_____

Chapter 1: Odeletta

An incessant beeping beside me pulls me out of sleep, and I can already feel the annoyance running through me. Reaching over, I hit stop on my iPhone. I pull the covers over my head and roll over.

I'm skipping today, there's no way I'm getting out of bed.

I burrow my face in my pillow, sighing slowly.

I feel sleep starting to take over, and then a loud sound makes me sit up, fast.

"Get up." Mason snaps. "We're going to be late."

I rub my eyes, looking at my best friend.

"Not going." I mutter, laying back down.

"We are starting a new chapter today, and it's Friday." He reminds me. "Which is the only day that you have one class. You'll be out by ten." He reasons. "Get up, Nate."

He walks out.

I sigh harshly, staring at the ceiling.

It should be illegal to wake up before ten. I glance at the clock.

7:17AM

I let out a groan, kicking the comforter off of my legs. I walk across the hall in my boxers.

"Ew!" Brenda calls from the kitchen. "Put on some pants!"

I scowl, entering the bathroom. I slam the door.

I hate that girl. She's so annoying, her high pitched voice, her laugh that sounds like a squeal, her smile. Every single thing about that girl irks me. Mostly what irks me is that she's my roommates girlfriend and she's here all the time, and I've grown accustomed to her moans as she has sex with my best friend. I roughly run my hand over my face, starting the shower.

When the water is warm, I pull down my boxers and get in, sighing.

I mean, I should be allowed to cross the hall to my apartment in my underwear without her voice giving me a headache before eight in the morning.

Plus, she practically lives here. She should pay rent.

I grin. That's not a bad idea. I could pay less, and maybe I could afford to get a phone that doesn't crash when I open Instagram or Snapchat.

I pour my old spice shampoo into my hand, washing my hair and rinsing it out, and then I wash my body. I get out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I check to see if I have to shave, but then I remember I shaved yesterday, so there's hardly any stubble.

I roll on deodorant and then I go pee and flush, and then pick my boxers up off the ground. I secure my towel around my waist and exit the bathroom.

"Ew!" Brenda giggles. "Put on some clothes!"

Mason peeks his head around the corner.

"Brenda, go home." I mutter.

"Nate, don't be a dick." Mason says.

Mason turns into a prick when Brenda is around, and when she's not around, all he talks about is how annoying she is. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I walk into my bedroom. I shut the door loudly and walk to my window, ripping the curtain back.

Ew. It's snowing, the first snowfall of the year.

Sighing harshly, I walk to my dresser and get a pair of white Calvin Klein boxers. I drop my towel and pull them on. I pull out a black tank top and grab my towel off the floor, drying my torso, back, and arms before putting the tank over my head. I get a navy blue long sleeve shirt that has four buttons in the front and pull it on, and then tug a pair of jeans over my legs. I put on white socks and my navy blue vans, and then I toss my old boxers in the hamper and take my wet towel in the bathroom. I dry my hair with it, and then I blow dry my hair. I comb it when it's dry, and then gel it. I look down at my toothbrush and then decide to brush after I've eaten. I don't like eating when my mouth tastes like mint. It ruins the flavor. I toss my towel in the hamper in the bathroom and walk into the kitchen.

"You need a girlfriend." Brenda says from her perch on my counter. I scoff.

"You need your own place." I retort.

"I have my own place." She says, her eyes narrowing.

"Then you should go there, I dunno, spend a night there and make your bills worth while."

She flicks her blond hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest.

"My Daddy pays my bills." She snaps.

I snicker.

"Of-"

"Nate." Mason snaps. I look at him and then sigh, clearing my throat.

"Okay."

"No, please say what you were going to say." Brenda snaps.

Is she going to sit on my counter and snap at me in my apartment? God, this girl is so annoying. I bet she's cheated on Mason already, and I bet it's been more than once.

You don't have to tell me twice.

"I said it's no surprise your Daddy pays your bills considering you drive an Infiniti and you don't work. Have you ever had a job? Or responsibility? Who pays for your gas? And your Gucci purses?"

