Amy rock back on her heels and saw the guy who dared to park his bike at her place and then had balls to question her. Unable to recognize him, she thought maybe he was a freshman, but then he was a bit old for a freshman. Then a voice in her mind suggested her that he may be a transferred student.

"What were you doing near my bike?" Shouted the guy as he walked past Scott to his bike. Amy used that moment to study the guy more closely. Bright white skin, jet black hair, baby blue eyes, and great biceps. She realized that something about him was familiar and she couldn't figure out what. He even reminded her of a boy who used to drink coffee at the cafeteria Amy worked in. He, too, was heavily gifted with irresistible charm and it wasn't hard for Amy to gain his attention. In a week, they had pretty intense make-out sessions but when Amy found that the boy had already a girlfriend, so Amy got rid of him. Clearly, the guy wasn't going to spend a penny on her and Amy hated those kinds of boys.

Also according to her, if you can't fuck with all this shit, it's better to stay single, and then do whatever you like. But if you are committed to one and screwing the another then stay away from Amy. She hates those people passionately.

Back to the present, she pursed her lips in amazement at his beauty. She let out strings of cursed words for messing up with a hot and definitely a rich guy. And the worse thing was that there was no turning back. The whistling sound coming from tire confirmed it that her plan worked and the tire was deflated. So now Amy was compelled to stick to her action and face the upcoming scene.

"You punctured my tire." He roared. A small crowd began to escalate around them and students were enjoying the live show.

"Who's going to win? I hope the hotty. Yeah, that's Amy, the mythical bitch. She's so mean." Students were talking.

Glancing around the crowd, Amy crossed her arms upon her chest. "Consider yourself lucky that I didn't dismantle your bike."

"You're not the only one who knows how to dismantle a bike," snapped the black-haired guy. "It will take me a minute to dump your trackwhore into the dumpster with all its part wrecked."

Amy's lips parted in shock. "Listen you fresher—" She snapped her fingers at him.

"I'm not a fresher, Clark!" He snapped back, pointing back his index finger at him with his razor-sharp eyes. So he knew me. Thought Amy but how come she never saw him at the hallways or the classroom or the grounds. She even knew football players but he wasn't one of them. Then who is he? The answer was given by her friend Scott who was standing there and didn't say a word. Hell, he didn't even listened to their bickering.

"Son of a ...Lockhart!" His eyes went wide and mouth fully open.

"That's son a bitch, Scott. Bitch!" Amy corrected him but soon she realized that Scott wasn't saying wrong. In fact, he was implying and telling her who the person was she knew was familiar to her.