Unbreak Me 11 ??He Is So Infuriating??

It was officially the fifth day of school. And I was late—later than usual. When I entered the school building, the hallways were empty and a serene silence filled the s.p.a.ce, giving me a little calm in the havoc of my everyday life.

Since I knew the bell had just rung, I wasn't panicking. The teachers took time to come, especially in the first period. The watch sitting on my wrist told me it was exactly 8 a.m. and I hurriedly untied my veil, slipping it off and gathering it up in my hand. Right before entering the cla.s.s, I unzipped my robe, surprised that I didn't feel nervousness and neither was I worried about what people thought of me.

It brought a smile to my face.

I didn't realise that I had entered the cla.s.sroom until my eyes landed on Zayn. The smile slipped right off when he scowled at me. I closed my eyes and drew in an angry breath. I was heading to my usual seat in the very back—trust me, I hated sitting in the long row right next to Zayn—when I heard him say something.

"You're not sitting there today," Zayn drawled from behind.

I turned to face him, glad the students were busy in their own conversations. "Excuse me?"

He shifted the position of his legs, crossing them at the ankles as he stood propped up against the whiteboard, a register in one hand and a ballpoint in the other.

"I said: you aren't sitting at the back today. Is that too much to understand?"

Was that how he was going to woo me into falling in love with him? Seriously. I was flattered.

"That's my seat," I tried to be polite, although he didn't deserve it.

He took three large steps and stopped a foot away from me. He snapped his fingers in the direction of the empty two chairs at the very front. "That's your seat now."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And who are you to tell me what to do?"

He laughed languidly. "At this very moment, I'm offended, but otherwise, h.e.l.lo nice to meet you, I'm the one and only head boy."

It was the fake smile curving those ridiculous plump lips that had me seething. And maybe I hated that he had such a position of authority.

Also, hadn't Hoor said he was the prefect? Something was seriously wrong with that girl's information skills.

"I don't want to sit with you." I grated out.

I could've sworn his eyes darkened a shade or two. Whether it was anger or something else, I couldn't be sure. "Very few have the honour to be seated next to me."

I wasn't sure what he wanted me to do with that helpful—and gallingly arrogant—statement, so I settled on an eye roll.

"Well, I want to be exempted from this honour, Mr Head Boy."

"Don't worry, I wasn't sitting with you anyway." He stated, arms crossed and features tight. I think I had managed to tick him. It made me immensely pleased with myself. "Remember the rules: We shift seats every day and anyone who's at the back moves to the front. Since the last row is all joined together, our partners get shuffled."

I nodded.

His gaze didn't move from my face. I knew it without having to look.

"Can you . . . like . . ." I gestured to the seat—my new seat—he stood in front of. ". . . move?"

He sighed and stepped back. I took a seat, settling my backpack next to my feet and bending to take out History's book and notebook. When I straightened, I felt a large shadow of a man hovering over me.

"What now?" I knew I sounded annoyed. I knew I had to rectify my tone—because you didn't talk to anyone in a bad manner and this guy was just making it harder and harder not to.

"Where's your sash?"

I looked at my uniform and surely, my sash was missing. d.a.m.n it. If it weren't for the fact that I had slept only for an hour or two at night looking after Dad, I would've been in a correct state of mind. Add that to making breakfast for myself and Labeeb and practically going crazy trying to put my clothes on.

"I forgot," I replied on a sigh.

He scribbled something in his matte black register. "Five hundred rupees fine."

"What?" I shouted, head shooting up to meet his eyes. I quickly withdrew my gaze.

"Is something wrong with your hearing? I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you said. I must've heard wrong, though."

Five hundred was . . . It was too much for a fine. It wasn't like I had over sped. It was literally just a missing sash.

"It isn't only the sash," He replied indolently. "It's the black scarf, the pink socks, the time you showed up in cla.s.s at and the list goes on. Should I continue?"

I gritted my teeth, frowning at the pink socks I had picked up from the drawer in the less-to-no light.

"I didn't . . . Look, I had reasons. I promise I'll—"

"Reasons," He breathed out. A second later, his hand landed on my desk with a thud. We were on eye-level now and the intensity in his gaze was too much to handle. "You always have reasons, or should I say, excuses? Why don't you admit that you are just a liar? And a coward and—and a fu—" He stopped himself, drawing back.

