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and he knew just how to pick a person apart, right down to their core. What buttons to push, which strings to tug on to make them unravel.
    I’d witnessed it. Hell, I was experiencing it right now and it was unnerving. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Preppy, blonde bimbo? Shallow, vapid cheerleader? Goodie two shoes? Teacher’s pet? Miss perfect? I’d heard all those things said about me, none of them kindly. None of those were me though, but I doubted he’d believe it. Sometimes I saw the same things when I looked in the mirror.
    I don’t know why I even cared what he saw or thought of me, but I knew I felt intimidated by him. He flicked his eyes toward the front of the classroom and then back at me, and I realized I’d been staring for too long and had missed most of Ms. Renner’s syllabus review. I felt my cheeks flush and I shifted my gaze to the front of the class.
    “Now that you’re all aware of my expectations for this class, let’s move on to your projects. Over the course of this semester, you will choose a piece of literature. It can be from any time period, including current works, however there will be requirements your selection must meet. You will find them on the outline I’m handing out now.” She passed another stack of papers around the room, and this time they came to me. I took one and passed the rest to Nash.
    Ms. Renner continued. “There will be multiple parts to this project. Each one is outlined there for you with what I expect. The first part is due Monday, so I suggest you find a piece to agree on quickly. Keep in mind when choosing that not only will you be required to do a complete literary analysis and six to eight page paper, but you and your partner will be required to select a scene from your chosen work and present it to the class.”
    “You mean like act it out?” Steven Standstill blurted.
    “How far you go with it will be up to you and your partner. You may choose to do a simple reading, or you can get Shakespearian. I will grade accordingly, however the verbal presentation will only be worth fifteen percent of the overall grade for the project.”
    More grumbling, and a few comments about how this wasn’t theater class followed. Me? I was just trying to think of how Kellen Nash and I were ever going to agree on something. I was pretty sure Ms. Renner wouldn’t let us choose the Anarchist Cookbook or the Kama Sutra, the only two books I could see Nash being all that familiar with. The first one was just a guess because I was pretty sure he hated everyone, and well, it fit with his personality. The second was more of an educated guess based off things I’d overheard in the girls’ locker room and seen written in Sharpie on the back of bathroom stalls. Poetic the females in this school were not, graphic and explicit they were.
    Ms. Renner shifted gears from the project and moved on to the semester reading list and our first class assignment. English was one of my favorite subjects and I enjoyed a challenge. I was sure Ms. Renner’s class was going to offer that. My only fear was that being partnered with Nash was going to be a different kind of challenge I wasn’t up to.
    At the end of class, she gave us ten minutes to discuss our projects with our partners and begin the narrowing down process. I drew in a steadying breath and turned in my seat to face Nash, who was already watching me.
    “Any chance you’re going to make this easy on me and just agree with whatever I say?”
    A full grin spread across his lips. “Nope.”
    I let out a deep exhale. “I thought not. So, any suggestions? Because I was thinking we could do Les Miserables , or maybe something from Hemingway.” Really I would have loved to do Jane Austen, but I knew he would shoot that down in a heartbeat.
    “Or, we could do Slaughterhouse Five ,” he suggested.
    I wrinkled my nose. “That’s so depressing.”
    “And Les Mis isn’t?”
    I attempted to hide my surprise that he even