A/N: Remember I own nothing and please continue to forgive all my mistakes.

Thin people are easier to kidnap.
But hey are also easier to hide from a kidnapper.
Either way eat cake and if you have to take Ozempic later.

—SIGN AT THE SUGAR SHACK

Four

It took Cedes fifteen minutes in her office alone saying positive affirmations and using calming breaths then remembering that old episode of A Different World in which Debbie Allen portrayed a therapist for Whitley Gilbert. 'Relax, Relate, Release' she chanted until she was finally able to believe that Mayor Rachel Berry was as addlebrained as she looked and the rumors that she couldn't read were probably true and therefore, she would not be smart enough or perform head enough to find Cedes' Achilles heel.

She decided to restart her morning and do what she initially set out to do, but she was stalled when she saw the entire sheriff's department staff standing around Dani's desk.

Cedes cleared her throat not one not two but five times, expecting her deputies to give her their undivided attention.

When she finally got close enough to see what had the entire sheriff's office so captivated, she had to rise up on her tippy toes to see over the deputies because everyone was so much taller who were near her.

Imagine her shock when she saw why all of them were standing staring at a basket of donuts. The way the looked at the baked goods one would think they were looking at a basket of tarantulas. Or rattlesnakes. Or anthrax. She wondered if they feared all bakery items or just donuts in general.

She didn't think she was working with a bunch of lunatics. Maybe this is what the mayor was talking about when she referred to the glass cliff. Her entire department was bewitched and could not perform their duties when confronted with food.

No that could not be the case because the previous week she decided to meet one-on-one at the Lima Bean, the local version of Starbucks, with each of her deputies and her office manager. She met with everyone but one deputy who just stood her up. The other four deputies she had met with and the one administrative staff member were all present and accounted for, ready to welcome Cedes to her first day on the job. She had liked everyone and even ate pastries with some of them, so she knew it was not baked goods that they were afraid of.

"What is going on?"

One of the deputies stopped staring and turned around to her.

"Nothing, Sheriff," Deputy McCarthy said, but Cedes could see the worry lining his face.

The other deputies including Hunter ignored her presence and continued to stare at the donuts. Cedes looked closer at the donuts, growing wary of them herself.

She pinned Hunter with her best authoritative glare. "What's really going on here?"

He uttered only one word. "Donuts."

"Yes. I can see that these are donuts. They look and smell delicious. Are you all against the stigma of cops eating donuts or something?"

At that moment, she got to the front and stood between Dani and Deputy Abrams, two of the smaller people there and was closer to the table to investigate the donuts. They were obviously homemade. The donuts, not Dani and Abrams, who may or may not have been conceived at home. Their parents could be a part of the mile high club and procreated in an airport bathroom for all she knew about them. And Abrams did not smell anywhere near as nice as the donuts that, even topped in a cellophane wrap to keep bugs out and to keep them from falling out, filled the area with a sugary high caloric kind of heaven urging her to pick one up and take a bite.

Before her fingertips could make contact, however, a loud unified gasp echoed around her. Every single person drew back from her and the donuts in terror.

She paused and glanced up at each of their horrified faces. The deputies were all taller than she was, so it took a bit of effort.

"What is wrong with the donuts?" she asked, growing impatient and in need of answers at that moment.

Dani glared at Hunter. "Why didn't you tell her?"

Hunter's gaze dropped, along with his chin, he had been doing this sense he was five years old whenever he was guilty.

"How could you not have told her?" Deputy McCarthy asked. Apparently, Hunter had been appointed to tell Cedes about the donuts, and he had forgotten to do so.

"Tell her what, I still don't know why we are staring at donuts?" the newest deputy asked.

Cedes turned to the only other person in the room as confused as she was, a new recruit named Jayne Hayward. Much like Cedes herself, Jay had no idea why every person besides her and the sheriff was scared of a basket filled with homemade donuts.

It was mind blowing.

"Okay," Cedes said, fed up, "why are you all scared of donuts, and who needs therapy because of baked goods? Do you have IBS, Celiac disease, or fear of gluten? Show of hands."

"These aren't just any normal donuts," Hunter said, his tone hushed as though the donuts were listening. The inanimate baked goods are just sitting there, begging to be eaten.

"They look like regular donuts to me," she whispered back to him.

"I agree with the sheriff," Jay announced, in her regular tone of voice not bothering to whisper which made Cedes feel like an idiot.

"And they smell like donuts," Jay continued.

"Right?" Cedes reached for one again, and Hunter quickly grabbed her arm and prevented her from touching the pastry.