Mason sighs loudly.

"Nate." He says.

"She told me to tell her what I was going to say."

Brenda hops off the counter, fake tears in her eyes.

"You are so mean to me!" She sobs, and then she looks at Mason. "Kick him out!" She snaps. "I want him out!"

Mason's jaw opens and then closes.

"He's always walking across the hall naked, he's always insulting me, so kick him out!"

Mason sighs.

"I'm not kicking him out." He says.

Brenda throws her head back and cries the fakest cry I've ever heard, and then grabs her Gucci purse and goes storming out of the house, slamming the door behind her. I look at Mason.

"Can't you be nice to her for one minute?" He snaps. I scowl.

"You're always saying how much you think she's annoying." I say in defense. "And I'm allowed to cross the hall in my underwear. It's not like I was naked, plus, she asked me to say what I was going to say." I open the fridge and grab the milk.

"You are so bitter." He snaps. "Ever since Miranda asked you for my number, you've been bitter. Do you even like girls?"

"If you're asking if I'm gay, the answer is yes." I say, moving closer to him and wiggling my eyebrows. I snicker at the look on his face. "I'm kidding, dumbass." I punch his arm and grab the box of fruit loops out of the pantry. "Girls and I just don't work out." I shrug. "I've accepted my fate."

"You're such an idiot." Mason says. "And just because you're bitter that you think you're going to die alone doesn't mean you can take it out on my girlfriend."

"She was asking for it." I say in defense, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet.

"She wasn't." He says.

"She was squealing before eight in the morning." I respond. "She deserved it." I pour the fruit loops in my bowl and then add the milk. I put the milk back and the cereal box back.

I glance at my best friend when he doesn't say anything. "What's wrong with you face?" I ask. He looks like he's trying not to laugh. I get a spoon from the drawer and sit down at the bar. "Are you constipated?"

He starts laughing when I fill my mouth with my cereal. "What?" I ask, my mouth full.

"It's just...she really is annoying." He says.

I sigh. "If you think she's annoying, why the hell do you date her?"

He shrugs. "She's a good lay." He says. "And she has enough money to pay for the things I want."

I swallow my food, frowning.

"Dude, I've never even had a girlfriend and even I know that's fucked up."

"What do you care? You hate her." He says. He looks at the clock. "You better wolf that shit down, we're going to be late." He walks out of the kitchen. I shake my head.

I don't understand being in a relationship with somebody you don't like.

_____

"Are you sure you don't want to skip?" I ask Mason, trudging across the college campus, my hands stuffed in my pockets. "It's cold as fuck and I'm tired."

"Maybe you shouldn't have stayed up all night watching The Walking Dead then." Mason says. "We can't skip, we're paying for this shit, and it's expensive." He says. I puff out a breath, the air in front of me turning into a white cloud and then disappearing. He runs his fingers through his brown hair as I rip open the door to the building labeled BKER. It's the third day of this class, the second semester of my junior year of college. The semester just started on Monday. I trudge up the steps, my black Jansport backpack slung over my right shoulder. Mason walks beside me.

"I wish we had stayed home." He says.

"It's not too late to turn back." I stay, stopping my footsteps.

"Money." Mason says, shooting me a look as he opens the door labeled 215.

"I wish we had chosen a better language class." I mutter under my breath, walking into the French room.

Professor Gaillard turns around in her desk chair to see who it is, and then she looks back down at her desk.

"Kill me." I mutter, plopping down in the seat that's in the row right before the last row. We arrived with one minute to spare, so I pull my iPhone 3 from my pocket.

Mason snickers, pulling out his iPhone 6s. I scowl at him, envious.

I had to jailbreak my phone in order to get instagram and Snapchat because IOS 6 doesn't have them on the App Store. Mason snickers at my phone and I elbow him in the arm roughly. He groans in pain, glaring at me. I open Snapchat and wait a minute before it loads. Literally, it takes a full minute. I scroll over and start going through my snapchats. It takes another full minute, and then I take a photo of my table and put 'streaks' on it, sending it to Mason, my brother Julian, my sister Peyton, and a few random people I have in my classes.

