His Perfect Enemy

THE HUNT

The next day at school, I decided to lay low, picking a tank top and jeans with my back length hair pulled up in a ponytail.

As soon as dad’s driver dropped me off, I noticed the stares. It wasn’t the same as yesterday’s which looked like predators ready to pounce on the new girl.

Now the predators in question seemed confused, like they were already getting the memo that this wasn’t a hunt for them.

But the last thing I needed was the whole school’s attention on me.

Ugh! I groaned inwardly and plugged my ears to Don Toliver, proceeding to the admin’s office just in time to complain about my locker assignment which I’m yet to receive.

After knocking once, I opened the door slightly.

“Hi! Ma’am. Good morning,” I greeted the woman who attended to me the previous day.

“Miss Deana, you’re here again,” she spoke while writing something. “What can I help you with?”

I walked in, plopping down on a chair in her cramped office.

“I’d like to get my locker assignment and key.”

She dropped her pen to look at me, “don’t worry, that will be sorted today.”

“Okay ma’am.”

I stood to leave but was stopped by her next words. “Your AP English teacher had a lot to say about you after reviewing your previous school transcripts.

It appears you’re neck and neck with the school’s President who has held an unbeatable record for so long.”

For a brief second, I just stood there, processing it, before forcing a small smile onto my face.

“I guess I like a good academic challenge,” I said lightly.

The woman studied me over the rim of her glasses like she was trying to figure me out, then nodded slowly.

“Well, Eastridge is full of them. You should get to class before you’re late again.”

“I will,” I replied, already turning toward the door and stepping out into the hallway, the weight of what she said followed me.

Upon entering my first class of the day, Calculus, I could barely concentrate while the male teacher spoke to himself and the board about equations.

Besides, more than half of the class weren’t listening, their eyes glancing at me once or more.

Calculus passed by in a blur, and when the bell finally rang for end of first session, the whole class released a sigh of relief.

The second class of the day was Government and I had it with Brielle thank goodness.

After talking for hours about the people who ruled Eastridge yesterday night, we planned and coordinated our schedules together and it seems I’ll have more than one class with the seniors.

Entering Government, Brielle in her fairy light had already saved me a seat next to hers.

“Girl! I don’t know how you act oblivious when the whole school is clearly talking about you,” she stated as a matter of fact.

“I noticed,” I said calmly, taking the empty seat beside her.

“Then why are you acting like it’s normal? Or you don’t feel it?” she asked.

“The vibe? The tension? The fact that half the class is pretending not to stare at you?”

“Because reacting would only make it worse,” I responded coolly.

Brielle blinked twice, like she was finding it hard to comprehend me.

“Who even are you?” she muttered.

I almost smiled until the teacher showed up, urging everyone to settle down.

With Brielle by my me, I actually felt better in Government class. Even answered questions about topic on Autocracy and didn’t go full-on unlike AP English.

Brielle also chipped in, and four other students, a particular girl called Nina stood out most on her views which sounded chic to me.

When the class ended, it felt like it went by too fast, but with my stomach growling, I couldn’t care less and needed food fast.

Brielle led me through the cafeteria, her grip on my wrist just a little tighter than necessary.

“I’m serious,” she murmured. “Today feels different.”

“It is,” I agreed. “But give it till tomorrow or even the Endorcer of the day, the fuss will die down.”

“How do you know?” She inquired.

“It’s the typical high school social life.”

“You’ll find that Eastridge is different from any typical high school.”

I didn’t have a response to that and kept mute until we got to the cafeteria and picked our lunch of salmon, asparagus and a couple of other things on the plate I couldn’t recognize.

All of which looked fancy and felt ridiculous.

We settled at a table near the windows, the chatter around us loud but not overwhelming.

Brielle had just started ranting about an assignment given in her first class when her voice suddenly dropped.

“Oh no.”

I didn’t turn immediately.

“Front right,” she whispered. “Don’t make it obvious.”

So I didn’t. Instead I shifted slightly, just enough to catch sight of who has her attention.

There standing at the right section of the chef station was a girl standing like she owned the whole room, with a presence commanding attention effortlessly.

While people around her leaned in to get their options of food, she stood there laughing as she spoke to one of the catering staff, while a student next to her balanced two trays.

Her straight blonde hair was let loose down a set of boobs that mirrored mine twice.

Her outfit looked like she was going to visit a club next, and whoever she was, she was beautiful and there was no denying that she knew it.

“That’s her,” Brielle spoke, making me face our table. “Kross’ girlfriend, Georgina Mendez.”

“Figures,” I murmured, returning my attention to my plate even though my focus had already shifted.

I was about asking a question when the atmosphere in the cafeteria changed.

Conversations dropped instantly, laughter faded, and an unnatural silence spread across the room.

I looked behind to see Tobias Sterling had just walked in.

He moved with quiet authority, students straightening as he passed, some lowering their gaze.

Even Georgina had gone still, her earlier confidence replaced with something more restrained.

“He’s coming here,” Brielle whispered, panic creeping into her voice.

I didn’t respond, but only watched step by step, as he approached our table until he stopped right in front of me.

Not acknowledging anyone else.

His gaze settled on me, sharp and assessing, like he was peeling back layers I hadn’t offered.

Then he spoke, his tone calm, controlled, and unmistakably authoritative.

“I want a word.”