When I was no older than five years old, my mom had given me a small list, which she often referred to as: The Three P's to Success:

Be punctual.

Be proper. 

Be persuasive. 

When she had initially told them to me, I had been more interested in the dolls in my hands than the words that were spewing from her mouth, but as the years went on, those three P's had begun to take over my entire life. Having a political figure father and a lawyer for a mother wasn't the easiest thing in the world, and when they took away my toys at age ten and replaced them with books (encyclopedias to be exact) I knew that they were all too serious about my Three-P upbringing to let me be anything but those three things. 

So, when I walked into school on the first day at eight o'clock sharp, I was kind of annoyed to see that the assembly that was supposed to have begun at eight-o-five hadn't even been set up for yet. It couldn't have been that hard to hook up a microphone and gathering the senior class' attention, but when I noticed the graying principle standing in the middle of the auditorium stage with a patient look on his face, I knew that we'd be a while. 

Principle O'Donell was probably one of the biggest push-overs in the school, which led to my confusion as to how he managed to run the school as well as he did. He wasn't any older than forty six, but his hair was already resembling that of salt and pepper. When he smiled (which was most of the time) he formed small wrinkles by his eyes and his too-thin lips, and if you looked closely enough, you'd see a few stray hairs poking out of his nose, but aside from that, he was very much well kept. Wearing a pair of khaki's and a dark blue button up shirt, he all but oozed professionalism.

My mother had told me on several occasions during my parent conferences over the years that she found him quite attractive, and much to my surprise, my father simply agreed with her. He was usually too busy in his office to really pay much mind to her comments (and since she was always working with clients, she was too busy to do anything promiscuous anyway). 

Luckily, promiscuity wasn't on the list of P's that she wanted me to live by. And even if it had been, it wasn't like I was one to act on those urges anyway. 

Once I took my seat in the front of the room, it only took about two more minutes for the everyone to do the same. Most of the students had come in and looked for their friends, which was why it was taking so long to start the assembly up, but Principle O'Donell didn't seem to mind. If anything, he looked happy to see all of the friendships in the room. High school had the tendency to rip apart the bonds that we had spent the majority of our adolescence trying to form. The fact that several people were still friends with the same group as the one they had in middle school was probably nothing short of a miracle. 

Finally clearing his throat, I watched as everyone fell silent and looked up with expectant faces. We all knew that the assembly was about, but that didn't stop the excitement from showing. "Good morning class of twenty-fifteen! Are you guys ready for your senior year?" 

All around me, the sound of cheering and clapping filled the room, and I couldn't help but break out into a small smile as I noticed a few people muttering about how quickly time flew and how they weren't ready to be seniors, let alone graduate. Luckily for me, my mom's constant prodding helped me to become a lot more mature than the rest of my class, and I was anxiously awaiting the end of the year, despite it just starting not even a few minutes ago. 

"Okay," O'Donell began once the noise died down, "I know you guys are anxious to get to your first period classes, so I'll try to keep this short." From then, he went on about how he's seen all of us grow up so much from when we first came to the school as freshmen, and how proud he was of us making it this far. If I hadn't known any better, I could swear I heard the faint sound of crying coming from somewhere in the room, but I ignored it when the principle went on saying things that involved FASFA, scholarships, and other things that were needed for us college-bound students. With my grades though, I was certain that the scholarships would come easy to me--if not a full ride to whatever college I wanted. 

Once he was done talking about how senior year was destined to be the most dramatic year of our lives, he smiled one last time and let us leave to go to first period. Much to my liking, my first class was English, and I wasted no time climbing to third floor of the building and finding the classroom. 

At first glance, the class wasn't much: just bare walls, a smart board projector in the front, and lab desks that sat groups of two in three rows spread through the length of the room. I almost didn't notice the teacher standing near the back closet until he cleared his throat and looked at me with expectant eyes. If my progress reports over the years had told him anything, he knew what to expect of me, and he knew that I'd be the first person here. 

