Seriously, if you guys have any suggestions for future chapters we'd love to hear 'em.

Chase's Pov

The entire cafeteria seemed to go silent in her presence. And it's hardly ever when the whole school society seemed to agree on the same thing at the same time.

But when Tina Walters, official new girl, came into the room, it was more than one of those rare moments.

Guys fawned at her feet; girls gaped from a distance; she was just that perfect.

My girlfriend would've pounced if it wasn't for Rachel locking her to her seat and keeping her there. Our whole table looked at her. No one but Christine ever showed any sign of interest toward me, especially one as popularity defined as Tina Walters. Suffice to say, it put everyone into shock.

"What are you doing here, Barbie?" Christine spat grumpily from her seat. She may not have been able to move, but that didn't mean her mouth couldn't. "Shouldn't you and Ken Doll be wandering around your dream house like idiots? Or does he do that without you, too?"

Tina squinted leaning in her direction like she couldn't figure out what she was looking at. "That's right." She pulled back with a nod, smirking smugly. "Poor peasants like you don't understand the high life."

"And what makes you think I'm poor?"

"For one thing"—Tina gestured toward her clothes, which I thought were cute and had no problem telling Christine so this morning—"your clothes. I mean, I know there's such a thing a casual, but dumpster diving is too far."

This time it was Bree who spoke up. "Look here, Princess." She stood calmly from her seat, hand intertwined at her stomach. "I suggest you move along—quickly—before you start something that doesn't need to be started." Bree raised an eyebrow, smiling coldly as she stared Tina down. "After all, I'm such you'll want a fresh, clean slate at your new school." Then she smiled a bit more brightly. "Welcome come to Mission Creek high school—enjoy your stay."

Tina scoffed, turning in her humongous heels and breezing out the cafeteria doors.

The table is silent before Rachel spoke up, high-fiving Bree. "Wow, dude. Remind me to give you a call when I need to break up with my boyfriend."

September 11th 2012

It's been a week and things at school were already intense. Apparently Tina had three classes with Christine and was in her lab partner in biology. Plus, Tina appeared to have made some minions in her few days at Mission Creek, and no one was too thrilled about that once they got past her looks. They were basically made-up killer sharks looking for prey on every girl—and sometimes, even the occasional guy—wherever they turned. It was sickening, but grudgingly impressive how quick they worked.

I was sitting downstairs at the McLean residence. Trina was in her room, and the rest of the girls were in Rachel's room, doing their fashion vlog or whatever while they forced me to wait down here because today was the big day they tried focusing on male style.

I really think that just want to torture me more because what they did at the mall wasn't enough.

Their parents left before we came over after school, making the house empty of any adults able to stop my volunteer work—as the girls insisted on calling it—from happening. Oh joy.

Fifteen minutes past before I'm jumped. Someone, who was really good at hiding themselves, blindfolded me, bound me for Christ's sake, and then forcefully dragged me upstairs and then shoved me into Rachel's room. Whoever did so probably made sure to keep me off camera or, their viewers would've gotten a bit suspicious.

"And now, our special guest star…" Rachel began. I squirmed and get a kick to my hamstring as my restraints are removed.

My sight given to me just in time to watch Christine swing the camera toward herself, smiling coyly as she added, "The absolute love of my life…"

Rachel and Sammie rolled their eyes while Ashley cooed from somewhere off to my right. So that meant Bree was the one to practically kidnap me upstairs. Oh, fun.

Bree gave me a shove, and I stumbled on camera, smiling awkwardly with a hand in my hair as I wave to the camera. Rachel pushed me backward, causing me to take an unexpected seat on her bed. I crossed my arms as the girls started to fuss at my clothes.

"Now girls," Janelle narrated as they got to work, stripping me of my plaid shirt and picking at my hair. "We all know that, unlike the girl population, all boys dress somewhat similar—whether it is their ripped jeans, gelled hair, or obsession with high tops. But we, or Rachel as she forced me to say, have discovered a way to turn you yuck into a hunk."

