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Somewhere in this world, there are two connecting streets by the names of Brickwood and Cotton Grass. And on that coincidental meeting of streets, there is a massive tree with spider-leg branches reaching into the sky, covered in an array of different coloured leaves. Carved away into the bark are names of hopeless teenagers that probably broke up a week after and an apple is rotting near the bottom. It’s been there, that tree, in that spot, since anyone can really remember.

But the tree doesn’t really matter at all, actually. What does, though, is the brown-brick building beside it, which is a school. Riverview High is what they call it, also plastered across in large, golden letters.

Through the glass doors covered in posters for clubs and sports teams, a right turn and down the hall lined with burgundy lockers, up the first flight of stairs and the first classroom on the left. Second row, directly across from the window with a view of the soccer field below, there is a girl.

They say that she’s crazy, but she isn’t really. She doesn’t seem to think so anyways.

Olimpia’s just a passionate person- very in tune with her emotions and she doesn’t half-ass it at all. If she likes something, she isn’t going to just like it, she’s going to pour her heart into it and give it all the attention it deserves. Because she doesn't like just anything, or anyone, but when she does, boy does she like them.

Some people think of this as a good thing, a virtue. Something a person should be proud of. She thinks of it like that, at least. Is it so wrong to revel in that sensation of butterfly wings brushing against her ribcage?

Apparently though, according to most of her classmates, she's too passionate.

But the heart wants what the heart wants, and who is she to deny that?

“You know what I heard? That she broke into the boy’s change room and jacked a pair of his boxers!”

“You’re lying… seriously?”

“No lie. I heard it’s still in her locker.”

The whispers of two gossiping girls aren’t even trying to be secretive at all, a few seats ahead and every word is clearly heard. A frown twists on the girl’s lips as she stares out the window.

She didn’t steal his boxers. What a stupid rumour- she’s not that insane.

If they know anything at all, it's his navy blue sweater that now rests on one of her pillows comfortably at home. It still smells like him, that expensive cologne he wears, this morning when she tried it on. It’s a nice smell, strong yet comforting, reminds her of him.

But she didn’t steal his boxers.

“He’s pretty hot, though.”

“Feel free to go join stalkers anonymous at any time!”

Laughter rings through the air, receiving a frustrated shush from the teacher at the front. Olimpia’s barely listening at this point, gaze trailing over the people she’s come to recognize after so long, to a boy near the back. Her eyes always seem to be drawn to him, she finds, but she’s definitely not complaining. He's nice to look at.

His name is Jules, the owner of the sweater and the boy at the back. It’s a really pretty name; she’s never heard anyone else with it before. A pretty name for a pretty face, compliments him so well.

Jules Chevalier, it sort of rolls of the tongue like that. So does Olimpia Chevalier too, she likes to think.

His eyes are focused on the ceiling, paper in front of him completely blank. She wants to go and ask him if he needs any help, she’s got no idea what she’s doing either, but it’ll give her some sort of excuse to be close to him. That’s all she needs, is an excuse. If she has one, maybe they’d become friends. And friends soon turn to lovers, they say.

But the bell rings and the ugly sound rips her from her chance, because he’s up and out the door before she can say anything. Tomorrow, she tells herself, tomorrow she’ll do it.

And soon she’s up too, not forgetting to stop in front of Vicki’s desk. “C’mon, I’m starving!” she complains, clapping her hands together and smiling down at the Asian girl sitting behind the desk.

Vicki’s face is empty as she gathers her papers, mumbling some sort of reassurance under her breath. Olimpia hardly catches it as her eyes follow out the door and into the corridor, brimming with kids who mostly don’t give two shits. She smiles.

Olimpia knows who will be waiting in the cafeteria; these moments apart seemed like the longest. Though, absence does make the heart grow fonder.

“So did you really steal his boxers?” Vicki asks, quiet as usual and barely heard over the voices chorusing in the hall. Her voice doesn’t seem surprised though, and that’s not quite surprising in and itself.

