your best american girl ✓

02 | some like it hot

I'm strongly considering flaking.

But I'm not that kinda girl. Plus, I'm absolutely terrified of the D'Medicis. Without a doubt, any one of them can ruin my life with a mere blink of their eyes, and there's a lot at stake for me. Some of us weren't born with a golden spoon lodged between our lips, and that's alright. As for the rest of us, we need to find...alternative methods of getting what we want. That is the mindset that made one fundamentally American in the first place, isn't it? Or did it make me Chinese-American? Or did it reflect a second-generation immigrant's determination and grievances? I may never know.

So here I am, 15 minutes after the bell rings, standing outside the principal's office, which is one room of many cluttered in the main office. From a spectator's perspective, I must look pitiful, waiting for someone who is clearly not showing up. Outside, the windows are tinted enough so they're not transparent. Glossy white paint coats the sill coated with a faint layer of dust. Normally, I don't hang around this part of campus simply because the majority of my classes are located at the STEM wing of St. Addams rather than the art wing. From what I can remember, the walls in this building are painted in various shades of beige, and the lockers are small red squares.

Soon enough, Hunter rushes toward me, all shaggy hair and swollen lips, the first four buttons of his shirt undone, with a Cola in hand. Tapping my foot and crossing my arms, I refrain from wrinkling my nose in disgust. Not only is he extremely late, but he's late for a stupid reason.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greeted me with a small smile as if it wasn't him that told me to meet him here in the first place.

I don't reply. Instead, I roll my eyes. I'm not here to entertain him. I'm here for my phone, and my phone only.

"Someone's had a bad day," he mutters, mostly to himself. Well, yeah. Isn't it obvious? You kind of ruined it.

"Can you just tell me why I am here?" I snap, unable to mask my seething annoyance.

"Woah there, I didn't mean to offend you," he puts up his hands in mock surrender, "chill."

Me? Chill?

That's the exact attitude I'd expect from someone that's never had to suffer any consequences in their entire life. At the very least, I'm entitled to an apology after he basically got my phone taken away, right?

I glare at him. Curiously, he tips the glass bottle against his thin lips, taking a slow sip as the corner of his eye twinkles with intrigue.

"You gotta temper, ya know that?" he tells me, swirling the contents of his drink, "didn't know you had it in you. Always pegged you as the quiet type."

Out of habit, I pull on my sleeves self-consciously. Does that mean he's been watching me? To be transparent, I'm not sure how to feel. Growing up, my mother basically raised me to believe that being assertive was an undesirable trait for a female. "Is that a bad thing?"

The corner of his lip curls with mirth at my sudden change of mood. "Not at all. It's kinda hot. I like a girl that can do it both."

I'm just going to pretend like I didn't hear that so my lunch doesn't come back up.

"Great. Thanks for that very educational piece of information. Couldn't have lived without it," I remark sarcastically, averting eye contact.

Surprisingly, he smiles, showing me his pearly white teeth; the intensity of his amusement jarringly genuine.

"Anyways," he continues, clearing his throat as he discards his Cola, which is still halfway full, "as I was saying, I have a plan. You know how Sav is the dean's nephew, right?"