Cold as ice itself, and pale as the snow itself, Michael Clifford is not the type of 6ft boy you should be messing with, unless it's a death with you are asking for. But when someone crosses his path, his entire life turns all the way around, and maybe he might just show his soft spots.


5. The Slap

"You really didn't do it, Adelaide?" My dad asks me.

"I really didn't do it. Michael's doesn't even have a heart. It's a black frozen block..." I reply. 

"Why don't I believe you? You've been helping him, or maybe he's been helping you..." My mom questions.

"I didn't cheat! I can prove it to you right now! Give me some problems," I say. 

I answered all of them correct but one. 

"So you didn't prove it. You should go to that boy's house for math help." My mom says. 

"Are you kidding me?!" I ask.

"No, you shouldn't even be in the higher math class. Let me call the school." My dad firmly says.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mumble to myself.




I timidly walk through the halls; everyone seemed bigger and scarier. I knew one person was out to get me, Michael. I don't even now why he decided to talk to me. Why would he even try to be nice? I brush my shoulder against someone and mumble, sorry. I feel a hand placed on my shoulder and turn around. 

"Why did you just do that?" Michael asks.

"I didn't mean to," I reply.

"Obviously you did, you hate me." Michael says, stressing on the word 'hate'.

"I'm sorry," I say almost in a whisper. 

"No, you're not," Michael spits, walking in the other direction. 

'What am I getting myself into?' I ask myself.




"I need help with my homework." It's another Twitter DM from Michael. I sigh and I think I have no choice but to walk over to his house, which is very close. 

I knock on the door and Michael answers the door in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He shows me to his room or his brother's room. He opens his math textbook and says,


"No, that's cheating Michael. Apparently that's what I did," I reply. 

"Now I'm in the lower math class because of you." I spit. 

"You should be there," he mumbles.

"Really? Really I should? Then why the hell am I helping you?" I ask, raising my voice. 

He stays quiet.

"Michael, why the hell am I helping you?!" I yell. 

His face turns red and his knuckles turn white. He opens up his hand, raises his arm and slaps me. I touch the spot that was slapped, my skin burning at my own touch.

Michael still stays quiet.

"You have nothing to say?" I ask timidly.

His lips are still touching.

I simply get off the bed and walk out of his house, walking into mine with tears.

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