The grin smeared across the girl’s face is devilish, eyes sparkling. “Not exactly, but now that you mention it, he does have gym next period.”

And they laugh because it's almost like a joke but not really like a joke at all, which could make it all the more funny.

They stand in the never-ending lunch line, Olimpia with a chocolate-chip cookie and apple juice in hand; Vicki with vitamin water. Four people away is Jules, chatting with that friend of his he never seems to be without, and he isn’t. Olimpia knows these types of things.

Her eyes are focused on the back of his head, his golden hair standing out amongst the crowd. She can hear his voice faintly if she strains herself, talking to Wyatt.

“I can’t believe you’re getting apple juice. You realize that it’s pretty much piss, right?” He gives his friend a look, cringing away from the offending bottle.

Wyatt takes a glance from the floor, face entirely blank, before taking another sip from his drink. He doesn’t seem to care at all. He doesn’t seem to care about much, she finds.

Olimpia though, does, and tosses her juice to the side. It's imperative in any blossoming relationship that the same sorts of drinks are liked by both people; it could definitely make or break a couple.

She hates apple juice now. Who could drink something that looks like piss? That’s absolutely disgusting.

“So I hear there’s this new girl,” she muses while taking a bite from her cookie, letting the chocolate melt on her tongue. The flavour spilling into her mouth is delicious, definitely a favourite by her. She hopes that Jules likes chocolate.

Somewhere along the grapevine, news of a new chick at the school has reached Olimpia. Sometime when she wasn’t off in her dreams revolving around that blond boy and their future life together, she’d hear the latest gossip travelling around. And this one has caught her curious side.

Vicki nods her head, she’s heard too. “Yeah, heard she was pretty,” the girl murmurs, eyes darting to the floor.

Olimpia’s eyebrows furrow, lips pursing slightly. She hadn’t heard that part. “Like, how pretty?” Her eyes narrow, following to the boy again.

The girl shrugs. “I don’t know, pretty-pretty?”

“Pretty enough for Jules?”

“Could be.”

Vicki shrugs again. She doesn't seem to know much, or care much, but entertains the conversation for Olimpia’s sake. Who, by this time, is anything but pleased with the words spilling from the girl’s lips.

The edges of the cookie crumble in her palm as she tightens her grip, swallowing. But a content smile is plastered across her face as she lets a sigh whistle past her teeth. There’s no need to get jealous, of course, she reassures herself.

Jules never pays attention to any girls, romantically at least- another thing that Olimpia is positive about. And this girl will be no different. No different at all.

It’s not like this girl could waltz in and grab his attention and make him fall in love, no matter how desperate. There are many more prettier and uglier than her that had all tried to do the same, and more determined too because Olimpia always won there.

This new girl, whoever she is, is absolutely nothing special, she decides, right there in that lunch line. And there’s no use to even think about it some more because it’s not even a little bit important.

“But more importantly than anything,” Olimpia muses to herself, absently passing over a five dollar bill to the forty-year-old lunch lady that's probably wondering where her life went, “I found something out.”

Her regular impish grin returns, eyebrows rising as she meanders through the people out the door. Vicki follows, humming in question but barely heard.

“So you know how Jules has that whole fancy thing at his door where you have to put a code in to get to his house?” she asks while sitting down at an empty table, crumbs from the last people still remain but it also gives her a perfect side view of a particular boy, so she doesn’t particularly mind at all.

Vicki nods, taking a sip from her drink, seemingly interested in what the girl has to say.

“Well, I was walking home, y’know? Just minding my own business, doing whatever, when I just so happened to find myself by Jules’ house!” She shrugs as if it's the biggest coincidence, but when their eyes meet, she pauses before dissolving into laughter. Vicki gives a little smile of her own.

Olimpia presses her palm against her lips to stop the laughter from spilling. It’s no use.