Luckily, I didn't disappoint. 

"You must be Madeline," he stated after about four seconds of staring at me. I didn't question how he recognized me; all of the students files had come with photos of us attached to our grades from the previous year. 

"Yes, sir. And you're Mr. Greene, right?" 

He nodded, and I took that moment to take in his appearance. Luckily, since other students began to walk in, he didn't notice my gaze taking him in. From what I could tell, he was no older than thirty five, if that, with a full head of light brown hair, a beard that made him look not only older, but more attractive, and piercing dark green eyes that would make any woman tremble if they stared for too long. On his torso was an orange and brown plaid sweater, and those were accompanied with khakis and a brown pair of dress shoes. Since his sweater had been rolled up to his elbows, I noticed an expensive looking watch and I couldn't help but wonder if teaching was his only or if he did something after school. 

Or someone, I mentally chirped, laughing to myself before taking a seat in the front of the class. 

As students continued to walk into the classroom, clearly taking advantage of the fact that it was the first day, I noticed a big pile of books sitting on the desk in the front of the classroom. As I leaned forward to take a closer look, I noticed that it was several copies of The Great Gatsby. I had already read the book over the course of the summer, and it had easily annoyed me, but reading it a second time couldn't be all that bad if Mr. Greene was the one teaching it. 

Remember, be proper! 

I grinned. Looking around, I noticed that all of the desks were filled with the exception of one, but I ignored it when Mr. Greene's soft voice filled the classroom. As he clapped his hands together and walked to the front, I caught his eyes, and even received a small smile from him. An advantage I had was that I was able to control my emotions, and it was because of that small little fact that I managed to suppress a blush as he turned away. I wondered for a moment if he had done that with all of his female students, and then scolded myself when I remembered that I was only seventeen. Even if he had, I wasn't even of legal age to do anything about it.

"Alright class, so today is your first day of senior year. I'm just going to let you know, that this is the last year that you're going to be babied before you go off into the real world." 

Ouch, I thought, Someone's getting straight to the point. 

"The year will probably move pretty quickly, and before you know it, you'll be walking across the stage with your cap and gown on, diploma in hand." As he said that, several people in the class began to whisper, but I ignored them and gave my green-eyed teacher my full attention, quickly laughing to myself when I realized that his eye color matched his name. "But anyway, that's still ten months away. Before you get to that point, you're going to need to pass this class." That earned a few groans from the students, but another smile from him. "English IV is a mandatory course, believe it or not, and if you don't pass, you won't be graduating with your friends. Keep that in mind before you decide to not hand in work or cut my class." 

Even when he was threatening us, I could tell that he was going to be an amazing teacher. Smart, sarcastic, and oh so eye-pleasing! Without a doubt, this was going to be my favorite class of the year.

As the period continued on, Mr. Greene had handed out all of the copies of Gatsby, but he seemed to know that several people were still in Summer-Mode, so he said that we wouldn't begin reading until Monday. All that did was give me time to discreetly ogle him while mentally chastising myself for being anything but proper, but hey, he was hot, and I was hormonal. As long as I didn't act on my urges, there was nothing wrong with what I was doing. 

Almost as if he was reading my thoughts, he looked up at me and his green eyes met my brown ones, making me hitch a breath when I saw the underlying look of passion in his. When I blinked though, the look was gone just as fast as it had appeared, so I wasn't sure if I had been imagining it or not. Judging by the small upturn of his lips before he looked away from me, I decided on the latter and looked down at my hands, trying to find something to do to pass the time before the class ended. 

Luckily for me, the class was cut short today because of the assembly, and when I looked up at the clock and saw that it read 8:54, I all but jumped up from my seat and walked out of the classroom with my copy of Gatsby in hand. Reacting so childishly was probably going to come back to bite me in the arse, but that was something that I could handle with a cup of coffee and an hours worth of yoga when I got home. 