I tried to swallow the feeling rising in my throat. This was more than about the stupid sash. He hated me. And it was my fault.

But it also . . . wasn't.

"Say it," I said, eyes locking with his. Dark clouds of emotion swirled in his almond-coloured irises. "Keep insulting me, Zayn. You know, there was a time I cared about you. Not anymore. Not. Anymore. You mean nothing to me."

His adam's apple bobbed almost imperceptibly. But I saw it. I'd always been able to see beneath his layers but I was seriously done trying to figure him out.

I knew he was hurting. But that didn't give him the right to act this way with me. And his bet? It had proved just how heartless he had become over the years.

"Good," He finally said, keeping his eyes lowered to his register. Something was off with the hoa.r.s.eness of his voice. "I don't want anything to do with you, anyway."

With those words, he walked over to the teacher's desk and placed his register on it. Not even two seconds later, the teacher walked in.

"I'm so sorry for being late," She said.

Some students groaned.

One muttered, "You shouldn't have come."

I was pretty sure the teacher heard him.

And that was Leroy High.

Filled with irrespective students and c.o.c.ky, infuriating head boys.

I was so ready for the weekend.

. . .

The bell rang and I slapped the Math book close. The male teacher hurried out of the cla.s.s and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, everyone hated double lessons of this mind-boggling subject. Plus, Sir had given us ten questions to attempt for homework.

Thinking about it already made me tense. I was going to fail.

The thought had me opening my textbook again. I eyed the question, understanding nothing. What did it say again?

"What are you doing?" Zayn snarled.

I slowly looked up. The cla.s.s was empty and Zayn stood by the door, rapping his long, slender fingers over it.

"Math homework?" It came out more like a question.

"I don't know which world you're living in, but Math cla.s.s is over and everyone has to be in the gymnasium. Right. Now."

I looked heavenwards. "Can't I just sit here and do my work?"

"Why are you under the illusion that you'll get special treatment from me?" He said and then motioned for me to get up and get out of the cla.s.sroom. "Out. Now."

I growled in frustration. "I'm taking my books with me."

When I was about to walk out of the door, his hand shot out, blocking my path. I cut him with a look.

"I allowed no such thing. Come on, put them back."

"I need to do my work," I ground out. "I don't have time at home."

"Why?" He asked. It was a single word. But it had a hint of curiosity behind it.

I had to remind myself that it was because of his bet and had nothing to do with him being interested in me.

"Personal reasons," I clipped.

That dark, terrifying look returned in his eyes. He silently stared at me for a long time while I tried to keep my eyes on the interesting green textbook. The only sound I could hear was that of our breathing and the ticking of the clock above our heads.

It was then that I realised how close we stood. I licked my lips and tried to pry off Zayn's hand from where it clutched the wood of the door, blocking my way. The spine of my textbook continuously thumped into Zayn's bare forearm.

"Let me take it with me," I whispered.

"No,"

I thought of my job. I worked as a waitress in a small coffee shop close to my house. Other than that, I earned money from the company I had signed a writing contract with online.

My pay wasn't handsome but it brought Dad's medicines and I could get a gift or two for Labeeb once a month.

I hated not doing enough for my family. Mom worked her a.s.s off trying to earn money for all of us and she was the only one who was keeping us going.

I was scared.

The job wasn't stable. And it didn't pay enough—not enough for the amount of hard work she put in.

We were barely surviving.

"What's wrong?" Zayn asked. My chest constricted at the softness in his tone. c.r.a.p. He hadn't changed. He was still the boy with closed-off emotions and kindness within. "Why the sad look, Lee?"

I peered up at him and then lowered my eyes to the ground.

How could I ever explain anything to him? We had years of distance between us. Too much had happened in those years. He wouldn't understand why I made the choices I did.

He would never understand what I had to go through.

n.o.body could ever understand.

"Dammit, Lee. Don't do that s.h.i.t with your eyes. How many times do I have to tell you?"

I watched him struggle. He had backed away. I never understood his reaction for me lowering my eyes.

Pushing down my confusion, I looked at the door—the open door, without him blocking it—and without saying anything, I sprang into action and ran out.