Cedes slapped his hands off her as though they were in a girl fight. Petty but effective. Then she turned to face her employees, her gaze landing on Dani, her office manager and the one person Cedes least expected to be afraid of donuts. But her eyes were just as wide as her deputies'.

"That's it." She wielded an index finger like a weapon. "Someone explain what is going on. Are they poisoned? Because if someone is trying to kill us, shouldn't we be investigating and arresting the person?"

"We can't arrest the perp because the donuts aren't even poisoned," Deputy McCarthy said. He was a tall and thin young man whose smile could light up a mental ward. "They were made by Mrs. June Dalloway."

"OMG." Cedes brightened and thought back. "I know Mrs. Dalloway. She's so cute, and she was always so nice. Why is she trying to poison us with donuts?"

Hunter finally broke the tension with a sigh. "She's not trying to poison us, boss. It's just every time she sends donuts, strange things happen around immediately after."

Deputy Abrams concurred with a nod. "And the bigger the basket, the stranger the events."

Cedes shook her head in doubt. "What kind of strange things?"

Hunter shrugged. "You know. Traffic accidents. Robberies. Attempted murders with a potato peeler."

"So, the things we get paid to investigate and arrest people for everyday?"

"Pretty much, but—"

"Hell literally breaks loose here," Dani said. "The world goes crazy. No one is safe from the calamity that takes place as soon as the donuts are in this building."

Cedes studied the young woman as she spoke as tried to keep herself from bursting out laughing at her superstitious dispatcher. She didn't want to give away the fact that she found her adorable like a puppy. And she was the only person in the room the same height as she was, which was five foot three.

"The last time June Dalloway sent us donuts," she continued, "Mrs. Giardi tried to cut Gunther's penis off when he flashed her in the park."

Cedes leaned into Hunter. "It amazes me how that man is still the town flasher."

"In an attempt to get away from her, Gunther ran out into traffic with his penis flopping up and down in the air. This caused the drivers to be distracted and they stopped to avoid hitting him." Dani was very into the story by that point, acting out Gunther, the town flasher, darting into traffic.

"Isn't he, like, a hundred and two, how fast could he run?" Cedes asked.

"And we had a bona fide three vehicle pileup with the second vehicle hitting the first and the third vehicle hitting the second vehicle."

Deputy McCarthy whispered beside her, "He only looks and smells like he's a hundred and two."

"He's led a rough life," Hunter said in explanation. "He's only sixty-three."

"Sixty-three?" Cedes asked, horrified. "Remind me to buy you sunscreen cause black don't crack."

"A freaking pileup caused by a man with his penis hanging out in the middle of the road, Sheriff!" Dani said, waving her arms in the air.

Cedes thought back. "I read about that. Your pileup only involved a car, a pickup truck, and a tractor."

Dani nodded. "Which, in Lima Springs, is a pileup which consists of an accident involving more than two motor vehicles. And then, in December, she sent another basket of donuts, and that very day, Mrs. Banks stabbed her husband in the groin just missing his balls with her knitting needle."

"I am sure that it hurt and was probably an accident on her part."

"Oh, there's more. So much more. And today, she sent an entire basket filled with them." Dani pointed to the basket in case someone got confused. "These are the most donuts that she has even sent to us. And we have told you the number of donuts corresponds with how bad the catastrophe will be."

"Sure, Sonato," Cedes said, finally understanding that they believe the donuts were rooted. That Mrs. Dalloway put a curse on anyone who eats the donuts, "so as long as we don't eat the donuts, nothing bad will happen today?"

The deputies did not say a word to either deny or confirm or statement. She figured it out when she saw that none of them would look her into her eyes.

"Are you kidding me? It doesn't matter if we eat them or not? All hell is going to break loose either way?"

A couple of the deputies shrugged and nodded.

"Well, then." Cedes dove in for a donut and unwrapped it as she walked to the front of the building. She'd seen a suspected thief walk by and decided to do a little scoping out the thief's patterns while enjoying her cursed breakfast.

The others followed her lead and grabbed donuts as well. Including Hunter, who walked up behind her, munching on his own chocolate-filled one waiting for a crime to happen.

They watched Mr. Duncan walk past. The former car salesman, who was in his early sixties, had a bandage wrapped around his neck and scratches covering both hands.

"You know, Mrs. Pierce came in again yesterday," Hunter said between bites.

"About?"

He scoffed. "You know what she came in about."