Taking a deep breath, I began making my way to my next class when my phone began to violently ring in my pocket. How I had forgotten to turn off the ringer was completely beyond me, but when I pulled it out and I saw my best friends name sprawled across the screen, I smiled and picked up the phone. "Don't tell me that you overslept, Matthew." While I was still smiling, I couldn't help but be slightly annoyed with him. Matthew, my best friend for my entire high school experience, was pretty much the opposite of the three P's, but none of that mattered much when I was around him. He brought out the best in me, even though I'd never admit that to him out loud. 

On the other end of the phone, I could hear him laughing. "It's only the first day. You know that I didn't want to go to that BS assembly that O'Donell gives every year." 

I nodded my head in agreement before nervously biting my lip. Of course he was right, but I wasn't thinking about the repetitive assembly when I woke up this morning; I simply wanted to keep my attendance at it's perfect stand-point. 

"Whatever. Look," I said, glancing down for just a brief moment, ignoring the stares I was getting from the students around me, "I have to get to my next class, so I'll talk to you later--" I hadn't even been able to finish my sentence before I felt the wind being knocked out of me and my body falling to floor in a big heap of papers and books. Everyone stopped to stare for a moment, and when I looked up, I saw that in the midst of my conversation with Matthew, I had completely neglected the possibility of walking into an oncoming student who was probably doing the exact same thing as I was. 

Ignoring the laughter around me, I gathered my things, not bothering to look at the person in front of me, and walked into my second class of the day with one thought on my mind:

So much for being punctual. 

Aside from the initial Three-P's, there was one that went alongside being proper:

Be polite.  

Unfortunately, committing to that particular step was becoming more and more difficult as the minutes progressed. Around me were several men in suits and ties, and they were discussing something with my father about the stocks that had been invested into the company. It wasn't like my dad was the president or anything, but he was the CEO of a major oil company, and that alone made him an influential man in the world of politics. People from all over the world were trying to get a piece of his successful find, and judging by the people that sat at the table, I knew that it wasn't an easy process to go through. 

Aside from my father, my mother, and I, there were three men. One, Mr. Nguyen, was sitting opposite of me with a stern look on his face. At several points in the night, he had nearly shouted at my father (something that my father defended by saying because of his Vietnamese background, he was naturally a loud speaker). He was wearing a black-on-black-on-black suit, and his black hair was slicked back with just a little too much gel. Every now and then, I'd catch him sending idle glances my way, but it never lasted for more than a second; the company was more important, and I'm sure hooking up—or at least trying to—with the CEO's daughter, wasn't the way to go. 

The next man, who was at the other end of the table (opposite my father) was an African American man who went by Mr. Byer. When he first walked in, he stood at a tall six-foot-five, and it took a lot of effort to not cower in fear because of his massive stature. Not only was he tall, but he was also muscular as all hell, and the cold look he gave me with those big brown eyes didn't help. Once he had his back to me, I took in his attire and noticed that he was only wearing black dress pants and a white shirt that was accompanied by a black tie. Most of his hair had been shaved off, and that only made him look more intimidating. Judging by the way he slammed his hands on the table whenever he didn't agree with something only made me question what would happen if he seriously lost his temper. 

Last but not least was Mr. Smith, who was just your average Caucasian man with a receding hair line, big belly and a too-loud-laugh. On his left ring finger was this huge bronze plated ring, but since he was seated across from my mom, I couldn't really see what it was. Maybe it was his class ring, or maybe it was a business thing. Either way, every time he extended his hands, he nearly touched my moms, completely ignoring the death glare she was discreetly giving him. By this point of the night, he had already consumed about three glasses of wine (managing to spill some on his once-white shirt) and was pretty much talking out of his arse. The only reason my father hadn't kicked him out was because—for some reason—he was my dad's most trusted employee. When he acted this way, it was hard to see why, but I didn't question my fathers decisions. Not out loud, anyway. 

