SIMON
Don't hurt him the way Agatha's hurting me. I want to say it. I want him to know it won't last. Him being like this. I want him to know one day he'll look at Dylan the way Agatha looks at me. And Dylan's going to hurt when that happens. And I'll be to blame for putting them together.
I can feel it. The tears on the brim of my eyelids. I don't want them to be there. Not now. Not in front of Baz. I don't want him to know. I don't want him to know about what's happening between Agatha and me. I don't want him to know how she's slipping away. How I'm slowly losing her. I don't want him to know how jealous I am when I see him with Dylan. How much both Baz and Agatha are hurting me right now.
It's not like Baz is my friend. He doesn't have to care. He's not supposed to care. We're sworn enemies. We're supposed to fight at the end and kill each other. He's evil, I'm the Chosen One. The Crucible cast us together for laughs in our first year, I'm sure of it. (Probably not. I doubt the Crucible's sentient. But if it were it would have cast us together as a sick joke.)
Baz is standing completely still. He's staring down his long, slightly bent, nose at me. (I almost regret punching him in the face that time. Except he makes even a crooked nose look bloody good.) His expression is pure coldness. I fucked up, once again. I really am the worst Chosen One there ever was.
"Baz, I didn't mean-" he waves his hand dismissively at me. "I've got to get ready for Football practice. I'll see you out there, I'm sure."
He goes to his closet and grabs out his Football uniform, then disappears into the loo.
Leave it to me, Simon bloody Snow, to fuck everything up.