the hating game ; lrh

twenty-two

THREE DAYS PASSED, AND I still hadn't spoken to Luke in person — or Ashton, for that matter.

After our text conversation the night after the party, Luke and I had decided that it was best that we kept whatever was happening between us under wraps for the time being — at least until we figured out what we were. The last thing I needed was to tell my brother that I was dating his best friend, my apparent arch enemy, only for it to turn into another earth-rumbling Luke and Rory blowout.

So, instead, for the week so far we had continued everything as usual. We ate lunch with the group, we never spent time alone; we even exchanged snarky comments to uphold the facade.

For the most part, nobody had batted an eyelid at our behaviour. Calum, as per usual, was completely oblivious to anything going on outside his own head, and while Anna had known about our kiss, I told her that we had gotten into a fight and were letting the whole thing go. Michael was the hardest to convince. He still hadn't said a word, but I knew from the way he looked at us in the bathroom that he was suspicious of something — however, he remained silent on the issue and appeared to be convinced by our act.

By now, the whole school was aware that Ashton and I were over (much to the excitement of the cheerleading squad). Nobody except for Luke, Ashton, Cara Waters and I knew the intricate details of our breakup, so nobody questioned me when I claimed that I "just wasn't feeling it". Ashton continued to have lunch mostly with his soccer friends, but made the occasional appearance at our table to maintain rapport with the band. I hadn't spoken to him about our issues, and I'd made it clear that I really didn't want to.

I still remained unsure of my feelings toward Luke. On one hand, I couldn't ignore his irrational mood swings and the awful things he had said to me in the past. I didn't want to open up my heart to him only to let him ultimately break it into pieces (again). However, on the other hand I couldn't deny that every time I looked at him my heart fluttered — fluttered. I had never felt that way about anyone, and as much as I didn't want it to be Luke who was the subject of my desire, I knew that I couldn't help it.

The school bell rings shrilly throughout my English classroom, jolting me back to reality and signalling the end of the school day. I shake my head, ridding myself of all of my messy thoughts, shove my book into my bag and throw it over my shoulder, making my way toward the classroom door.

I stroll mindlessly down the hall, comprising a list in my mind of all the things I need to do when I get home, when suddenly I feel somebody wrap a hand tightly around my arm and yank me into a nearby science classroom.

I yelp in surprise as the person shuts the door and raise my fist, whole-heartedly prepared to send it flying into my apparent attacker's face, when I hear a chorus of laughter fill the otherwise empty room. I look up and am surprised, but ultimately relieved, when I see Luke standing before me, clutching his chest as he laughs.

"Rory," he shakes his head at me as I lower my fist. "Please tell me your first means of defence isn't punching someone in the face."

I swallow, allowing my heart rate to settle before I answer. "No," I lie, and he sees straight through it instantly. "Yes."

"Do I have to explain to you why that's a terrible idea?" He continues, his laughter subsiding but still present.

"No," I respond, and this time it's the truth. I'm aware of just how easily a weak attempt at punching from the likes of me could be blocked by an attacker, but it's my first instinct. I let out a sigh and lean back against the classroom door, my adrenaline finally beginning to wither. "Why the hell did you snatch me like that?"

"Snatch you?" He repeats, half-laughing. "You make it sound like I'm a forty-year-old pervert who just shoved a kid from the playground into the back of his van."