For the last few hours (two to be exact) we had been sitting in what was supposed to be a calm dinner discussing the future of the company, but after several raised voices and slammed hands, I couldn't take it anymore. "Daddy?" I asked him once the conversation had died down. I could feel five pairs of eyes on me, but I ignored it and gave my father the best pout I could muster up. "Sorry to interrupt, but my I be excused? My head is killing me." 

For six seconds, my father held my gaze before nodding and turning to my mom. "Marie, why don't you go get ready for bed? I should be inside within the hour." 

Liar. 

This wasn't the first time that my father had a meeting in the house, and every time he said he'd be in within the hour, that usually meant you wouldn't see him until the following night when—if—he got off of work. 

My mother knew this, but she excused herself anyway, briefly kissing my dad before walking in the direction of the room. I had just been about to follow suit when I felt a hand on my knee, and when I looked up, I met Mr. Byer's eyes. His expression wasn't giving anything away, but he gave my knee a tight squeeze before letting me go and giving me a smile. Instinctively, I wanted to lash out and give him a piece of my mind for touching me, but I remembered my mothers rules, and I cleared my throat before standing up and giving my father a look before turning and walking up the stairs and in the direction of my bed room. 

Once I was sure that I was out of their line of vision, I narrowed my eyes and shook my head in disgust. I don't know what it was about men with power thinking that they could do whatever they wanted, but it was something that tested a lot of my patience. Had they not been members of my fathers business, I would have told them off without the slightest bit of hesitation. But I knew how to hold my tongue, and I wasn't going to risk the repercussions of insulting someone with that much power and influence. 

When I finally made it to my room, I gently closed the door behind me and looked around. My room wasn't much to look at it. On the walls was an olive green color, and it matched the brown furniture that was scattered throughout the room perfectly. On my right, was my bed, and past that was the door to my bathroom (I had my own, call me lucky). In front of me was my computer desk and to my left were two dressers that had pictures and toiletries scattered across the top. On the right wall was a wardrobe closet that was full of outfits for nearly every occasion, but even with all of that, I felt like something was missing. 

It's not like I wasn't used to my room being empty, it was just kind of upsetting sometimes. How many girls got the opportunity to share their room—their bed—with a guy while I sat here single and boyfriend-less for the larger part of my seventeen years? It's not like I needed a boyfriend, but having someone to cuddle with wouldn't be half bad. 

I chuckled at the thought. It's not like my mom would let me date someone she didn't pick out for me anyway. Usually when that happened though, they tended to be snobbish little pricks who thought that just because they came from lines of money, that they were kings of the world. After one blackened eye, and another bloody nose, my mom decided that trying to set me up was something that was better left avoided. Sadly, she didn't trust my judgment in men either, so I was stuck being single until I either: a.) graduated and left the house, or b.) decided to take a risk and date on my own. 

But do I even really want to do that after what happened the last time? 

Shuddering at the thought, I quickly kicked off my heels and walked in the direction of the bathroom so I could wipe off my make up and untie my hair. While I often opted for simply wearing my hair down, my dad insisted that I tied it all up into a tight bun on the top of my head. Words couldn't even express how happy I was when I finally pulled the scrunchy out of my hair. 

As I let my curls fall down to my shoulders, I looked up at my mirror and took in my appearance. I wasn't the most attractive thing in the world, but I wasn't ugly either. I had a pair of brown, almost hazel eyes that often made me resemble the innocence of a small animal. Next was my small nose, and a pair of almost full lips that were naturally tinted with a hint of dark pink. My skin was a pretty fair shade, and thankfully, blemish free, but I think the thing that stood out about me the most was my unruly mane of almost uncontrollable curls. While I was able to tie it up, my hair was usually down in a brown mess on my head unless I straightened it, which took more time than I was willing to commit. Nonetheless, it wasn't like I had rough hair, it was just really thick. 

Smiling slightly to myself, I leaned over the sink and turned on the tap, bringing my hands into the sink and onto my face so I could wash off whatever traces of makeup were there. It hadn't been much, just a bit of eyeliner and some mascara, but by the time I came up from the sink, it looked like I had just cried my eyes out. Trails of black were pooling from my eyes, and I cussed under my breath, quickly reaching for the wet-wipes that were on the counter. 

