I want to be yours

Sienna did not like the way the boy moving into the house next to hers looked. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the way he stood, slightly hunched as if he carried something heavy on his shoulders, or how he barely spoke to the movers bustling around him. Maybe it was the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, hiding most of his face, or how his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, like he was trying to make himself smaller. Either way, Sienna didn't like it.

Still, she found herself watching him from her bedroom window, peering out through the gap in her curtains as he helped carry boxes inside. The sky was beginning to darken, the golden hues of late afternoon melting into dusky purples, casting long shadows across the street. He looked tall-too tall for someone who couldn't be much older than she was. And his eyes, when she finally caught a glimpse of them, were striking. A deep, stormy grey, like the sky before a thunderstorm. They were... pretty. It annoyed her.

At eleven years old, Sienna was painfully aware of her own awkwardness. Her braces felt too big for her mouth, her face was constantly breaking out, and her strawberry-blonde hair refused to cooperate no matter how much she brushed it. She hated that this boy, whoever he was, had a smooth, unblemished face. His skin was clear, his dark lashes long, and puberty seemed to have favored him in a way it clearly had not favored her. It was unfair. Completely, utterly unfair.

As she watched, the boy suddenly turned in her direction.

Sienna's breath caught in her throat. For a split second, their eyes met, locking across the short distance between their houses. Her stomach twisted, a sharp jolt of panic shooting through her as she realized she'd been caught staring. Before she could stop herself, she ducked down below the windowsill, heart pounding in her chest. But it was too late. He had seen her.

Great. Now he probably thought she was some kind of creep.

Lying flat on the floor, Sienna squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. What if he told his parents? What if they thought she was spying on them? She could already hear her mother scolding her, reminding her about "respecting other people's privacy." Or worse, what if he said something to her at school?

The thought made her cringe.

Slowly, she peeked back up over the edge of the windowsill. The boy was still standing there, but he wasn't looking at her window anymore. Instead, he was staring down at the ground, his shoulders slightly slumped. There was something in his posture that she hadn't noticed before. Something... sad.

She frowned, tilting her head.

What was his story?

People didn't usually move into their neighborhood in the middle of the school year. And the way he carried himself, the way he barely interacted with the movers or his parents, made her wonder if he even wanted to be here.

A part of her-small, but insistent-wanted to know more.

But another part of her, the part that was still embarrassed about being caught, told her to forget about it.

With a sigh, Sienna flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Maybe she'd see him at school on Monday. Maybe she wouldn't. Maybe he'd pretend he hadn't seen her spying on him, and they'd go on living next door to each other without ever really speaking.

That was probably for the best.

After all, she didn't like the way he looked.

At least, that's what she told herself.

"I'm going to kill him!" My voice rings out so loudly that the entire neighborhood probably hears me. Someone-Jason-switched out my shampoo with the ugliest green dye I've ever seen, and I know it was him. I'm practically vibrating with rage by the time I storm over to his house, fully prepared to commit murder. And honestly? I'd be justified. School starts in two weeks, our last year, and I cannot walk into Gold Leaf Academy looking like the Grinch's long-lost twin sister.

Yes, unfortunately, Jason and I go to the same school.

Gold Leaf Academy is about as prestigious as it gets-a ridiculously expensive boarding school that I can only afford thanks to my scholarship. He, on the other hand, probably has enough money to buy the place twice over.

Ever since he moved in next door, we've been inseparable, not by choice. Our moms bonded over their shared bad taste in men and have forced us to spend time together ever since.

I jab the doorbell with more force than necessary, still seething. I already know he's home alone-our moms are out shopping, meaning I'm not disturbing anyone important. The door swings open, and there he is. Jason. Standing there in all his irritating glory, a smug smirk already in place.

"Can I help you?" he asks, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"You're literally insane! Look what you did to my hair!" I gesture wildly at my waist-length locks, which are now a sickly shade of green.

He barely spares them a glance. "Calm down, it's temporary," he says, rolling his eyes before stepping aside to let me in.

I march straight to his room and collapse onto his bed, dramatically flinging my arms out. "I really hate you," I declare as he walks in after me.

Jason just laughs, the absolute asshole.

"Love you too," he shoots back with a wink.