Once she’s sobered up, she brushes a piece of chestnut hair from her eyes, the grin still touching her lips. “And I thought I might as well stay, maybe see Jules. So I just hung around for a bit, behind that really big tree by his house, you know the one?”

Another nod from Vicki as she takes a piece of gum out of her pocket, she doesn't really but she pretends to anyways.

Without skipping a beat, Olimpia holds out her hand. “And then he just so happened to come home, around four which has been the time he usually comes home at but, whatever. Then I found out what the little code thing to his house is!” Pride leaks into her voice.

She can still remember the uncomfortable feeling of branches poking into her back, the leaves that got tangled in her hair, and straining her eyes to remember the numbers. But now that she looks back on it, it all seems pretty much worth it. It is worth it, because now she knows the code.

Vicki hands her a piece, spearmint, and raises her eyebrow. The silent question is cast Olimpia’s way, who returns it with a mischievous spark in her eye and a knowing nod. These events after such knowledge has been learned are inevitable.

“I’ve always wondered how to tell him that we should be together… but I mean, this is perfect! So romantic and sensual and he won’t even expect me to be there at all!” She claps her hands, eyes glazed as she’s almost consumed by her thoughts.

This moment, this moment of confession, she’s been waiting for it for so long. Finally, it’s here. Everything’s perfect: the entire romantic escapade has already formed so skilfully in her mind that she can hardly stop herself from jumping on him right now.

She does though, keep herself seated, but the grin devouring her face remains. Vicki glances behind her shoulder, not bothering to question what exactly the girl plans to do.

“Tomorrow,” Olimpia confirms. “Tomorrow we’ll do it.”

Vicki doesn’t bother to question the “we”.

And throughout the rest of the day, she perfects her virtually flawless plan. Every detail, every result, she's thought it through.

Perfect.

Olimpia lets a sigh escape her lips as she tosses her backpack onto the wooden floor, collapsing onto the couch. The leather sticks uncomfortably to her thighs but she pays no mind, her eyes falling to a close. On the inside of her eyelids all that’s racing through her thoughts are pictures of that pretty boy, with his pretty hair and pretty voice and pretty lips.

Oh, what a day.

In the kitchen a few feet away she can smell the aroma of some sort of vegetables wafting about the room, and the sound of her aunt’s humming mingling along with it. It’s soothing in some sort of way, calming to her heart beating madly in her chest. But she’s not sure if she wants to feel that peace, enjoying the sensation of adrenaline burning under her skin.

She thinks she’ll go to bed without dinner tonight, murmuring word of this to her aunt before dragging herself to her bedroom. She’s not really hungry, having that after school ended she’d bought a big dinner at the little diner a few blocks from her house.

Jules went out, and he never really did that much, so she decided that she’d like to see him for a little longer than just school hours.

Olimpia likes watching him eat too, it's really cute. Even though he'll probably never admit it, he's so prim and proper with his etiquette. He won't dare eat without a fork and knife and he never makes a mess, much the opposite of herself.

Opposites attract though, she’s heard, and she smiles at that thought.

By the time she’s come home night's already consumed the sky and her limbs are aching for some sort of rest, probably from crouching so long the day before.

She drops onto her bed, a tangle of ivory sheets and a puffy white duvet that she forgot to smoothen out this morning. Her shirt comes off and she grabs the sweater strewn across the left side, wrapping the navy cotton tight against her skin. It’s losing its scent, she finds. Snuggling into it more, less and less like him. Faint, just enough to comfort her.

Her eyes trail over the contours of her room, stopping at the picture frame propped up on her end table. Two smiling faces of her parents stare back at her, and she finds her own lips quirking upwards slightly. It’s soft, unlike most other times.

Beside it lay the canary-yellow note, black ink letters glaring at her, reminding her of why she was here. Olimpia sighs.

After a moment she clicks the light off, turning her back and bringing the sweater around her, allowing herself to get lost in thoughts of Jules.