Once I looked like a normal person again, I walked back into my room and over to my dresser to grab a pair of pajamas. I had just begun to undress when there was a knock on my door. Curious, I walked over and opened it to see my mom staring at the Blackberry in her hands. Her blond hair was also in a bun on top of her head without a single hair out of place. For a woman who was thirty-seven, she looked really good for her age with her wrinkle-free skin and toned body.

When she realized that I opened the door, she looked up at me with her chocolate brown eyes and gave me a soft smile. "With all of the commotion, I completely forgot to ask you how your first day of school went." 

While she spoke, I noticed that she was tapping her foot and her fingers were fidgeting around her phone. Sure, she cared, but those movements alone let me know that she was only asking to seem sincere; she didn't want to have an actual conversation. "My first day was alright. My English teacher is pretty cool." And boy was that an understatement. I could barely focus during second period—one, because of the embarrassment of running into another student, and two because I couldn't get Mr. Greene out of my head. 

A blush crept onto my cheeks at the thought, but my mom was too engrossed in her phone to notice. "That's good, honey. Why don't you try to get some sleep? You have another day ahead of you."

I nodded, taking a step back so I could close the door. Once I saw my mothers retreating figure enter her room, I did the same and continued changing into my pajamas. It didn't consist of much, just an over-sized Arctic Monkeys shirt and a pair of black shorts. Almost out of nowhere, I felt myself getting tired, so I quickly turned off the light and lied down on my full sized bed. If anything, a twin would have also sufficed since I was the only one who slept in here, but I didn't have time to complain because as soon as I lied down, I felt myself becoming more and more lost in sleep. 

* * *

When I walked into the parking lot the following morning, I noticed that as usual, only a handful of students had arrived. Furthest from the school and closest to the football field was a small group of four people leaning against a black van. One of them was a girl with insanely teased blonde hair and enough eye liner to make a clown jealous (though she seemed to make it look hot somehow). On her body was a pair of black skinny jeans, combat boots and a black v-neck t-shirt. You didn't have to look too hard to know that she was sporting a pair of C-cups under her sheer shirt. Next to her was a guy who resembled someone who could play a gang member in a movie. He was wearing a plain black shirt (a theme that I guessed was something regular within the group) with a pair of jeans and black boots. He had messy brown hair on top of his head, and several scratches and cuts along the majority of his face. His brown eyes were trained on the blond for the most part, and when he leaned over and kissed her, I figured that they were dating. 

Next was another boy, much smaller than the other two, but still muscular to a certain degree. He had the most amazing pair of blue eyes that I'd ever seen, and his black hair was slicked back with just enough gel to make it look like he wasn't trying. As expected, his shirt was black, and so was everything else he was wearing. 

The last person, who had his back to me, had dark brown hair and a muscular build that made me cringe, but also excited me a bit. Something about him just screamed dangerous, and when he turned slightly to the side, I figured out why. 

Usually something so trivial wouldn't have caught my attention, but when I saw him bringing a cigarette to his lips, my breath got caught in my throat. Did he really not care if he got caught? And was I really being this much of a nun about it? 

As if he felt my eyes boring holes into his back, he turned his head in my direction and pulled the small stick out of his mouth; making eye contact with me as he blew out the smoke. It had been one of the most intriguing things that I'd seen, whether it was his carelessness or just the fact that he looked like a total bad ass while doing it, I wasn't sure. When he turned, I noticed that he had a pair of alluring green eyes, but my actual focus had been on the bruise that was on his left cheek. The longer I stared at him though, the more I realized that his green eyes were pretty much assessing every part of me: every flaw, every blemish, every insecurity.

I didn't really care much for being under his microscope though, so I quickly averted my eyes and dashed into the school with my bag bouncing against my back. I could still feel him watching me when I made it to the double doors that lead to the main hallway. 

