I’m curious what they’re talking about, but I refuse to let the curiosity win. Then the song ends, and it’s the last song on my playlist, leaving the noise in the classroom to creep into my ears. I start to turn on another song.

“So, she stole your seat?” Hunter says to the guy, his voice a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“For today. But she’ll learn her place soon enough,” the guy warns, fishing a pen out of his pocket.

I pause from selecting a song, deciding to eavesdrop.

Hunter casts a glance in my direction then looks back at the guy. “Did you at least tell her that she was sitting in your seat?”

“Yep.” He restlessly taps the pen against the desk. “Apparently, the girl has no self-preservation.”

“Aw, come on, Zay; give her a break. She’s new.” Hunter plops down in the desk across from the guy. “Remember how scary it was on your first day?”

The guy—Zay—lets out a hollow laugh. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Bullshit,” Hunter teases. “You were six. All six-year-olds get scared about their first day of school. Even you.” When Zay doesn’t respond, worry flickers across Hunter’s face, his lips parting. “I’m sorry, Zay. I wasn’t thinking when I said that.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Zay mumbles. “None of this does.”

They grow quiet, and Hunter continues to frown as he sneaks glances at Zay. I can’t tell if he’s afraid of him or worried. Maybe a little of both. I find myself fascinated by it. How can he make people so afraid of him, even his own … friend? If that’s what Hunter is. What I wouldn’t give to have that talent. Then maybe people would stop tormenting me.

Eventually, people begin pouring into the classroom. No one says anything to Hunter or Zay, but a lot of them do double-takes in their direction then gawk at me. I’m not positive, but I have a suspicion that it has to do with the new seating arrangement. Why the hell is it such a big deal? Just what kind of guy is Zay?

The frown remains on Hunter’s face until a tall guy with dark, chin-length hair enters the room. Like Hunter, he’s dressed all in black and has a pretty face, although his seems to have a more beautifully haunted way about him, all serious, as if he hasn’t laughed in a very long time. He also has a lip and brow piercing and tattoos cover his lean arms.

“Dude,” Hunter says as he approaches. “Why are you late?”

“I had to …” He trails off as his gaze skates from Zay to me, a crinkle forming between his brows as he looks back at Hunter. “Did Mr. M. finally assign seats?”

Hunter shakes his head. “Nope.”

The stranger looks at me, but I pretend not to notice, picking at my chipped fingernail polish.

He looks back at Hunter. “Is she aware she’s sitting in Zay’s seat?”

“Yeah,” Hunter replies, leaning back in his seat and kicking his feet up onto the chair in front of him. “Apparently, she didn’t want to move.”