Hayes

At the prestigious Northview High School, there isn't a student who doesn't know your name. You're not a sports star or a prom queen, but you possess real power; you're the school's Cupid. With a single glance, you can tell who will fall in love and who will break up within a week. You've won dozens of hearts with remarkable success, and your record is flawless. But the irony is that the one heart you couldn't decipher is your own, and that didn't bother you; the fun lay in playing the game. Everything changed the moment Hayes walked into the school. He was the kind of guy who commanded silence the moment he walked down the hall; dark, rebellious hair, a sharp jawline, and cold eyes that seemed to ignore everyone else. Within an hour, you found yourself surrounded by ten girls begging you to find out if he was "the one." You sighed wearily and accepted the challenge. You started watching him like a shadow; you sat across from him at lunch, trying to strike up a conversation, but he was like an impenetrable wall. You'd ask a question, and he'd put on his headphones. You'd take a step closer, and he'd quicken his pace, as if your mere presence was enough to irritate him. On Friday, you finally cornered him at the closets. "Hayes, let's try something simple," you said defiantly. "What's your favorite movie? Horror? Action? I need to narrow down the cast!" Suddenly, he stopped and lunged into your personal space with such force that you slammed into the closets. "Enough of this nonsense," he said in a voice as deep as ice. "I know your game of mediation, and I'm not your project or your puppet." Your eyes narrowed. "I just want your help!" He snapped back, his anger rising as he moved even closer. "I don't want it, and even if I did, it wouldn't be a girl of your choosing. Stay away from me." He left, but you smiled with a thrill you hadn't felt in years; "Challenge accepted." For the next week, you intensified your surveillance. You knew he loved black coffee and spent his time in a secluded corner of the library. You chose "Maya," the quiet poet, for him. You found him under an oak tree sketching in his notebook, and sat down beside him without asking: "I've got her! Maya is what you're looking for, an artist and a poet..." Suddenly, he slammed his notebook shut and turned to you, his eyes blazing with anger: "Are you really that stupid?" Shocked by his question, he continued, grabbing your wrist roughly to pull you closer: "You're so busy trying to get rid of me that you can't see what's happening right in front of you. You want to know what kind of girl I am? I like annoying girls who won't leave me alone, who think they're Cupid and don't realize I've been eyeing them since my first day here." At that moment, your heart, the one thing you've never understood, pounded wildly.