1: Hatred
I always believed hate was an exaggeration. A word people threw around carelessly.
Then I met Luke Gould.
Eight years later, I could teach a masterclass in loathing.
“Move.”
My voice is ice as I stop dead in front of my usual table in the school canteen.
Luke Gould is in my seat.
Of course he is.
He doesn’t so much as twitch. He just leans back, one arm slung over the back of the chair like he pays rent for it, an infuriating smirk lighting up his face like a neon sign that says: Make me.
“Why?” he asks lazily, taking an exaggerated bite of his sandwich.
The tray in my hands clatters as I slam it onto the table, the noise echoing louder than I intended. Heat prickles at the back of my neck. Everyone in this school knows this table is mine.
“You know this is my table,” I hiss, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred I can muster.
“Do I?” His smirk deepens, oozing satisfaction. “Funny, I don’t see your name on it anywhere.”
I pull out the chair across from him. The screeching of the legs against the tile floor makes half the canteen look over, but I don’t care. He wants to play these stupid games? Fine by me.
“Well, this is my table, so I’m sitting here,” I snap, dropping into the seat. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”
“Not nearly as much as you,” he shoots back easily. “Perfect little miss Mia Rowe has to have everything she ever wants, even if it’s something as pathetic as a lunch table.”
I laugh once. Sharp. “You’re delusional.”
He leans forward, dropping his voice to an irritatingly smug whisper. “I’m just here to eat my lunch. What’s the problem?”
“Besides you existing?”
His mouth twitches. He enjoys this. Of course he does.
Before either of us can say anything else, my best friend Lara arrives, her brows knit with confusion at the sight of me and Luke sitting together.
“Okay,” she says slowly, setting down her tray. “Did hell freeze over, or…” she trails off with a questioning look as she hesitantly takes a seat beside me.
“He’s in my seat,” I explain, gesturing at Luke like he’s a stain on an otherwise clean white shirt.
“And she refuses to sit anywhere else,” Luke adds, taking another casual bite of his sandwich.
Lara sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You two are ridiculous. I swear, my toddler nephews are more mature than this.”
“She’s right, you know,” Luke says, winking at me.
It takes every ounce of self-control not to lob my water bottle at his head. Instead, I stand abruptly, my chair scraping noisily across the floor once again.
“Let’s just go, Lara,” I say, grabbing my tray. “I’d rather eat in the stairwell than share oxygen with him.”
Luke doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s been a pleasure as always, Mia,” he sarcastically calls after me as I stalk away.
That twat always has to get the last word. Always.
The only thing I love about English class on Friday afternoons is that it’s the final barrier between me and the weekend.
Not that English is terrible or anything - it’s just hard to care when two glorious days of freedom are dangling so close. So instead of paying attention, I’m drawing in the margin of my notebook with my favourite biro, watching the little doodles take shape.
That’s when Miss Simmons’s voice slices through my concentration. “You’ll have two weeks to complete the project with your partner, after which you’ll submit an essay and present your findings to the class.”
Wait, what?
I snap my head up, but I’m not too worried about the project. Lara and I are a dream team at paired work, so whatever Shakespeare nonsense Simmons throws at us, we’ll crush it.
“I’m going to mix things up a little now,” Simmons continues, her tone unnervingly cheerful.
Never a good sign.
“In real life, we rarely choose who we get to work with, and this project will be no different. I’ve put all your names into this bowl, and I’ll draw pairs at random. All decisions are final!”
And there it is, the pit of dread.
Simmons has officially lost the plot.
I find myself instinctively glancing over to Luke, the two of us sitting on opposite sides of the classroom - a conscious decision we’d made at the start of the school year. He’s lounging lazily against the back of his chair, arms crossed like he’s unfazed about this entire thing, while I’m hoping to every higher power that might possibly exist that we won’t be paired together.
As the pairings roll out, I feel the tension in my shoulders increase. Name after name is drawn, and none of them are mine or Luke’s.
As Simmons reaches into the bowl again, my heart pounds in my chest.
“Mia Rowe,” she says, reading the first slip of paper before reaching into the bowl for another. “And…”
Time seems to slow down as she opens the second slip of paper.
Please, let it be Lara. Please, anyone but-
“Luke Gould.”
Someone actually gasps before the room falls into a stunned silence.
For a long moment, I stare at Simmons, willing her to say she made a mistake. Then my eyes flick over to Luke, who, for once, looks just as horrified as I feel.
“This has to be a joke,” I mutter under my breath.
“It’s not,” Simmons replies curtly, clearly overhearing me. “Mia, move to Luke’s table, please.”