And she did. She'd read all the case files over the break, even cold cases decades old, but she'd known Mr. Duncan, the suspected thief, since she was three.

"That prize chicken of hers," Hunt said, filling her in, anyway.

"It's a male, so it's called a rooster."

"She's wondering when you're going to arrest Mr. Duncan for chicken-napping and make him return her pride and joy."

"Rooster-napping then."

Everyone in town knew about the never-ending feud between Mrs. Pierce and Mr. Duncan. Every few months, the two neighbors came up with some new argument. Some new reason to file a new complaint with the sheriff's office against each other until the sheriff had no choice but to threaten them both with jail time.

The Capulets and Montagues had nothing on the Pierce and Duncan hatred.

This time around, Mrs. Pierce's prize rooster had gone missing. Since Mr. Duncan had been complaining about the bird's early-morning noises for months, he was pretty much their prime—and only—suspect.

But Cedes wanted the man to get comfortable. To let down his guard. To come to regret his decision to abduct the most decorated show rooster the town had ever seen.

Who knew a rooster could even be decorated? Where does one even pin a medal onto a rooster?

"Are you planning on investigating that?" Hunter asked.

Cedes lifted a shoulder half-heartedly. "I suppose I will."

"Before he kills him?"

"I'm pretty sure Puff Daddy can hold his own against the likes of Mr. Duncan who is all talk and no stamina."

"That's what I mean." He pointed a finger from behind his donut. "That chicken is going to kill that old guy."

"Rooster."

"And then we'll never hear the end of it. It'll go national. All because we let a chicken kill one of our citizens."

"Rooster."

"We'll be the laughingstock of the nation."

"You're that certain we're not already with an entire sheriff's department afraid of donuts?"

Hunter took a breath to voice his next argument, but he had nothing. He shook his head and took another bite.

"Sometimes these things need to unfold naturally." She swallowed and peeled the wrapping lower. "And we can't say those wounds are all from Puff Daddy. Mr. Duncan could've cut himself shaving."

Hunt snorted. "Shaving what? A wolverine?"

Cedes looked back at her deputies and smiled.

"Are you glad to be back?" he asked.

"I am. But I thought everyone would be here today. Where is my other deputy?"

"Abrams just got back."

"Yeah, but we're missing Biff."

"Who?" Hunter asked, still studying Mr. Duncan as he limped across Main through a soft layer of snow that was already melting. Freaking California sun.

"Biff." When he only shrugged, she continued, "Biff McIntosh? Your lieutenant? The only one to skip out on my one-on-ones last week?"

"Oh, Biff!" He nodded in recognition, then glanced around the station. "Yeah, he must be out on patrol."

"Okay. Can you call him in?"

"Who?"

Seriously? "Undersheriff Bifford Frederick McIntosh? Also goes by Biff, forty years old, been in law enforcement for almost twenty years?"

"Right. He was the youngest deputy in the county even served under Andy Collins when we were in school."

"What are you talking about?"

"Biff."

"Okay, great. Now that we've established his biography, I'd like to address the entire department. Can you call him in?"

"Who?"

Cedes slammed her lids shut and drew in a deep breath. "Undersheriff McIntosh."

"Oh, right. We usually just call him Biff. Or U-S."

She welded her teeth together and spoke through them. "Can you get him on the radio? I have yet to meet him."

"Who?"

She went completely still. Lima Springs was a peculiar place. Cedes knew that. She'd known it when she'd accepted the position. She'd known she would have to deal with its own special kind of crazy, but not from Hunter. Not from one of her own.

Realizing there was more to this particular picture than met the eye, she unclasped her jaw and turned to walk away, but Jay came to stand by Hunter, enjoying the last remnants of her own donut.

Jayne Hayward, who preferred to be called Jay instead of plainness of Jayne or Hayward, was a tall, willowy black woman and the only deputy Cedes had recruited herself. For good reason.

She had been a sniper for the Sonoma County Sheriff's Office, and it took a lot of schmoozing, much of it not strictly ethical, to get her to agree to come to the small town of Lima Springs.

One could argue that a small town like Lima Springs didn't need a sniper.

One would be wrong.

Also, the girl could shoot the wings off a mosquito at a thousand yards. Figuratively speaking.

"Have you told her yet?" she asked Hunter.

"Crap, I forgot," Hunt said. "Jay and I found out we're actually twins separated at birth."

Cedes turned back, her interest piqued.

"Weird, right?" Jay asked, nodding in confirmation.

And Jay was the sane one.