I snort at her mini speech and try to shoot her a look through the barrier Rachel, Sammie, and Ashley had decided to create around me. I could hear Christine and the others giggle at my torture as they watch in amusement.

It's long, dragged out minutes when they finally declare themselves done. They pull away and retreat and I heard gasps. That either meant I looked better than when I was downstairs or worse. Nonetheless, I knew I wasn't going to like it.

Christine panned closer, focusing on the top of my head before working down to my tighter-than-before shoes—and to think all the girls in our school would see me as a big guy doll. And sadly, that's what I was.

"Actually," Bree called from the doorway, pursing her lips in thought—like the thought of complimenting me was the last thing she expected to do today. "He doesn't look half bad." She stepped closer and ran a judgmental hand over my newly spiked hair. Her face was critically as she looked to the designers. "Brush or comb?"

Ashley rolled her lips in her mouth before she answered, looking proud as she leaned forward, hand on hip. "A brush to smooth down the sides a little and a comb to give the front and the crown of his head the little spike."

"His clothes are pretty sexy looking," Christine commented with no shame. I smirked as she winked slyly at me from behind her camera. But despite her comments—no doubt just to get me flustered so all of YouTube could see—I still needed to see how clownish I looked. Even with knowing these girls for nearly two years, I had no trust in them handling my appearance whatsoever. And I doubt they could blame me.

Standing from the bed, I hurried to a card table they had set up next to her full body mirror and grabbed a hand mirror, holding it out in front of me.

And must I say, oh my freaking God.

My hair looked like it always did: spiky. But they did something, mostly likely gel—the cool, oily liquid they massaged into my scalp—tipped the edges of my hairs darker, giving it a more casual, melodramatic teenager look.

Satisfied, I set down the hand mirror and turn to the one hanging on her closet down.

To my total surprise that didn't completely tear my old clothes to shreds. They changed me into a casual brick red V-neck (for Christ's sakes, don't they realize my chest was on camera during all of this?) and just tightened my belt—not that I was sagging in the first place.

"So I don't look like a complete disaster," I admitted with a shrug.

Janelle stepped in front of the camera again, this time using a stray hairbrush as a microphone. "That is how a boy says he likes something." She rolled her eyes. "My God, they will never let go of their pride."

I didn't protest because even I knew it was true.

September 14th 2012

Everything was going pretty well for a Friday morning. Nothing too major and scarring had been started—at least, not yet. Because as much as I love my girlfriend, even I couldn't deny we always had a way of finding ourselves involved in heavy drama. Whether we wanted to be or not.

But Tina and Christine had the same free period and it's pretty much amazing they haven't bitten each other's heads off yet—it could very well happen in the near future, and no one's denying it.

It's after the last bell of the day when it happened. Christine, Bree, Rachel, and I were prepared to walk home when Christine claimed she forgot her homework in her locker and went to get.

Five minute passed (really seven if you count how long it took for her to get to her locker) before the screaming began. Crowds were formed and we had to push our way through several waves of students before bursting into the center, where my girlfriend stood face to face with Tina, looking outraged—red faced, white fists balled at her side, and eyes narrowed so far, it looked like she was squinting.

"You know what, Barbie? You should back off before someone gets hurt." Christine stepped closer, poking her opponent in the chest with her index finger. "And I swear to you it isn't going to be me."

Tina looked unfazed, tapping her gold high heel (Jesus, how can she walk in those?) against the floor, before she did something startling.

She slapped Christine.

The halls were wiped silent as the slap of skin against skin rang through each student, everyone looking shell shocked. Christine stood there, head still turned from the impact. Her hand slowly crept up to her cheek, feeling the flush skin.

"This proves how much of a bitch you really are," she hissed humorlessly with a laugh. "Do you know how cliché you're acting?" Christine stepped closer, each girl inches away from each other. "If you were really all that, you'd use something a bit more original, wouldn't you?"