"Bonjour les élèves!" Professor Gaillard speaks up. I look up and then nudge Mason.

"What did she say?" I hiss.

"She said 'good morning, class.'" He rolls his eyes. "Did you not pay attention on the first day when she said that she will greet us in French by saying 'good morning, class' and then we are to respond with-"

"Bonjour Professeur Gaillard." The class says in a tired, monotone voice. "Good morning professor Gaillard." Mason hisses to me.

I swallow. "Nope, I didn't."

Learning a foreign language is a joke. Nobody gives a shit about other languages. I'm American, born and raised in Columbus, Ohio, and the only time I plan on leaving the country is for the field trip we take in this class to France at the end of the semester. If it weren't for having two years of a foreign language to be a requirement , I wouldn't be sitting here.

I'll probably scrape by this class with a D or something.

She starts talking in French. I sigh, shoving my phone in my pocket and rest my elbow on my desk, my chin in my palm, pretending to understand what she's saying.

Her voice raises at the last word of her sentence, signaling she's asking a question.

When the class just stares at her, she sighs.

"I asked, 'are you guys excited for the weekend?'" She says.

Everyone speaks up now, some people saying yes, some people grunting or saying no.

I, however, stay silent.

I work the most on weekends. The only highlight of my weekends are sleep and Netflix.

Oh, and food.

I run my hand through my hair, dropping it loudly on my desk as she starts speaking in French. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and then the Snapchat pop goes off. I fish it from my pocket and flip the switch, ignoring Professor Gaillard as she continues talking to in French.

What's the point of paying attention when I've got no idea what she's saying?

I load my Snapchat again, taking a full minute, and then view the Snapchat from my sister. Her starbucks cup sits there. I roll my eyes and tap the screen to rid of the picture. I swipe to the right at her name and wait the thirty seconds for the keyboard to appear.

You're such a white girl

I send it, hold down on the text until it highlights gray, and wait. After a couple seconds, the symbol next to her name turns blue, so I swipe to the right again.

Again, another thirty seconds pass before it loads her message. I hold down on the text until it turns gray and then read it.

Yeah, I'm wearing my ugg boots too if that helps you feel better. Is it snowing there yet?

I sigh.

It started snowing sometime overnight. Don't forget your iPhone.

It takes a couple seconds after I type the message for it to actually appear, and then I send it and save it.

Mason elbows me hard in the ribs and I look up fast. Professor Gaillard is walking towards me. I shove my phone under my leg and look at her, flashing a charming smile.

"What's your name?" She asks.

"Nathan." I say.

"Are you texting?"

"No." I say, because technically, I wasn't. I was snapchatting.

"Answer in French." She says. "Were you falling asleep?"

"Uh...um..." I hesitate. "Sí?"

Mason snorts loudly and Professor Gaillard sighs, frustrated.

She shakes her head at me, muttering in French, and then turns around and walks back to the front of the classroom. The door opens loudly, flying open with force. It slams against the wall, and a girl walks in. I raise my eyebrows. Her brown hair is wavy and short, framing her face. She has on black skinny jeans, black combat boots, a red short sleeve t-shirt that says 'Coke adds life to me' on it in netted material, like a football jersey or something, and a black leather jacket draped over her arm. All she has in her hand is a pen and a stack of paper, which is still wrapped in the cheap plastic that you buy it from the store in. I notice her hands have black leather gloves on that have spikes over the knuckles. They're not they the full gloves, but like biker gloves that only go to the middle digit of each finger, letting the rest be exposed. She steps into the class, the door slamming shut loudly behind her. Professor Gaillard looks her up and down. She shifts, peeling her black leather gloves from her hands. Her brown eyes flit quickly around the classroom before she walks loudly over to the seat in the back behind me. She pulls the chair out, the metal legs scraping hardly against the tile floor. She sits down with a loud thump, and I can hear her moving around, setting things in places.