I pretend to gag.

He plops down beside me, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.

"I'll get you back for this," I warn.

Instead of responding, he grabs my waist and tickles me. I shriek, laughing so hard I can barely breathe. I flail, trying to push him away, but he's relentless. When he finally stops, I'm gasping for air, and my cheeks ache from smiling. I grab a pillow and smack him with it, which only makes his grin widen.

Here's the truth, though-one of my best-kept secrets. I don't actually hate Jason. Not even close. He's one of my favorite people in the world. But no one at school knows that. As far as everyone else is concerned, we're rivals, constantly at each other's throats. Both of us are competing for valedictorian this year, and that only makes things even more intense.

But when it's just us? When there's no audience?

It's different.

We've been sneaking into each other's rooms for years now. I don't even remember how we went from strangers to best friends, but I'm grateful we did. Spending time with him is my favorite part of the day.

"Alright, come on," he says, standing up. "Let me help you wash it off."

I perk up. "You have dye remover?"

"Obviously," he smirks. "Bought it when I got the dye. But honestly? I think you should keep the green. Really brings out your inner monster."

I scowl. "I look like a swamp creature."

"I was thinking more... if Shrek were a teenage girl."

"Fiona had red hair, dumbass."

I smack him with the pillow again, but I follow him to the bathroom. I'd do anything to get rid of this hideous color.

He sets up a stool in front of the sink, and I adjust until my head is under the tap. The water runs warm as he massages the dye remover into my scalp. His fingers move gently, almost soothing, and I hum contentedly, closing my eyes.

"What's alternate-you doing right now?" he asks, voice low with amusement.

I crack an eye open. "Probably dancing on your grave after murdering you."

Jason chuckles. "Yeah, that tracks."

"What about alternate-you?"

"Turning in his grave, wondering where it all went wrong."

I laugh, and he smiles. We've been playing this game for years-imagining what we'd be doing in alternate universes.

"Your ghost wouldn't haunt me?" I tease.

"Oh, definitely. You'd have to die a virgin because I'd scare off anyone who even thought about getting close to you."

"You're evil."

He just smirks.

He thinks it's funny that I haven't had sex yet, but I have valid reasons. For one thing, I'm focused on school. If I want to beat Jason and graduate top of our class, I can't afford distractions.

And for another? Boarding school is brutal. Privacy doesn't exist. If I ever hooked up with someone, it would be all over campus before I even had time to process it. I refuse to be gossip blog material.

That's Jason's job. He's ridiculously popular and effortlessly charismatic. Everyone loves him. Add in the fact that he's rich, and, well-he owns the school. He's not nearly as much of a player as the rumors make him out to be, but I still get all the juicy details. Which guy sucked his dick. Which girl he's dating next. I know everything.

And I love the drama.

Except... sometimes, it bothers me. The jealousy is irrational, suffocating. Jason is mine, but when we're at school, he belongs to everyone.

And I hate the way that makes me feel.

When my hair is finally clean, Jason wraps a towel around my shoulders.

"There you go, Cinderella."

"Does that make you my fairy godmother?"

He scoffs. "No. That makes me your Prince Charming-here to save the day."

"I'm pretty sure the prince didn't actually save Cinderella from anything."

"He saved her from a life of poverty and servitude to her evil stepmother."

"Oh, shut up."

He laughs and hands me the hairdryer.

As I dry my hair, my gaze drifts around his room. The grey walls, the massive king-sized bed. This might be my favorite place in the world.

An unwanted thought slithers into my mind-or maybe, my favorite place is just... next to him.

I shove that thought away before it can settle.

Boarding school resumes next week, which means it's time to collect our uniforms.

Jason is getting a new one since he was elected head prefect, which basically makes him god at our school. As if he needs more power. I, on the other hand, was elected secretary of finance, which suits me perfectly-especially since I plan on studying business in university. Hopefully Harvard.

Gold Leaf Academy is an international school, and it adopts a lot of customs to accommodate students from different cultures. The cafeteria has a wide range of dietary options, there are tons of festivals and clubs, and compared to other boarding schools, we have very few restrictions. The one area where they are strict? Academics. At least a third of each class doesn't make it back the following year because they fail to meet the ever-changing, ridiculously high cut-off mark. School is brutal, exhausting, and completely merciless.

