[ALSO KNOWN AS "MATCH MADE IN HELL" ON WEBTOON ORIGINALS]
He's. . . hot, popular, and proud.
She's. . . plain, eccentric, and persistent.
There's nothing common between them except that they hate each other. Not good, right? But why is he determine...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ღ Finding Cinderella- 14 ღ
-Kylie-
I was so lost.
Not physically, but mentally. The fact that Tristan just couldn't move on from the masked version of myself and he was bent on finding "her" just filled me with this sick, horrible feeling. I could hardly concentrate on my immediate surroundings, thus I had failed to see the wet floor sign earlier and I had slipped, my butt literally hitting the tile.
Everyone in the hallway had seen my performance—clearly—so here I was now, in front of my locker, wishing to be invisible and banging my forehead against the metal door.
"What the hell are you doing?" Julianne asked behind me.
"Putting myself in a coma so I wouldn't have to deal with embarrassing situations and seeing the face of my enemy."
"Intense. So, how's your butt?"
I stopped what I was doing to give her a deadpan look. "I can hear it complaining why you didn't come and help me up."
She snickered. "Come on. You're a big kid. And stop slamming your head. You're gonna destroy a school property."
"Thanks for the concern," I grumbled and opened my locker. A heap of random junk began to tumble down as I shoved my books inside.
"Jesus, those pictures. You still have them," she remarked as she saw the scary clown pictures that I had pasted on the back of the locker door.
"Yeah. They're pretty outdated though, so I'm planning to print new ones. Scarier ones." I grinned to myself as I slammed the door shut.
Those pictures were supposed to be some kind of protection against Tristan. The jerk had serious coulrophobia, you see. Once I had tried to chase him with a picture of Pennywise in my hand, and he actually fled like a rat. I wondered if telling everyone about his little secret would finally make him stop causing me problems.
"I honestly can't tell which one of you is more juvenile," Julianne muttered.
When we reached the cafeteria, we grabbed our trays and coasted along with the long line. Julianne was chatting with a girl behind her—probably a member of their club—so I was stuck in the middle of the line with nothing to entertain me while I waited. I glanced around, trying to find inspiration, but when I saw Tristan and his crowd in the designated "popular" seats, I turned my head away.
Forget inspiration—having to look at the devil felt more like exasperation.
In front of me was a guy with a black wool cap on his head. He was drumming his fingers on his tray as if matching the movements to music. When I snuck a glance at his side, I saw a pair of white cords dangling in front of his neck and leading into his ears. Hmm, he seemed familiar...