Once I was safely inside though, I made my way down the corridor and found myself at my locker gathering my books. I had only been standing there for a few minutes when I felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around my waist. When I took in a breath and I caught a whiff of the Polo cologne, I grinned and ignored the feeling in my stomach. "Hey Matt." 

I could feel him smiling into my hair before he placed a kiss on my head and began to gently sway back and forth with me still in his arms. "Good morning, munchkin." 

My eyes rolled at the sound of the nickname he had given me. Sure, I only stood at a small five-foot-four, but he was only five or six inches taller than me. I guess that was enough for him to think that he was a giant though, because he had been insistent of the usage of my nickname. Keep in mind he had given it to me before my growth spurt three years ago—if you could even call it that—but the nickname stuck, and I had no choice but to accept it. 

When I had all of my books, I pulled out of his arms and turned around, leaning onto the grey locker and looking up into his dark brown eyes. As usual, he had a playful glint in them. "So, did you enjoy your day of hooky?" 

Shrugging, a grin formed on his lips, revealing a set of deep dimples on both cheeks. "Eh, I suppose. I was going to ditch again today, what with it being a Friday and everything." 

"And what changed your mind?"

Taking just one step in my direction, he cupped my face and leaned in so he could whisper into my ear before saying, "You, obviously." I couldn't ignore the chills that went through my body when he said that, but I quickly shook it off and pulled back from his hand. Matthew and I had been friends for as long as I could remember, and I wasn't going to let something like my hormones get in the way of that. Sure, we would pretty much be a perfect match, but what if it didn't work? Losing my best friend wasn't really something that I had on my bucket list. 

When he felt me pull away, Matthew took a step back and looked at me with knowing eyes. When I didn't say anything, he ran a hand through his dark hair and smiled down at me again. "So," he began, "did you miss me yesterday? I'm sure that your first day was extremely dull without me."

"Of course I missed you. Who else was I supposed to bother during the day?" 

He let out a hearty laugh and shook his head again, looking up only when he heard the sound of someone walking in through the double doors. Whoever did it made sure that they made an entrance, and when I looked up, it was none other than Cigarette-Boy and his clique. Something about the way they strode in our direction made me a bit nervous, and when I noticed Matthew's jaw clenching, I knew that it was best to try and avoid the situation. 

"Matt?" It wasn't meant to sound like a whisper, but as I spoke, I knew that my voice had gotten significantly softer. The reason for that was easy to explain though: I hated seeing my best friend anything but happy. Naturally, when he didn't respond to me, I pushed him playfully and smiled when he finally looked down at me. "We should head to homeroom. Our teacher is pretty cool, and I know you're in the class because he called your name on the roster yesterday." 

When I said that, he smiled the same smile he had given me only a few moments prior. "So now you're stalking me? I mean, you're in love with me, all you had to do was say it. Looking for my information was a bit extreme don't you think?" 

Resisting the urge to hit him again, I simply rolled my eyes and walked in the direction of the third floor classroom. Luckily, Mr. Greene's class was right down the hall from my homeroom teachers', and I had to remind myself that it was only a good thing because it meant that I'd never be late. Matt knew nothing about my small infatuation with my green-eyed teacher, and it was for the better. In the years that he and I had been friends, he was always just a tad bit overprotective, and since people knew that we were pretty much attached at the hip (and no, not at the crotch) they almost always backed off. In the back of my mind, I almost believed that Matthew purposely scared people away from me because he didn't want to share me, but I quickly shook off the thought and looked up to see that he was still walking alongside me. 

When he looked down to meet my eyes, he gave me a cheeky smile and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. Behind me, I heard the sound of someone grunting in what I believed was disgust, and when I turned around, I met that same pair of green eyes from the parking lot. When he caught me looking for the second time, he grinned in a manner that let me know this wasn't the last time that I'd see him, and I had to bite down on my tongue to keep from squealing like a ten year old.