The only upside? It's fair. No matter how rich or powerful your family is, you can't bribe your way into staying if you don't make the cut. That, at least, is comforting.

Jason picks me up in his Bugatti Divo-yes, Bugatti Divo, a ridiculously expensive car for someone who isn't even legally allowed to drive yet. His birthday is in November, though, and it's September now, so he'll be getting his license soon enough.

The boutique is minimalistic but stylish-lots of creams and browns, sleek decor, and an expensive atmosphere. Madame Francine, the seamstress, is a petite woman who somehow looks both young and ageless at the same time. Her chic red bob and designer glasses scream wealthy fashion icon.

Right now, she's busy with another customer, so her assistant helps us instead. She hands over our uniforms and asks us to try them on.

Our school colors are gold and green, and our uniforms follow the same theme. The girls wear dark green pleated skirts with gold trimmings, and the boys wear slacks. Our white long-sleeved shirts have the school's emblem-a gold ouroboros wrapped around a tree-on the breast pocket. We also have sweaters, vests, and blazers, though they aren't mandatory.

I step out of the dressing room in my uniform, only to be immediately met with Jason's scrutiny.

"Is that skirt length even sanctioned?" he asks, eyes narrowing.

"Mind your own business," I snap, flipping him off.

At 5'9, my skirt always looks shorter than it actually is, falling mid-thigh. People love to call it obscene when I wear it, but if I were a couple inches shorter, no one would care.

"How are you planning to move around without flashing the whole school in that?" Jason crosses his arms, looking way too pleased with himself.

"One, it's not that short. Two, mind your own business," I say sharply.

He just laughs, but then he steps closer-way closer.

"I'm not sure I like the idea of all the other guys staring at your legs all day," he murmurs.

My breath catches. He's so close now that I can see the different shades of blue in his eyes, can feel the heat radiating off his body. If I leaned in just an inch closer, our lips would touch. The thought makes me lightheaded-both weightless and unbearably heavy at the same time.

Then-

"Are you guys done?"

The voice snaps me out of it. I jerk back, my head spinning, my heart racing. I take another step away from Jason-then another-desperately trying to inhale the air he seemed to suck from the room.

"Yeah, we're done," I call out, though my voice comes out different, higher than usual. Shit.

Jason just watches me. His midnight blue eyes make me feel exposed, like he can see everything I try so hard to keep hidden.

I take another step back. I know myself-I do not make good decisions when he looks at me like that.

I practically flee the dressing room.

"Are you okay, dear? You look a bit startled," Madame Francine asks. She must be done with her other customers now.

I flash her a bright smile, pushing everything else down. "No, nothing's wrong! I'm just so completely in love with my uniform," I say, twirling for effect.

Jason steps into view, and our eyes meet again.

His uniform is different from the rest of ours. Instead of green, his blazer is black, with the school's golden emblem stitched onto the breast pocket. Even his tie is different-plain black instead of the standard green-and-gold stripes.

The thought strikes me suddenly: he is different.

His uniform fits him perfectly, just like everything else. And even though I know all his flaws, even though I know he's far from perfect, I can't help but think-just for a second-that he is. That he's so utterly, impossibly perfect that he shouldn't be real.

We pay for our uniforms and leave since neither of us needs adjustments.

On the drive home, Jason glances at me. "What's alternate you doing?"

I smirk. "Selling pornos in my school uniform."

His laugh is instant, loud, booming.

"My name could be Naughty Schoolgirl-cliché but effective," I continue.

"How about Teacher's Slut?"

"Detention Baddie?"

"Classroom's Bad Girl?"

"Principal's Favorite," I add, throwing him a wink.

Jason laughs so hard I swear he's going to crash the car.

"What about you?" I ask once he's caught his breath.

For a moment, he's silent. Then-

"Buying every single copy so no one else would ever see you like that."

My stomach flips.

I gulp.

He has to know what he's doing to me. He has to know how helpless I feel sometimes, how tangled up I get in this stupid, confusing mess we call our relationship.

And yet, he still says things like that.

We fall into silence for the rest of the drive.

And I pretend-just like I always do-that I'm not affected.