7
877 Words
The first bell hadn't even rung yet, and I already wanted to set this school on fire and watch it burn to ashes.
I slumped against my locker lazily, glaring at the sea of overly cheerful students flooding the hallway. Why were they so happy? What was there to be so happy about? Callie had abandoned me the second we stepped inside, something about "catching up with friends," leaving me alone with my schedule and my rapidly declining will to live.
A shadow fell over me.
"Lost, stepsister?"
I did not even need to look up to know that smug voice belonged to Emerson, the golden retriever in human form. His stupidly perfect blond curly hair caught the fluorescent lights as he leaned against the locker next to mine, grinning like he had just won the lottery.
"I'm not lost," I muttered, shoving my schedule into my pocket. "I'm strategically avoiding all human interaction, so if you wouldn't mind leaving me the f**k alone."
He laughed, loud and bright, drawing stares from passing students. "Yeah, good luck with that in this family."
Before I could retort, a heavy arm slung around my shoulders, nearly knocking my glasses off.
"Junieeee," Kit drawled, his breath warm against my ear. "You look miserable. It's adorable."
I elbowed him in the ribs. "Personal space, motorcycle boy," I hissed.
Kit clutched his chest dramatically. "Ouch. And here I thought we had something special."
"The only thing we have is my growing desire to push you down the stairs."
Emerson snorted. "Damn, she's got your number, Kit."
"Nah, she's just playing hard to get," Kit said with a wink, ruffling my hair before I could dodge. "Come on, newbie. We will have you bent over screaming our name in no time. Let's get you to class before you scare the normies with your resting murder face."
I should have known something was up when Kit dragged me into Advanced Art.
The room smelled like clay and paint, with sunlight streaming through massive windows in yellow spots. And there, in the back corner, sat Anders, all six foot whatever of him hunched over a tiny pottery wheel, his massive hands shaping clay with surprising delicacy.
"No way," I hissed, trying to backpedal. "I'm not taking "
"Too late," Kit sang, shoving me toward an empty seat right next to Anders before bolting.
Traitor.
Anders glanced up as I slumped into the chair beside him. His icy blue eyes softened slightly when he saw me.
"You like art?" he rumbled, his voice so deep it vibrated in my chest as I looked up into his eyes.
"I like not failing," I grumbled, eyeing the lump of clay on my desk like it might bite me.
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Here."
Before I could protest, his hands covered mine, guiding them to the clay. His touch was warm and calloused, the safe kind of caring.
"Press gently," he murmured, his breath tickling my ear. "Let it move with you. Feel it in you."
My face burned. Why was he so nice?
Chemistry was a special kind of hell.
Not because of the subject, no, but because Milo, the so-called quiet one, turned out to be a mad scientist.
"Don't touch that," he said calmly as I reached for a beaker of bubbling blue liquid. I had a sudden urge to drink it.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Going to explode?"
"Only if you want it to," he replied, dead serious.
Okay, that got my attention.
Milo pushed his round glasses up his nose, adorably nerdy, damn him, and handed me a vial of harmless pink powder. "Here. Dump it in Jace's coffee later if you want revenge for whatever he inevitably does to piss you off."
"What does it do?"
"Turns his tongue neon green for twelve hours. Makes him look like he has an STD."
I grinned. Maybe this school would not suck after all.
The cafeteria was a nightmare of noise and hormones, girls gossiping and guys trying to land a magic night with those girls, but Vinnie, with his slicked back hair, leather jacket, and all, somehow made it worse.
He slid into the seat across from me, smirking. "So. Junie. Got a boyfriend back home?"
I choked on my soda. "Excuse me?"
"Just wondering how many hearts I have to break," he said with a wink.
"Zero," I deadpanned. "Unless you want yours literally ripped out, because I can do that."
Vinnie laughed, unfazed. "Feisty. I like it."
"She's not for you," Blue muttered, appearing out of nowhere to drop a sketchbook on the table. His inky black hair fell into his eyes as he flipped it open to reveal me.
A dozen sketches of me. Reading, scowling, even one where I was asleep on the couch.
I gaped. "What the hell, Picasso? This is crazy."
Blue shrugged. "You're interesting to draw."
The day ended as it began, with Forrest being an absolute menace.
He intercepted me at the lockers, grinning. "So? How did it go?"
"I hate it here," I said.
"Liar," he laughed, poking my cheek. "You made it a whole day without murdering anyone. That's progress."
I swatted his hand away, but he was not wrong.
- Writer
