THE THING ABOUT me is, I'm extremely persistent. Once I set my mind on something, it would be pretty impossible to get rid of me.

Dad once said that this trait would be the key to my success, but when I used it for him to sign my Europe school trip form, he didn't appreciate it. In fact, he sat me down and warned me that my inability to take no for an answer might someday land me in prison.

Funny he should say that. Really.

Come to think of it, my stubbornness did give me some good moments. Like when I pestered Belle nonstop to help me take revenge on Claire's ex. It was not something a lone soldier could do, and they both were very reluctant. Still, through my plain hard-headedness, we managed to stuff the bastard naked in one of the gym lockers. It was a smashing success, and it proved my all-time mantra to be true. There's always a way to get everything and anything you want.

And what I want right now is for Irvin to look at me.

I poke his elbow with the tip of my pencil, batting my eyelashes in case he turns to me. And for the first time this morning, he does. Except that I wasn't expecting him to give me a look that clearly says: leave me alone.

Okay, I suppose it's not right to talk during a calculus discussion, but he ignored all the notes I slid to his side of the table. What other choice do I have? I mean, I arranged for us to have a proper conversation before first period, but he showed up exactly one minute before the bell rang.

Irvin's perfect punctuality is the reason I waited for three hours at the movies, only to have him arrive after another hour and get furious about the popcorn. We had a shouting match over how the butter was layered. Honestly, he's a bigger drama queen than I am, and that's saying a lot.

It's really stupid, but the frustration I'm feeling for him now is still mixed with affection. I guess this is only natural. We've been together for nearly a year now, and I've liked him since we were sophomores. Belle and Claire think that he looks like an Asian Quasimodo, but to me he's a. . . .

Okay, so he's not the best looking guy out there, but who cares?

He has highlighted in the other departments, namely: a) He's sweet and caring and thoughtful, or at least sometimes he is; b) He has a rocking body, since he's the basketball captain, and; c) He finally learned to shut his mouth once in a while, which helped him boast less about the chain of restaurants in China that his father owns as well as refrain from making weird commentaries during sex.

In other words, nothing's going to stop me from trying to undo our fifth breakup of September.

I continue assaulting Irvin's elbow, and this time it's a full tantrum. I have no plans of stopping until he acknowledges my presence. All the while I chant in a whisper, "You promised, Irvin. You promised."

Instead of relenting like I want him to, Irvin snatches my pencil, snaps it in half, and shoves the pieces in his backpack.

Great. Now how am I supposed to write my notes on . . . general differential equations?

Hold on. How are we on differential equations already? I swear to God the white board was empty the last time I looked.

"This is just an overview, but listen closely because we'll continue this tomorrow and I might give a seatwork," Faust says to the class. "General differential equations involve an unknown function and one or more derivatives. . . ."

She starts to add more strips of her cramped handwriting to the already laden board, which means I should start copying before she prematurely erases everything. And God knows she does that all the time.

I guess Irvin wins this round. Turd.

I take out a new pencil and get to work. God, I'm so behind on everything, which is bad, since I can't afford to be left further behind in calculus. I'm not really bad at math or anything; it just so happened that something else is taking up a huge space in my head. And no, it's not my bitchy boyfriend. It's bigger, more personal, and ten times more sensitive.

And that is why no one in Empire Academy knows. Not even Belle, Claire, and Irvin.

I'm about to reach the end of Faust's scribbles when she suddenly announces, "Before I forget, turn in your homework, class."

My aching hand freezes on my notebook. One by one, my classmates start to get up from their seats to put their papers on top the teacher's desk. Irvin also makes his way to the front. Meanwhile, I stay seated, trying to act natural and debating whether or not I should fake a fainting episode. I feel drained of life, anyway, so might as well put it to use.

However, before I can decide, Faust begins to count the papers. A new jolt of terror wracks my body.

"There are only seventeen papers here," she says, frowning. "Who didn't hand the homework in?"

She surveys the class with her mouth pressed into a thin line, and my heart stops beating for a second. Now that I look at the sheets of lined papers in her hands, I remember that I have my copy in my bag. It would've been great if I had this memory blast yesterday, instead of while Faust is recounting them.

