having to choose between Stanford, Yale, and what's the big one with the H?"

I stared at him shaken at how dead on he was. I didn't get the feeling it was a lucky guess. He knew. How was the big question.

"But you won't end up going to any of them"

"I won't?"

"Even though you'd thrive at all three schools, you scorn them for being cliché of achievement. Passing judgment is your third biggest weakness," he said.

"And my second?"

"You don't know how to trust people. Actually you do. Just all the wrong people."

"And my first?"

"You keep life on a short lead"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're scared of the things you can't change"

The hair at the nape of my neck. Who was this guy? I wasn't going to step down. Puckett's don't do that. I just need to show him that he can't run me.

"Do you sleep naked?" he asked.

My mouth threatened to drop. "You're hardly the person I'd tell."

"No I wouldn't would I? You don't sleep naked. But in your bra and underwear right?"

I bet he's the new Edward Cullen. Stupid sparkly idiot.

"Yeah. I still wouldn't tell you."

"Ever been to a shrink?"

"No" I lied. I was actually in counseling with the school psychologist, Dr. Drew. It wasn't by choice. Apparently I have anger problems.

"Done anything illegal?"

"Does going over the speed limit by 2 k's equal illegal?"

"Nah. Not yet."

"Why don't you ask something like.. What kind of music do you like?"

"I could guess and get it right."

"No you wouldn't"

"You like ABBA. You find their band name funny."

"Incorrect." Another lie. ABBA did sound funny. Ha. ABBA.

"What's that?" He pointed to my wrist with his pen.

"Birthmark." That wasn't a lie.

"Looks like a scar. You suicidal Sam?"

"No. I'm not."

"Parents married or divorced?"

"Married in a sense. I live with my mum."

"And dad?"

"He passed away last year."

"How?"

"Murdered. You know gun, knife, bashing. Its usual in Seattle. Can we sway far, FAR, away from this topic?"

"I'm sorry. It must've been hard."

Like you wouldn't believe. I looked into his eyes again. They weren't as cold and icy as before. The rims now were softer.

The bell rang and that cold icy haze came back straight away to his eyes.

"Wait," I called out. "Hey!" He turned around and looked at me. "Freddie! I didn't get anything on you?"

He came back and grabbed my hand. He then wrote something and walked off.

I looked down at my palm and saw the seven digit phone number written in red ink. I just stared at my hand, looking like I didn't know how to speak.

At last I said, "I'm busy tonight."

"So am I." He grinned and walked off.

I stood nailed to the spot, digesting what had just happened. Did he eat up all the time questioning me on purpose? So I'd fail? Did he think one flashy grin would redeem him? Yes, I thought. Yes he did.

"I won't call!" I called after him. "Your phone won't be ringing. Not today. Not – ever!"

"Have you finished your column for tomorrows deadline?" Carly was standing next to me. "I'm thinking of writing about the injustice of seating charts. I was paired with a girl who just said she finished lice treatment this morning. I mean, talk about gross."

"My new partner" I said pointing to the back of the annoying jerk named Freddie. He had one of those annoyingly confident walks. The kind you find paired with faded T-shirts and a cowboy hat. Freddie wore neither. He was a dark-Levi's-dark-henley-dark-boots kind of guy.

"The new kid? Smart that one is. Cute also."

"Yeah well the dork gives me the creeps. He knew the music I like without any hints."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. He just said 'ABBA'" I poorly imitated his low voice.

"Lucky guess?"

"He knew other things."

"Like what?"

I sighed. "Like how to get under my skin," I said. "I'm going to tell Coach he has to swap us back."

"Go for it. I could use a hook for my next eZine article. 'Tenth Grader Fights Back.' Better yet, 'Seating Chart Takes Slap in the Face.' Mmm. I like it."

At the end of the day, I was the one who took the slap. Coach shot down my plea to rethink the seating chart. It appeared I was stuck with Freddie.

For now.

A/N first chapter :o 1,913 words. shoot. I actually got the idea from Hush Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick. Like half of this was from her book and its based from it. I'm starting on the second chapter as we speak. Hope you guys enjoy the book =]

See the button? Well his name is Review. He looks being pat. You can pat him by clicking him, then typing. :o Yes. Just like that. Good job. High five? No? Okay Dx