love letters.

angelina

"Angie." There's a dull murmur, but from where, I don't know. My eyes open, and close again. "Angie!" This time the shout is more firm, but I still can't be bothered as I soak into the warm cloud. "Angelina Philips, get up, damn it!" The cloud is tugged out from under me, and I fall into a heap on the floor as I blink the rest of my tiredness away. There was no cloud. It was just my duvet.

The thought fills me with disappointment as I look up to the traitor that ruined my dream of academic success. Monica Afolabi. An all around angel, and my best friend. And now, the breaker of my heart.

"Ouch." It didn't actually hurt that bad. The pain from impact reduced to a dull ache in seconds, but I want to make her feel bad.

"Get up, stupid." Light fills the room as she opens up the curtains, and I hiss. It's way too bright. "It's Monday. We need to be down in like, an hour." wait. what?

First day back since summer break. I totally forgot and her words prompt me to scramble to my feet. Clearly making her feel bad didn't work though.

I look around my room now that I can see again. My uniform hangs on the oat white wardrobe next to my desk. My duvet covered in flower print acts as a carpet on my floor, and I pick it up, setting it back on my bed next to my one and only love, Caramel. The stuffed bear's been with me since I was, like, five. And I refuse to let it go. I grab my uniform off of my wardrobe and sprint to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, I'm bathed and out with fresh breath and styled hair. I fought a war with my hair this morning, so of course I had to look good.

I check myself over in my wardrobe mirror. My face is clear, for once - guess those magic creams do work - with hazel eyes, creamy skin and plump, glossy pink lips. My brown hair falls over my shoulders in just the right way, and my bag hangs over the left one nonchalantly. I look good. I feel good. I smell good, like vanilla and raspberries, and I'm ready to face the day.

timeskip

Scratch that. I'm really not. My math class is loud with teenage chatter, and unlucky for me, Monica isn't in it this year. And even unluckier? I'm just about to sit down, front row of the class. When all of a sudden, I hear this agitating, grating voice in my ears.

"Angelina Philips?" She mock gasps, her head swiveling towards me like nobody's business. "Front row? Who would've figured?" Claudiá. Claudiá Monez. I've known her since we were kids. The most anger inducing person I've ever met with her golden hoops, brown and blonde hair, pale brown eyes and perfect creamy tan skin, since forever. And still the most annoying person I know.

"Good morning Claudiá," I sigh, settling into my seat and setting my bag down next to me. "how was your summer?"

"It was okay. I went to the Maldives, and to Bora Bora, and to Jamaica! How was yours? I'm sure you just stayed inside and read some books of course." I tried to be polite. I really did. But she's so... unnecessary. I don't know why she acts like she's the wealthiest person here, because she's not. Everyone here is wealthy - It's literally Hightower Prep.

"Sure." I can't be bothered to entertain her anymore. I take my notes out of my bag and tune her out as she talks to her friends. I scrawl Math across the top of my notebook and sit staring at the chalkboard in front of the class. It's going to be a good year. My schedule is perfect, I have Monica - even if she's not in this class - and nothing can tear me down. Not even him.

As if on cue with my thoughts, he walks in. The black vest lined with white suits his tanned skin perfectly, and the crisp white shirt underneath it, and the toned chest underneath that. His blonde hair is fluffy and curly, a soft dream, and his green eyes look bored as anything. They lock with mine, and a self satisfied smile lines his features as he walks to the back of the room. His eyes don't leave mine. Mine don't leave his. The air still smells of spiced apples even after he's left my space. He's always in my space.

His eyes linger on mine for a little, then stop as he turns to talk to his friend Nik next to him.

"Get off the desk, please Miss Monez." Professor Hicks calls as he walks in the room. I didn't even notice the bell, but it's clear by the bustling sounds of movement around me that class has started. She jumps off with a scoff, and moves to the back of the room in the seat next to Raegan. She waves her perfectly manicured fingers at him, to which he scoffs and continues his conversation with Nik.

Professor Hicks is... young. To be a professor. I don't even know why we have them, but a school this prestigious? No room for teachers - only the best. He has no beard, only scruff at the base of his chin, and his eyes still have life behind them, something you don't see a lot with the professors here.

"Good morning class," his eyes lock with mine, to which I smile, before he picks up a fresh piece of chalk and begins writing on the chalkboard, "and welcome to your final year here at Hightower." He scrawls the word 'Math' across the board. "This is your most important year here, and every lesson counts. So-" he amplifies his voice, "try not to skip, okay?" And with that, class begins.

timeskip

"I really can't deal with it again, Mon." I murmur into the lunch table as Monica strokes my hair. "I'm trying to be positive about this, cause it's our last year but-"

"I know." She finishes. "Just one more year and you'll be free. Now eat your pasta before it gets cold, okay?"

This is why I love her. She's calm and collected, and she always knows what to say. I honestly wish I was as good of a friend as she is, but I try.

"Get your head off the table, Philips." That stupid accent. I had to endure him for two hours, and now he disturbs my lunch.

"Go away, Hightower." I raise my head, and my middle finger as I face him. "Don't you have anything better to do? Like enforce your negativity on other people?"

"Why would I bother other people when I could bother you, Philips?" The smirk that lines his features is triumphant. I twirl my fork through my chicken pasta to stop looking at him. He just happens to choose to sit next to me. Nik takes a seat beside Monica, still cackling as he watches our exchange. I swear he never stops laughing.

I scoff, and start eating. "What's your problem? You're like, obsessed with me or something." There's a burst of flavour on my tongue as I bite into the chicken. I smile faintly as the taste seeps into me.

"In your dreams, Philips." But he's still watching.