"Very," Cedes agreed. "Especially since he's half-Latino with brown hair, green eyes, and a below-average level of intelligence and common sense and you're a stunning black woman with ebony hair, brown eyes, and an above-average level of intelligence and common sense. Way, way above."

"Exactly," Hunt said, taking another bite.

"Like, intergalactic."

He nodded. "Weird."

When Cedes started back to her office, she heard Jay say proudly, "Did you hear that? She called me stunning."

"Yeah, well, since we're twins, it was a compliment to both of us."

"No way. We are fraternal, not identical. That was my compliment. I get to keep all of it for myself."

"I bet if we weren't separated at birth that you would have been selfish with our toys and our parent's attention, too."

"Insult me again and I'll eat the last cursed donut. It has chocolate sprinkles."

Cedes laughed and continued toward her office with a new pep in her step. So far, she now had three mysteries that needed solving fairly ASAP. First, who were the Dangerous Damsels, and why did the mayor care so much about some ninety year old women? Second, how was she going to convince Mrs. Pierce and Mr. Duncan to stop fighting and just date already? Who cares that that Dr. Pierce and Herb had been friends before he divorced Whitney and married a woman willing to give him biological children ten years ago. And third, what was up with Undersheriff Biff McIntosh? Because, as subtle as Hunter's evasive tactics were—Note to self: never send that man in undercover—something did not add up.

And it was barely nine o'clock. She could only hope she'd survive her new position until noon.

"Hey!" Hunter shouted. "I thought you were going to give us your first day speech."

Cedes whirled on her toes and looked at Lima Springs's Sheriff's Department.

"Yes. Cursed donuts aside, I am sure we are going to a harmonious work environment. I am here if you need to talk and believe in teamwork.." She said and addressed her staff as she saw a truck pull into the gas station directly across from them.

It was the truck that belonged to Sam Freaking Menkins.

Her large eyes rounded, and Hunter turned to look over his shoulder.

"Um, she also wants to thank you guys for being here this morning," Hunter said, coming to Cedes's rescue. "You guys are doing great work, and the sheriff looks forward to getting to know all of you better."

A couple of the deputies clapped hesitantly as Cedes stood glued to the spot, watching the man she'd been in love with since she was old enough to appreciate the opposite sex when her hormones were activated when she was in eighth grade.

Across the street, Sam Menkins climbed down from his truck and slammed his door shut. He was focused on something in the back of the pickup.

While getting gas, he seemed to turn his head towards her and look back at her.

Only he couldn't have. There was no way he could see her, especially where she stood now, in the middle of the sheriff's office.

"You are still whipped after all this time." Hunter said while everyone else had went back to work, he went to stand by his best friend.

She shook her head, embarrassed. "No. I'm just—" She exhaled, giving up the game. "I haven't seen him in a very long time."

"Yeah, well, he hasn't changed much since you last saw him."

Hunter was usually honest but he was never to be trusted when it came to having an opinion about Sam. Even at the distance she was from him, she could see the changes, and none of them were exactly subtle. His hair had gotten darker, no longer bleached blond by the sun. His jawline is stronger, no signs of the baby face boy remained. His face was all man. And his shoulders were wider.

She stepped toward the lobby for a better look. She'd seen pictures of him by cyber stalking his social media pages which he only had to advertise his whiskey business, but nothing had prepared her for seeing him in the flesh. Pictures can be photoshopped but reality was another thing. Especially where her bones were concerned, because they'd apparently dissolved.

He turned and went back to work, loading bottles of water and what looked like camping equipment into the truck bed, and Cedes realized he wasn't wearing a jacket in the cold weather. His green T-shirt didn't hide much. She could see all of his muscles, his forearms cording with every movement, the shadows hugging his biceps ebbing and flowing with every effort. The effect was hypnotic.

Hunter elbowed her softly. "I could bring him in for questioning if you want to stare into his green eyes that I must admit are inferior to mine."

Cedes laughed softly. "Thanks, but not thanks. It's better if we don't talk ever again. We shouldn't have to come face-to-face or have contact of any kind whatsoever."

"Well," Hunter said, taking a sip of his coffee, "I wish you good luck with that." He walked away and left Cedes alone with her thoughts.

Sadly, alone with her thoughts was a dangerous place to be. Especially when she noticed the stubble he'd acquired since high school made him look even more attractive. And though she couldn't see his eyes, she'd dreamed about them almost daily. The green eyes that were like jewels in the sun. The pouty lips that were a part of his large mouth. The large hands. The large everything.

She walked closer to the plate-glass windows for a better view. He wasn't a model, but he should have been. The world would have been all the richer for it.