Tina was about to retort when a loud, thunderous shout rocketed off the walls. "What's going on here?"

Principal Perry pushed her way vividly through the throngs of students. Judging by her expression, she was not pleased to have the whole school dawdling about several minutes after the bell.

"You two. My office—now."

Christine wouldn't tell me what happened. But I knew that it had something to do with the school play—not that the school was famous for throwing on plays. It was quite rare that they ever did one that wasn't written by a student beforehand.

"Babe," Christine said calmly. We were laying side by side, staring—or in Christine's case, glaring—up at my ceiling. We've been doing it for a while and sometimes I forgot to blink and my eyes start to burn. Go figure. "If you don't quit asking, I won't be afraid to punch something, and I can't guarantee it won't be you."

Have I ever mentioned how violent my girlfriend could be?

"Okay, fine," I said, dropping it—for now. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Do you have any Shakespeare books?"

I paused, not expecting the question. "I didn't know you had a thing for old romantic novels," I decided to counter finally.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Chase," Christine snorted, looking at me before darting her eyes back to the ceiling. "And my love my romance seems to be one of them."

I sat up, looking around my room before crawling off. I knew one of Davenports many extra rooms had to hold a library. "Well, come on then," I said, heading to the day. I was not going to do this alone. "Better get to exploring."

When exiting my room and going through the living room, we saw Bree lounging on the couch, looking mildly interested as she flipped through a magazine.

"Would you happen to know where to find a library?" Christine asked nonchalantly.

Bree didn't look up as she answered. "Fourth hall, second door on you left."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "How did you know that already?" I asked.

"Oh, God, I really need to get a life," Bree groaned as she frowned down at her magazine. "And a boyfriend…"

"If it comes to it, you'd be awesome at making maps of the house. Your friends are always getting lost."

She rolled up her magazine and swatted me in the shoulder with it. "Shut up and leave."

Christine pulled me upstairs, counting the halls as she passed them. She stopped in front of the fourth one. It wasn't wide as the others; I could tell it wasn't used often. There were only ten doors—five on each side, as opposed to the halls with fourteen doors and seven on each side.

She latched onto my wrist and pulled me down the hall, muttering until she reached the second door on the left. When she stopped, my girlfriend crossed her arms. "What should I be expecting when I open this door?"

"Like I know."

"Gee, what a help you are."

Hesitantly, Christine pushed the door open and stepped inside. The instant change I noticed was the carpet and instead of tile floor like the hall. Huge, ceiling to floor oak book shelves stood tall on each side. A black marble desk was pushed up against the window facing us, an old fashioned desk lamp and dinosaur of a computer—with a jumble of wire twisted together and snaking across the floor until they reached an outlet on the wall feet away from it.

"Man," Christine said, waving her hand in front of her face. "Even the school library doesn't smell this…old." She gave me a crooked grin as she ran a finger across the desk top and cringed when she saw the layer of dust on her fingertip. "Are you sure this room isn't from the eighteenth century?"

"Please," I said, "he probably had this before he was genius and abandoned it when he made all of his inventions."

I walked over the one of the shelves, running my hand across all the spines. All the titles were in alphabetical order, easy to find and easy to put away. The room was pretty big, twenty bookshelves in all.

"You check that side, I got this side!" Christine called from where she stood, flipping through a frail, yellowed book.

I shrugged and I kept going. Since all the books were done alphabetically by title, I head toward the middle and search for the R's.

"Come on…come on." I squinted kneeling down to the last shelf and focusing on each spine before I let out a cry of victory as I yanked out the worn book from between its neighbors. "I found it!" I held the weathered book high above my head, popping out from the shelves in triumph.

Christine sighed. "Finally," she said, voice dripping with relief. "This aging, old book smell is killing my lungs."

We hurried back out into the hall, I handing over the book to my girlfriend. Christine eyed it as she ran her thumb over the cover.

"Well, that's just great. Now all I need is a translator; seriously, who can understand this stuff?"