CHAPTER 5
918 Words
EMILY
My excitement about being at Greenwood had faded. I guess that was normal after my first day was ruined by so many surprises.
Walking through the hallways, I could feel everyone staring at me. It was like I was being watched.
Well, I’ve seen worse in the last 24 hours, I said to myself, trying to shrug it off.
“What was he like in his pajamas?” a voice asked.
A pretty blonde girl stood in front of me, her eyes begging for a story. “Tell me! Tell me!” her expression seemed to say.
“Wh-what?” I was completely confused.
“I heard you slept over at his house. Is it true?” another girl asked, stepping closer. She looked familiar—I was sure she was one of the girls who had been staring through the classroom window yesterday.
Before I could even answer, I was surrounded. Everyone was shouting questions at me. The air was thick with their expensive perfumes, making it hard to breathe.
“Everyone, move! Get out of the way!” Abby’s voice cut through the noise as she pushed through the crowd.
She faced the group. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you all to turn around and focus on your own lives.”
They slowly began to back away.
She turned to me and took my hands. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Abby, but… how did they know?”
She reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, and showed me the screen. It was a blog called “Greenwood Whispers.”
“What kind of name is that?” I said out loud.
“They even have a video of everything that happened in class yesterday,” Abby said, showing me the clip.
“Oh God, my day just started,” I muttered to myself.
“And one more thing,” Abby said as we walked to class. “If you see a girl with pretty dark hair, a really sharp nose, carrying the newest designer bag, and always wearing high heels… just walk the other way.”
“But why?” I asked.
“That’s Jenna. And she’s trouble,” Abby said simply.
“What does she have to do with me?”
Grrrrrrrrrrr!
The bell rang for the first class.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Abby said quickly.
I nodded.
We took our seats and waited for the teacher. Abby gave me a thumbs-up from her seat and mouthed, “You are doing great.”
I smiled.
Just then, Ian walked in, and my smile faded.
His hands were in his pockets. His uniform fit him perfectly, like it was made just for him. I won’t lie—he was handsome. But he wasn’t as tough as he thought he was. He looked upset. I guessed things didn’t go well after I left his house last night.
As he got closer, I looked away so he wouldn’t catch me staring. I could see some girls at the window, waiting for something to happen between us.
He sat down slowly.
“Good morning, class!” A short, dark-skinned man walked in with quick, purposeful steps.
“Good morning, Mr....” the class replied together. I strained to hear his name, but it was lost in the noise of chairs and voices.
“Welcome back, everyone. Now listen up,” the teacher said, rolling up his sleeves. “This is short notice, but Greenwood has been invited to compete in the National Academic Showcase next month. We will be going up against three of the biggest schools in the region: Westbridge, Halcyon, and Marlowe Academy.”
“What kind of showcase is it, Mr. Smith?” someone asked.
“Class B will be handling science and robotics,” he answered sharply.
The classroom was filled with murmurs.
“What matters most is innovation and teamwork,” he said plainly. “I’ll pick four students—two for science, two for robotics—who will be excused from some classes for two weeks to work on the project.”
He pulled a paper from his pocket.
My heart raced. I swallowed hard, trying to stay calm.
“For robotics, Bruce and Abby. And for sciences... Ian...” he adjusted his glasses, “...and the new girl... Emily.”
Oh no, no, no. Not with him, I thought.
I stared right at him. He gave a smile that was both calm and mischievous.
I guess this was what his parents meant when they said we would be working together. What were they planning?
“Emily, you were exceptional in your scholarship exams,” Mr. Smith said, his smile warm but firm. “Your performance in the sciences was one of the highest we’ve seen. That’s why you were chosen for this.”
My mouth felt dry.
“Starting now, your work begins,” he announced, and then he walked out of the class.
“You going to try out, scholarship girl?” Ian asked from the seat beside me, a grin tugging at his lips. His voice was a clear challenge, like he already knew the answer and wanted to see if I would back down.
He was such a bully.
“Yes, I am,” I answered boldly.
“Good. I’d hate for this to be boring,” he replied, standing up. His smile was full of mischief.
Oh, this is going to be interesting, Ian Whitmore, I thought to myself.
- Writer
