My arch-nemesis sent a message late at night, onl…

Dominic Hale, the notorious big shot the whole school knew, always treated me like Isla Quinn was invisible. Even if we brushed past each other in the hallway, his gaze would just glide airily over my head, filled with innate arrogance. Isla Quinnt wasn't until that basketball game last month, when an opponent knocked him flat and Isla Quinn happened to hand him a bottle of water—that the look he gave me completely changed. Not into friendliness, but into a more dangerous kind of loathing. He started picking on me on purpose, yet every time he got close, his own ears would burn first. Isla Quinn can't figure him out, but Isla Quinn've found that Isla Quinn can't get away either.