With every pair of eyes in the room burning into me, I begrudgingly gather my things and make the long, humiliating trek across the classroom. Pulling out the chair sharply, I drop into it and fold my arms across my chest.
For fuck’s sake. Of course the universe is pulling this shit today.
Neither of us say anything as more names are called out, but eventually Luke starts to speak, quietly enough to not draw attention to us. “Look, I know we don’t like each other-” Understatement “-but I need an A in this class, so we’re going to have to just deal with it, okay? I’m not letting you, of all people, ruin my perfect grades.”
I scoff, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “As if I’m the one who’s going to screw things up.”
“Considering you were doodling through the instructions, you’ll forgive me if I’m not convinced.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t help but wonder why he’d even noticed what I was doing earlier. “Whatever. I just hope it’s only in class time, if we have to see each other outside of…”
I’m cut off by Miss Simmons, her gaze pointedly landing on me. “You’ll be doing the project in your free time. Is that a problem, Mia?”
I plaster on my best fake smile, knowing that she knows it’s fake and not giving a shit. “Of course not. I, for one, cannot wait to spend quality time with Luke outside of class.”
“Good,” Miss Simmons replies as though my answer wasn’t sarcastic. “I suggest everyone starts planning their schedules with their project partners now.”
The second she looks away, my smile is gone and in its place is a murderous grimace.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I hiss, this time quiet enough for only Luke to hear me.
“You’re telling me,” he mutters in response, sighing and glancing over to me briefly.
Hold up, did Luke Gould just agree with me?
But, as usual, he has to have the last word. “How am I supposed to deal with you for two fucking weeks?”
“Please, I’m the one with the short straw here,” I say, taking a little squeezy bottle of anti-bac gel out of my bag and applying it liberally to my hands because just being near him for this long makes my skin feel like it’s crawling.
“You know that stuff doesn’t wash away the stench of your bullshit, right?” he asks, nodding his head towards the small bottle of gel which I’d placed in front of me on the table.
I scoff, fanning my hands a little to make the gel evaporate quicker. “I’m surprised you can smell anything, considering your head’s so far up your ass.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t get a chance to make another quick-witted retort because Miss Simmons starts speaking again, having just finished pairing everybody up.
“Right, now for your plays. We have six plays to focus on, two for each main genre that Shakespeare wrote - comedy, tragedy, and historic.”
She reaches our table and drops a slip of paper in front of us, randomly allocating us a play. I snatch it up before Luke can, hoping for one I like, like A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Instead, my heart sinks as I read the words: Romeo and Juliet.
What a load of bollocks. Some call it a tragic love story, I call it problematic.
“Miss, can we do a different tragedy, please?” I ask immediately, holding the slip of paper back out to her.
“Here we go,” Luke mutters to nobody in particular, sighing audibly as he anticipates the argument that’s about to occur.
Miss Simmons sighs and looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. “I told you, Mia, all pairs and plays are final.”
“I mean, spoiler alert, but Romeo, who’s an adult, and Juliet - a literal child - date, and then take their own lives for no reason, like how is that appropriate for teenagers to study?” I ask, still holding out the slip of paper for her to take.
“While I hear your concerns,” she says, her tone measured, “I’m afraid that it’s out of my hands. The curriculum has listed it as one of the plays, so I have no control over it.”
I set the slip of paper back on the table when she continues to not take it back.
“But if I’m morally opposed to it,” I begin, as calmly as possible, “Then surely I should be allowed to switch the play with another pair. There’s nothing in the curriculum about that.”
“If you were allowed to switch, Mia, then everybody would be,” she points out. “And that would defeat the object of random allocation. So for the last time, all pairs and plays are final!” Miss Simmons says, walking with a heavy foot back over to her desk as she lets out an exasperated sigh. “That goes for everybody!”
Conversation apparently over, I roll my eyes and sink back into my chair, defeated. This project is going to be a shit-show.
Luke, who’d been watching the exchange with open amusement, snickers. “This might actually be fun.”
“For you, maybe,” I mutter. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you and this dumpster fire of a play.”
His grin falters slightly, and he leans forward. “Look, as much as I enjoy watching you lose your shit, we’re stuck with each other. So suck it up, Rowe.”
The clock on the wall moves slowly and agonisingly for the remaining minutes of the school day, taunting me with every passing second.
The second the bell rings, signalling the end of the day, I pick up my bag and storm out of the room.
I briefly hear Simmons saying something about how the bell doesn’t dismiss the class, she does, but I’m too far down the corridor to care.
