Meilin's POV
"Okay," Ava said, arms crossed, perched on the edge of my bed like she was about to conduct an interrogation. "Spill it."
I flopped face-first into my pillow. "I hate him."
"Ohhh, so we're doing that now," she said, poking my side. "The classic 'I hate him' arc. Very enemies-to-lovers. Very wattpad."
"I'm serious! He's arrogant, he smells like Marlboro and sin, and he—he—draped his arm around me in class, Ava!"
"...While everyone was watching."
I groaned.
She giggled like a five-year-old on candy. "I mean, he is hot. Tall, blue eyes, all that royalty-bad-boy blend? Whew. But also—Meilin. Did you see how he looked at you?"
"No!" I huffed, sitting up and clutching my pillow like it could save me. "I was too busy trying to not combust into flames."
Ava flopped dramatically beside me. "Girl, the entire room combusted. Half the girls looked ready to throw hands. And don't get me started on the phone cameras."
I buried my face in my hands. "Oh God. I'm going to die. First week and I'm already That Girl."
Ava pulled me into a hug, grinning like the devil she was. "You're his girl, apparently. That's what the internet thinks."
"I am going to scream."
"And I," Ava said, standing up with a dramatic hair toss, "am going to make popcorn and watch this slow-burn romance unfold from a front-row seat. Because, babe, you've got Mr. Tattoos and Ego wrapped around your tiny, adorable, academically-inclined finger."
I threw the pillow at her.
She ducked, laughing. "And don't think I missed the part where you told him to stop smoking. You're changing him already."
"I was trying to insult him!"
"Yeah, and he looked like you just handed him a bouquet and a reason to breathe."
I fell back onto the bed.
Dead. Gone. Deceased.