Now is probably the best time to say that I'm sick and I need to throw up. No one questions that. Maybe I can even—

"Miss Fox?"

Oh, no. Please let the bell ring. Please let something happen. Anything—

"Miss Savannah Fox?"

"She's calling you!" Irvin hisses, nudging me hard on the ribs. "Don't just sit there!"

"No!" I hiss back, wondering if it's too late to hide under our table.

Well, I don't think it is, but Irvin does. He grips me by my upper arm and tries to get me to raise my hand. I resist vehemently, but being the brute he is, he ends up victorious.

The usual faint hum of conversation in the classroom dies down completely as I shakily keep my hand up. Fortunately, my classmates are decent enough not to stare at me, but Faust's gaze is enough to make my stomach lurch with nerves.

She breaks the silence by loudly shuffling the papers, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. Her beady blue eyes are fixed on my face, like she's trying to drill a hole on my forehead. Her nostrils are flaring, and black leathery wings are beginning to spring out of her back. She opens her mouth and fire spews out. . . .

Okay, so maybe the last bit didn't happen. She didn't turn into a monster, but I'm telling you, she's close enough.

The teachers in Empire Academy all have these common qualities: extremely smart, strict, and sickly sweet. They could roast you and your entire bloodline while smiling like beauty queens. Faust is a pro when it comes to that.

"Miss Fox, please stand up." She flashes me a lingering smile. "No homework, huh?"

The cream-colored walls seem to be closing in on me as I get to my feet. My face is burning, like someone's lighting a blowtorch right under my chin. More of my classmates look at me, and since I'm at the back of the room, the sight of them turning is both very obvious and unnerving. If my heart starts to beat any faster, I swear I'm going to die. Which wouldn't be so bad if you think about it.

Nevertheless, I put on a poker face. I have to be unbothered. Part of being the coolest girl in school is acting unfazed by anything. It's what got me the parties, the crowns, and the boys. This isn't the first time I got confronted by a teacher, I remind myself.

"Yeah," I manage to affirm calmly. "No homework for me, ma'am."

"I assumed you'll work harder. Didn't you get a C minus on the last quiz?"

Wow. She's going for low blows now, isn't she?

Instead of dignifying that with an answer, I remain silent, flashing her a stilted smile.

"You know what that means, Miss Fox," Faust says loftily. "How about I grant you a morning walk?"

For a moment I consider sweet-talking my way out of the situation, but then I see her whipping out a familiar sheet of pink paper and I realize it's too late. She signs it with a flourish before holding it up for everyone to see. There's a sudden ripple of noise in the classroom, and hearing it is worse than being sent to the guidance office itself.

"Well?" Faust prompts, her face lit up with delight as she waves the slip in the air. "Here, Miss Fox."

I make my way to the front to get the paper, adding more bounce to my stride and pretending that everything's just peachy. But inside, I want to wallop her.

"Off you go now," Faust coaxes as she hands me the slip, looking pleased with herself. "Mr. Kelley's office."

Even though I'm looking straight ahead to avoid everyone's gaze, I can still see Belle and Claire smiling devilishly out of the corner of my eye. Trust those two bitches to find this amusing. Maintaining my rictus smile, I snatch the paper from Faust and step out of the classroom.

The way to Mr. Kelley's office is a familiar route. I could navigate my way to it with my eyes closed, and Mr. Kelley probably developed a sixth sense for me already. In short, I deserve to have a Madame Tussauds statue in there.

I walk inside the office, not bothering to knock. As I predicted, Mr. Kelley instantly turns around and holds his hand out for my slip.

Mr. Kelley's the head counselor, and he's an ancient geezer. I'm not saying this to be mean. He really is old. Surprisingly, however, he still keeps track of the bajillion students in the school in a way that makes the other younger counselors look like amateurs. And it's not only the basic information that he knows. It's the relationships and conflicts and stuff. He's like Big Brother. Or even God. His attention to detail trickled down to the way he's taking care of his huge, well-proportioned office. There's not one particle of dirt, no little pot of succulent out of place.

