"Ugh."

No response. Four heads, fixed straight ahead. Like fucking zombies.

Johanna tries again, this time with an exaggerated groan. "Ugh."

The prep with shiny hair slowly turns in his chair. He levels Johanna with a bored gaze, and she simply shrugs. "I'm stir-crazy."

"Thought you'd be used to this by now," he returns drily. "You know. Since you spend every weekend here in detention."

Johanna rolls her eyes so hard that she feels a headache coming on. "Oh, look at you, being all fucking superior," she drawls. "You're in detention, too, asshole."

The prep stares at her blankly for a beat, green eyes searching hers for a weak spot, a chink in the armor, as it were. "I don't make a habit of being a fuck-up," he says smoothly.

If Johanna were anyone else, she'd let that comment sting. She might flip him off or tell him to suck a dick just to mask the pain. But her wounds have scabbed over with the passage of time, and she just doesn't care what this guy thinks of her.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asks him instead. His confusion registers in his wide green eyes.

"Finnick Odair," he says, but it's with an air of self-importance. And a little disbelief, like he can't imagine that someone in this whole goddamn school doesn't know who he is. When she cocks an eyebrow aggressively, he keeps talking. "I'm president of the student council."

As if Johanna actually gave a shit about student government, or any of those demented extracurriculars. She can think of plenty of other things she'd rather be doing with her time, and none of them would fit anywhere on a college application. Which is fine by her.

"Okay, so I'm a fuck-up," she allows. "But, unlike you, people actually give a shit about me."

Finnick's face flushes angrily. Johanna cackles.

"Would you shut up?" the blond kid in front of her asks flatly, without bothering to turn around. She thinks that maybe he's afraid to look at her again. Afraid of meeting her wicked glare. "Some of us are trying to write an essay."

She takes in his varsity wrestling jacket. Immediately decides that she detests him more than this smarmy student council guy, basically because Finnick Odair has decidedly gorgeous eyes and a ridiculous body. Even if he insists on wearing a polo shirt.

"Ooh, the Incredible Hulk wants us to be quiet, guys," Johanna calls tauntingly. The guy's shoulders tense, but he keeps facing forward. So she tries another tack.

"He's gotta focus. When you have a vocabulary of like, six words, it's really fucking hard to write a two thousand word essay. Right?" Now she drops her voice a few octaves, adopting the tonality of a caveman. "'Me do bad things. Me feel sorry.'" She grins wickedly at the back of his reddening neck.

The kid whirls around in his chair. Eyes flashing, filled with rage. "Fuck off!"

"Whoa there, jockstrap. I was just kidding around."

"You know, you're a real bitch, Johanna," Finnick snarls, jumping to the kid's defense. "Everybody's already miserable enough. If you'd do us all a favor and shut the hell up—"

Johanna leaps to her feet, clambering over the desk on her knees to reach Finnick. "Make me."

"We're not supposed to get out of our seats!" the redhead squeaks from the next table over.

Finnick's eyes are hard as he gets up out of his chair. "I'm not fighting you, Johanna."

"Good. Maybe Schwarzenegger over here can actually throw a punch for you."

"Screw you," the wrestler snarls, but the pink tips of his ears peeking out from under his mop of blond curls belie his biting tone.

"What the hell is going on in there?" Snow bellows from his office across the hall. The room rapidly descends into silence as everyone settles back into their seats. But Johanna stays perched atop the desk.

There's palpable tension in the air. But Johanna's not about to apologize for causing a stir.

"Feel free to hate me," she says as she lays down flat across the desk's surface and folds her arms behind her head. "But you know that I'm just being honest."

…