He's a bad boy.
She's a nerd.
She's Mikayla Winter.
He's Jacob Burke.
They used to be the best of friends.
What happens when he needs a tutor?
And she's his only hope?
Can she find something she thought she already found?
And something he thought he...
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~Mikayla's pov~
"Mikayla?" someone whispered and then I felt a poke on my nose afterward.
I swatted at the air before me and groaned as I heard light pitter-patter on my window.
"Mikayla," they whispered again closer to my ear, I could tell because I could feel the heat of their breath on my neck, but it wasn't a question like the first time.
I turned over on my other side, facing the wall, to avoid whoever was trying to wake me from my slumber.
I heard some movements behind me then felt a hand on my mouth. My eyes flew open instantly, thinking it was my father and he'd finally decided that he would come in here and hit me 'till I needed to go to the hospital, but I wouldn't be able to go because he wouldn't care even an ounce to call for help. Especially, if it meant him getting into serious trouble.
The other hand's fingers ventured to one of my side and I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. Then they started doing something I least expected from the man who blamed all his problems on, loathed, wished I was never born, to do to me.
He started to tickle me.
Even in the situation I was sure I would be put in after the one I was in right now, I couldn't help the laugh that would've burst out of me if it weren't for the hand that had put more pressure than needed when they sensed I was going to laugh. I was a very ticklish person. Sometimes you didn't even need to be tickling me, if you say you're going to and outstretch your arm I would already have been laughing. So it wasn't a surprise to me that I had been thrashing around so much I had ended at the edge of my bed and tipped over.
I landed in a heap on the person who had been torturing me, I'm pretty sure it's wasn't my father anymore. He would have had to lose his mind to do that to me.
They grunted from under me when I landed with my back arched over their stomach and I was chuckling trying to be quiet so my father wouldn't hear us because on my way tumbling to the floor, I caught a glimpse at my flashing-red-numbers alarm clock and saw it was nine-oh-five.
A thought then came to me. 'Who would be in my room if it wasn't my father, and how did they know my name?' In a flash I was back on my feet―or not because I hadn't exactly stood up yet―and running to my drawer where a pair of red scissors were perched. But before I could snatch them the person wrapped both arms around my waist and pulled me to the floor. Making sure I wouldn't try anything, they placed both of their knees at my sides.
I shut my eyes and waited for them do something. Finally, "Were you planing to stab me?" they asked above me with amusement and confusion laced in their voice.
I registered what they said, but what stuck out to me more was their voice more than what they said or how they said it. Last night and early hours of the morning came rushing through my mind. I opened my eyes while asking at the same time, "Jacob?"
