Sienna stared at the note, the words burning a hole through her textbook.
So… should we give them something real to talk about?
Her first instinct was to crumple it into a ball and launch it at his infuriatingly handsome head. Her second was to write a scathing reply about his audacity. Her third, and most terrifying instinct, was to actually consider it.
The lecture ended in a blur. The second Professor Harper dismissed them, she shoved the note deep into her bag, stood up, and power-walked for the door, ignoring Jace's call of "Cole, wait up!"
She didn't stop until she was safely locked in her apartment, back against the door, breathing like she'd just run a marathon.Tasha looked up from her spot on the floor, surrounded by color-coded notes. "Whoa. You look like you just saw a ghost. Or, more accurately, a six-foot-two basketball player."
"He wrote me a note," Sienna panted, sliding down the door to the floor.
Tasha's eyes widened. "A note? How adorably analog. What did it say? Was it a sonnet? A haiku? 'Roses are red, my hoodie is grey, I'm sorry I caused a media fray'?"
Sienna dug the crumpled paper from her bag and handed it over.
Tasha's grin spread from ear to ear as she read it. "Oh, he's good. This is advanced-level flirting. It's a challenge and an invitation wrapped in one dangerously charming piece of paper."
"It's not flirting, it's torment!"
"It's only torment because you like him," Tashasaid, her voice singsong. "And he definitely likes you. This is him trying to get a rise out of you because he doesn't know how else to get your attention."
"He has my attention! He's had it since his 1 a.m. jump-roping session!"
"No, he has your ire. There's a difference." Tasha tapped the note thoughtfully. "You know what this situation needs? Rules. Formalized, sarcastic, neighborly rules of engagement."
Sienna blinked. "Rules?"
"Yes! A peace treaty. You draft it. You lay down the law. No loud music after 11 p.m., no using my full name in public, no flirty notes in class. You take control of the narrative." Tasha's eyes sparkled with mischief. "And watching him try to follow them, or spectacularly break them, will be half the fun."
The idea was absurd. And yet… It was also brilliant. It was structured. It was a system. It was everything Sienna craved in her suddenly chaotic life.
Fueled by a potent mix of indignation and a strange, newfound determination, she pulled out her laptop and opened a new document. She titled it, in bold, capital letters: THE 3A-3B NON-AGGRESSION PACT.
An hour later, she printed the single page, her lips pressed into a thin line of satisfaction.
"Okay, let's hear it," Tasha said, leaning forward.
Sienna cleared her throat. "Article One: Noise Pollution. All music, jump-roping, and/or loud celebrations must cease by 10:59 p.m. Article Two: Laundry Room Etiquette. A two-foot perimeter must be maintained at all times. Article Three: Public Conduct. There will be no acknowledging of each other's existence on campus unless absolutely necessary. Thisincludes, but is not limited to, waving, speaking, or passing notes."
Tasha was already giggling. "You're insane. I love it. What else?"
"Article Four: Communication. All necessary communication shall be conducted via formal, typed memo slid under the door. No texts. And definitely no talking through the wall." She took a deep breath. "And Article Five: The Photo. The incident of last Saturday shall henceforth be referred to as 'The Unfortunate Collision' and shall not be mentioned, alluded to, or used as a basis for flirtation."
"You're gonna slide this under his door, aren't you?" Tasha asked, her voice full of awe.
"It's the mandated form of communication," Sienna said, standing up with an air of finality.
She marched to her door, opened it, and strode the three steps across the hall. With a satisfyingthwip, she slid the document under the door of 3B.
She was back in her apartment, door locked, within ten seconds.
"Operation: Sarcastic Peace Treaty is a go," Tasha whispered.
They waited. Five minutes. Then ten.
Just as Sienna was starting to think he wasn't home, a soft rustling sound came from their own door. A white envelope was being slid back underneath.
Sienna scrambled for it, her heart doing a stupid little flip. She tore it open.
Inside was her original document. At the bottom, in the same bold, slanted handwriting from the note, he had added a new clause.
Article Six: Amendments.
This treaty may be amended at any time by the party of the second part (3B) if he provides a suitable bribe. See Exhibit A.
Beneath it, he had taped a single, gourmet chocolate chip cookie wrapped in cellophane. And he had scrawled one more line.
P.S. Your 'Unfortunate Collision' is my favorite photo. I made it my phone wallpaper. Try and stop me.
Sienna stared at the page, then at the cookie. A reluctant laugh bubbled up in her chest, and this time, she didn't try to stop it.
He wasn't just a nuisance. He was a master of the game. And as she unwrapped the cookie, she realized with a sinking, thrilling feeling that she was no longer sure she wanted him to stop.