I resist the urge to twist in my seat to look at her. Professor Gaillard waits, tapping her hand insistently on her desk. I watch the clock, and nearly two minutes later, she stops moving around and the class falls silent.

I glance at Mason, who has wide eyes.

Wow. He mouths to me. I just nod in response.

I've been going to this college for three years. I've never seen her around before, she arrives three days late to this class, and shows up fifteen minutes late on the day she does decide to show up.

Professor Gaillard looks frustrated.

"Does anybody know what the capital of France is?" Professor Gaillard asks.

A girl raises her hand, flicking her dark brown hair over her shoulder with sass.

"Paris?" She asks when Gaillard nods at her.

"Yes, what's your name?"

"Sarah." She says. I hear a snort behind me, and Professor Gaillard looks at the girl behind me. I swallow.

What is her deal?

Gaillard sighs, looking at Sarah.

"Do you know any French?" She asks.

"No, that's why I'm in this class." Sarah replies. Professor Gaillard sighs slowly.

She starts talking in French to the class, and again, her voice raises on the last word, signaling she's asking a question.

Everyone is silent for a few seconds, and then I hear a voice behind me.

This time, I turn around. The girl is sitting there, looking immensely bored, but talking in fluent French to Professor Gaillard.

They go back and forth for a few minutes. I look at Mason, my jaw slack.

How the hell does she know fluent French?

Finally, they fall silent and we all look at Professor Gaillard. She looks shocked, and then she asks her something else, and the girl replies, "Oui."

What the fuck does that mean? I look at Mason and he shrugs.

"Okay class, I'd like to introduce you guys to Odeletta Guillotin." Professor Gaillard says. "She was born and raised in Troyes, France." She's looks so excited that somebody else knows French. "Her last name is Guillotin. Does anybody know what that word reminds you of?"

I cringe. I don't want to say it.

Hey, what the hell, right?

"Guillotine?" I ask. Mason looks at me like I just murdered a puppy. "Like the beheading thing they used way back when."

"Correct." Professor Gaillard says. "Odeletta's ancestors suggested the Guillotin. Her great, great, great grandfather is the whole reason it exists. Isn't that cool?"

That's not cool, that's terrifying.

I want to look back at her again, but I don't.

"We're going to do a worksheet today." She says. "When you finish the worksheet, you can leave."

She sets the stack on the table by the door and walks to her seat. "If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask."

She sits down, starting to work on her papers again.

"Can you get me one?" Mason asks, nudging me.

"Why can't you?" I ask.

"You made my girlfriend leave." He accuses. I scowl, but I stand up anyways.

I head towards the table to get two worksheets.

The French girl shoves past me, literally elbowing me in the ribs to get a sheet first. I wince.

For a tiny thing, she has quite the arm.

"Rude." I mutter. She looks at me, her brown eyes piecing into mine like needles. I swear, I almost wince.

"Ne m'appelle pas grossier, imbécile!" She snarls loudly. My eyes widen.

What the hell did she say?

Did I hear her call me am imbecile?

She shoves past me again, roughly slamming her shoulder into me before walking back to her seat, loudly sitting down.

Mason's jaw is slack. I rub my arm.

She's a bitch.

I grab two papers, pissed, and walk back to my seat. She doesn't even look up from her paper, gripping her pen in her right hand, she's writing quickly.

Scowling, I sit down next to Mason, sliding my paper to him.

"What did she say to you?" He asks. I shrug. "What did you say to her?"

"I called her rude because she elbowed me in the ribs so she could get to the papers first."

He frowns. "What did she say?"

"Do I look like I know French?" I ask. "I don't know what she said, Mason. Why don't you ask her?" I say sarcastically as I pull a pen from my bag.

To my shock, he turns around in his seat.

"Do you speak English?"

I turn around to see her not bothering to look up at him. He taps her desk.

"Do you speak English?"

When she doesn't look up, he taps her shoulder.

She looks up, an annoyed look on her face.

"Do you speak English?" He asks for the third time.

"Oui." She says, and then she starts writing again.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Mason mutters to me. I shrug. "Hold on."