Cedes forced herself to snap out of it. She was back and Sam had never left, and the two were bound to see each other now and again. The only question was, how would she survive the stretches in between?

After another glance at the station, one that had Cedes retreating back from the window, Sam walked toward the store to pay for his gas, and Cedes realized just how lucky his jeans were to be able to hug his ass.

He disappeared inside the building and left her with no other choice but to finally take note of his truck. It had a custom wrap with his company's logo on it, EMS Lima Springs Finest, and pride swelled inside her.

He'd actually managed to take his family's illegal business—and recipe—and turn it into an insanely successful career as a distiller. Now one of the country's most prestigious makers of corn whiskey, his products had been featured in newspapers and magazines all over the world, and he'd won numerous awards for the 100-proof spirits.

Awards for whiskey. Just like Puff Daddy the rooster. Who knew such subcultures existed?

He stepped out of the Quick-Mart and headed back toward his truck. Sadly, Cedes missed most of his reemergence, because a Mercedes that had been barreling down the road heading toward the sheriff's office, slipping and sliding on the icy road, jumped the curb and crashed head-on through the plate glass where it's namesake, the human Mercedes had been standing.

If she hadn't been so preoccupied, she would have seen it in plenty of time and jumped completely out of the way. Instead, a barrage of splintered glass sliced across her face and hands. And a split second before the car sideswiped her she started to run still hitting the floor, she realized her deputies might have been right all alone.

Maybe there really was something to the donut thing, after all.

Gina stood in the hall, staring at a locker that had the word snitch written on it in black spray paint. She looked from the principal to the school security officer and back again.

"I promise you both I didn't do that," she said, wondering why in the world they would think she did.

"We know," the principal said. A man she thought handsome until about five minutes ago, Mr. Rashad had smooth dark skin and kind eyes, and she'd noticed earlier everyone still called him Coach, a testament to his former position at the school, she supposed.

And his head sat about two feet taller than Gina's. The school security officer's a few inches taller than that. There was nothing quite as special as being stared down by two men of authority. And here Gina thought she couldn't feel any more vulnerable than she had earlier.

Mr. Rashad reached past her and opened the locker with a master key. Inside sat one solitary object: the crystal figurine Lily had taken off his desk. And Gina suddenly understood why the officer was there.

She took a hit off her inhaler, then asked, "I take it this is my locker?" She had yet to visit it, but it was nice of everyone to make her feel so welcome.

They both nodded.

"Don't tell me," the school security officer said. "You have no idea how this got in there."

She took a closer look. It was a wildcat, the Lima Springs High mascot.

When she shook her head, the school security officer lost it. He huffed out a breath and did an about-face, raking a hand through his hair before turning back to her.

"Do you have any idea how many decades our mascot has been passed down from principal to principal? He is a symbol of pride for this school, Miss Porter. Something you clearly know nothing about."

While Gina backed away slowly, wondering about the officer's mental stability—clearly he took his job way too seriously—she noticed the principal fighting a grin behind a closed fist.

"Okay, Dave," he said, patting the SSO on his shoulder, "how about we let her tell her side of her story?"

Upset, the SSO turned away from her and jammed his fists onto his hips, the gesture both dramatic and unnecessary. Gina's opinion of him couldn't descend any lower.

The principal rubbed his face with his hands, again fighting a grin, then settled an understanding stare on her.

"Do you know who put this in your locker?"

She shook her head.

He raised a warning brow. "I'm willing to bet you know exactly who did it."

"I don't. I'm sorry."

"Even if I were to call your mother? Still nothing?"

Gina stopped breathing and decided to give her shoes a good once-over when she felt a familiar sting in the backs of her eyes. "It's my mom's first day on the job. She doesn't need me messing up her entire day. Again."

"I'm well aware. I used to teach that little firecracker you call Mom. And I think you're right. How about we let this slide?" He leaned closer, his expression soft with understanding. "But if you ever want to talk about all of this"—he gestured toward the locker—"you know where my office is. Especially since I'm fairly certain you saw who took this off my desk."

His innate ability to read her unsettled her.

"You're just going to let her go without any punishment?" Dave asked, appalled.

Mr. Rashad was getting tired of him if his change in attitude were any indication. "Dave, if I weren't married to your sister-in-law, Grace you wouldn't still be working here. Your dad became one of our police officers after losing his reelection as sheriff and hired you to join him and this is the last place he can place you without firing you. Do you want me to call your husband Azimio?"

