Sexts → Gerard Piqué

Jackie

Fucking writer's block! I'm sorry for such a delayed update. I've got exams soon, and my life isn't what you would call organised at the moment, so yeah. Also, this chapter is unedited so minor mistakes are to be ignored. I'll update ASAP, I promise.

Okay, and I've also started writing a few other stories; it would be very kind of you if you'd check them out.

This One's A Harry Styles Fanfiction:
http://w.tt/1ogdGYl

This One's A Thorki (for those who don't know, it's Thor + Loki's boat of relations, lmao) Fanfiction:
http://w.tt/1KiTLlo
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Thursday, 31st fucking December— just a few more hours until it's New Year; but honestly, who cares?

It's not like I have plans.

"Jackie! You have a call from Peter!"

Or maybe I do.

I groan, as I recall my plans with Peter— Peter Miller, I'm not sure if I should term him famous or infamous— he was famous for being a major the smartest kid in school, and infamous for being a full-time jock.

Yes— even with those thick glasses, neat blonde hair and a showy chivalric attitude, he looked like an Abercrombie and Fitch model.

Not like I'm charmed by those though— him and I simply don't get along. He used to be my neighbour until the tenth grade; and since childhood, I held a great record for breaking his toys and belongings, and ruining every community reunion for him.

I thought I had got rid of Peter; but depressingly, I had to go to school on a holiday and spend the day with him in the library, shoving books on Rotational Motion up my arse— as directed by Mr. Piqué.

Before dropping me off on the previous day, that man did not fail to spare me a lecture.

"Improve your grades," he said. "Choose a day, preferably a holiday to visit the school library. I'll ask Mr. Miller to help you out."

So he did— and of all the days left to ruin, Peter chose the thirty first of December.

I hesitantly marched down the stairs; whilst mentally cursing both Peter, and Mr. Piqué— who the hell even calls your landline number when you have cellphone digits to exchange?

Oh right— Peter. His self-conceit is too big to ask for numbers; that little fucker.

"Hola," I spoke, flatly. I do not intend to be nice to him.

"I hope you remember about your tuition at the school library today," he said. Wait, when did this turn into a tuition?

"Yep, at twelve, I remember."

"Okay, I might be half an hour late, since Leena and I are going out on a date. Until then, read through the chapter." Yet another reason for me to hate him— he had started dating Leena right after the day she indirectly got her hapless arse rejected by Mr. Piqué.

"Okay," I replied flatly, hanging up at once— I did not want to start up an argument with that particular annoying fellow; not at the moment, at least.

Even the thought of bearing his batshit for the rest of the day made me cringe— how was I going to survive?

•••

"You're doing it wrong— for the tenth fucking time, Mercedes, what is wrong with you?!" The fucker practically yelled at me, unnecessarily.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the librarian's voice made me change my mind.