"What is it now, Savannah?" he asks with a mildly exasperated tone, peering at the pink slip I just handed him. "No homework, eh? What happened?"

"I forgot," I lie, taking the deeply-cushioned leather chair in front of his desk. "I was busy with other stuff over the weekend and I didn't remember the homework." I swallow hard. "Am I in trouble?"

Instead of answering my question, Mr. Kelley removes his wire-rimmed glasses and stares at me intently. "Answer me honestly. Is there something going on?"

"No," I reply quickly. Too quickly. This makes him raise his graying eyebrows. "There's just a little . . . um, problem at home. Nothing big, really."

Everything about his expression tells me that he doesn't buy it. The lines in his face deepen even more as he frowns. "Does that have something to do with you delaying your college applications?"

"Oh, no." Damn. See what I meant about him remembering every student? "I just need more time for the applications."

That's another lie, but I keep my face nice and neutral in case he wants to scrutinize me. He just nods, signs the slip, and hands it to me.

"Am I in trouble?" I ask again, accepting the slip. "Because I—"

"No, Savannah, you're not in trouble." His tone is suddenly kind and gentle. "I'll just write a report for Mrs. Faust. You may go."

"Thank you."

I get up and start towards the door, but then Mr. Kelley calls my name. "Savannah?"

I turn around, my heart pounding. "Yes, sir?"

"When you want to talk about it, feel free to visit me."

Yeah, right. As if my problems are something I could just discuss with a counselor.

Nevertheless, I murmur a quick thanks and continue on my way. Exactly ten minutes have passed since Faust sent me out. That's pretty fast, considering how chatty Mr. Kelley could be. No doubt Faust will be surprised to see me so soon. She probably expects me to get kicked out of the school.

Ha. I can't wait to see her face.

I break into a jog on my way back. Putting on a well-practiced innocent expression, I walk into the classroom and put the admission slip on Faust's table. I expect her to be outraged, but sadly I'm disappointed. She looks kind of . . . smug.

And only when I turn to go to my spot do I find out why.

My things are not there anymore. My bag, my papers . . . gone. Someone's sitting on my chair, and it's sure as hell not me.

It's Alyssa. Of all people. She's the one Belle likes to call an ass-kisser, because she likes pretending to be a leader of some sorts. And she's not. To be honest, I don't actually mind her taking my seat, but what I'm worried about is where she used to sit. That's where I'm headed, and that's at—

"You can stay beside Mr. Yates here," Faust simpers, gesturing at the empty chair right in front of her desk. "I'm sure he'll be happy to keep an eye on you."

I glance at my new seatmate, and sure enough, he doesn't look happy with the idea of keeping an eye on me.

Well, it's not like I'm celebrating. In fact, I feel totally deflated as soon as I take my new seat. I turn in my chair to check if Irvin is feeling as miserable as I am, but he's already chatting up Alyssa as though his girlfriend has been chucked off into the orbit and not sitting in the same room.

Great. So now I'm stuck here in front where I can't even peek at my phone, and he's there just yapping with Alyssa.

"Hey." Joseph suddenly taps my shoulder. I face him abruptly to warn him against touching me, but I find that he's holding out a sheet of paper. His hand is shaking, and he can barely look me in the eye. "Here's the new lesson guide."

I take the paper from him, giving him a curt smile and trying not to cringe. Jeez, I wish he'd stop being a quivering mess.

Again, I'm not saying this to be mean. Joseph is probably the richest kid here, which would've earned him a mass of friends, but he prefers being somewhat of a recluse. A mystery of the unsocial variety. And the fact that he wears a different beanie every single day repels people. I've never seen his whole head, and we've been in the same class since middle school.

My phone buzzes twice in my pocket and I quickly move to read the messages when I suddenly remember that I can't. I'll be in serious trouble. It also doesn't help that Faust paused her lesson to watch me.

The odds are not looking great, let's be honest, but believe it or not, Irvin and this new seat is the least of my problems. In fact, just the thought of dealing with all of it makes me want to fold into my own body and disappear into thin air.

But I just take a deep breath, put on my poker mask, and start copying the notes from the board.