"No, no, definitely not. Everything is good." The man walked off with a dismissive wave.

But Gina was way more interested in why the principal knew she saw the thief—a.k.a. Lily Lynn—steal the figurine. Why did he seem to know she did? Did he have a camera in his office? Was her face telling the truth because her mouth sure wasn't? And why did he just give her all SSO Karofsky business like that. Surely, he knew she was a student and shouldn't be privy to that kind of information.

The bell rang before the principal could say anything else, and students flooded the hallway.

"May I please go to class now, sir?" she asked him, determined not to be late again.

He gave her a thoughtful gaze, then nodded.

She found her second classroom much quicker than the first. Or so she'd thought.

She entered and handed the teacher her schedule as the other kids filed in only to have the teacher point to the paper. "You want the next classroom. Room 47. This is 45."

When a mocking giggle hit her, she turned and saw one of the girls from her first period, one of Lily's friends. At least they didn't have this class together.

Gina walked out of that classroom and into the next just as the bell rang. Once again, she handed her schedule to the teacher as the entire class looked on.

"Happy New Year, Coach Bieste," a student said as he entered the room.

"Surette. You're late."

"Sorry." The student hurried to his seat, probably hoping he wouldn't get sent to the office for being tardy.

The coach initialed her schedule and handed her the syllabus with the Google Classroom information she would need to use with her Chromebook. "Welcome to Lima Springs High, Gina."

Surprised she knew her nickname, Gina glanced up.

"Ah yes, I know your mom. She told me you'd be starting here. I promised to keep an eye on you. Not too close, though, eh?" She winked, and Gina couldn't help but grin at him.

Friendly faces had been hard to come by of late. At least, she'd thought so until she turned and saw the girl. The black girl who was startlingly happy to see her in the first period class. She waved again with the same amount of enthusiasm and wiggled in her seat. That was one excited girl.

Gina gave a hesitant wave back and went to the only empty seat in the classroom, but not before noticing the poet, Ricky, in the back row. She groaned. Not aloud or anything, but in her mind.

She let her gaze flit past him, because he was staring at her. A nervous energy prickled down her spine. At least he no longer looked angry. Small miracles.

The coach took roll, then proceeded with the lesson. "Okay, we talked before break about the social implications of class based societies, but I want us to shift focus a bit." The coach grabbed a stack of papers off his desk. "Before we left for break, I paired you up. Since you were absent, Lopez-Bowen, I'll put you with Gina. How's that sound?"

The coach's gaze landed on Gina, and she nodded. What else could she do? She had no idea who Lopez-Bowen was, so she hardly had an opinion.

"That's okay with you?" He looked past her toward the back row, where he stopped on the poet, and her heart tried to jump out of her chest when she realized who she'd been partnered with. Ricky Lopez-Bowen. This was not happening.

He'd had his head down and didn't bother to lift it when he looked up at the coach from underneath impossibly long lashes and gave a single nod.

"Good deal. Here are your questions." She handed a stack of papers to the first student in each row to pass back. "I'll give you a few minutes at the end of class to partner up and figure out a time when you can meet outside the classroom."

"But, Coach," the tardy kid, a stocky athlete whined. "What about practice?"

"Surette, no amount of practice is going to help you. I think you can squeeze this in."

The class erupted in laughter. Well, most of the class. Ricky Lopez-Bowen was busy eyeing Gina from underneath his lashes.

Trying to ignore him, she took the paper and scanned the questions. The basic gist was to get a family history, a fact that caused her a little apprehension.

"This will be due next week, so get on it."

The coach went into his lesson for the day while Gina fought the urge to look over her shoulder. She sank down in her seat and studied the dynamics of the room instead. And the more class went on, the more she saw a strange phenomenon.

Some of the students seemed to ignore Ricky and others seemed to worship him. All of them looked at him gauging his response to a joke or question. She didn't understand why he was the king or the Lord of the freshman class.

She could understand the girls who were interested in him because it was the definition of hotness, but the boys, both popular or geeks, why would they seek his approval? That she found was very weird.

Then again, she had bigger concerns than her classmates' fascination with the poetic thirst trap. She'd have to talk to him. Face-to-face. She didn't know if he had anything to do with her being the most hated student at the school based on a lie.

No matter what every time she thought her day couldn't possibly get any worse, she'd been proven wrong. She decided to quit thinking altogether. To become a zombie. Zombies didn't care what others thought of their smell, look, or popularity. All they craved were brains. She wouldn't mind being a cannibal. She would rather be anybody but herself today.