He laid against the back row of desks like some provincial king. All long-limbed and smug, I didn’t hate anyone as much as I hated Connor Salzborn. He had a gift for pissing me off, but today he’s gone above and beyond. That rotten little bastard dropped a purple newt in my gym locker and then reminded the coach of the uniform policy when I didn’t show up wearing my slime covered ensemble. He aired a helpful innocence that a merciless wink in my direction broke.

I’d destroy him. I swore on it.

But, short of blood pacts and ritual summoning, my oath of vengeance wasn’t going to complete itself.

I had to get creative *cue eighties pop music and energetic build up to a spectacular bitching fest at a friends house.*

“I will have my revenge, Claire!”

“I think maybe you let this one go I don’t think a guy who believes the Da Vinci Code was nonfiction should be dominating your life.” I growled, but allowed the point. It was going to take some finesse to work this.