CHAPTER 2
617 Words
The corridors of Haversley High always smelled of stale bleach and expensive perfume, the kind that clung to the skin of the elite like it was made for them. Avery hated that smell. It reminded her she didn’t belong.
She walked in, hoodie pulled low over her eyes, her worn out sneakers slapping against the polished floors that were never cleaned for her. Her backpack hung off one shoulder; heavy just like every burden she carried. Her eyes darted from face to face. Lip gloss. Fresh lashes. Blonde extensions. Laughter. Perfume. Laughter. Fake laughter. Louder laughter.
They didn’t see her.
They never did.
And she f*****g hated them.
The girls who coasted through life like it was a runway. The ones who cried over broken nails and bad tan lines, who walked in groups like wolves in silk and Chanel. Their lipsticks cost more than her entire week of groceries. Their problems were curated like their i********: feeds; perfectly lit, filtered, pathetic.
She wanted to scream sometimes. Just scream. “Look at me!” she wanted to yell. “You don’t get to glide by like I’m invisible.” But she said nothing. Just clenched her fists in her sleeves and kept walking.
Her boots scuffed the marble floor near the atrium when she saw him.
Jaxon f*****g Creed.
Everything about him made her stomach twist. Tousled dark hair like he’d just rolled out of a Versace ad. That white T-shirt stretched across a lean frame, jawline sharp enough to slice glass, sneakers cleaner than her future. His smile wasn’t real; it was the kind of rich boys wore like jewelry. Accessory grins. Charming lies.
His dad was on Forbes.
Her dad was probably drunk by now.
People parted for him like he was royalty, NO, like a god. Girls blinked twice as fast when he passed. Boys turned nervous around him. Teachers? Spineless. Everyone in this school walked like Jaxon Creed owned the halls. Maybe because he kind of did.
Avery wanted to hate him less. She really tried.
But he was everything she didn’t have and would never get. Power. Wealth. Safety. Choices.
He didn’t need to think about how to pay for lunch or explain why he didn’t have a working phone. He didn’t worry about electricity going off in the middle of doing homework or hiding from his father’s anger with earbuds in so she wouldn’t hear it. Jaxon Creed had never had to beg a counselor for scholarship forms with holes in his shoes and shame in his throat.
He was so free it made her choke.
And that smirk. That godamn arrogant smirk.
She watched him once, during some stupid charity event organized by the school. He didn’t care about the kids they were raising money for. She saw it in the way he rolled his eyes behind the principal’s back, the way he checked his watch like it was all a waste of time. Like helping people was beneath him.
She despised the way he embodied ease. How the world seemed to bend for him.
And yet.
Some dark, bitter part of her, the part she never told anyone about ,wanted to be seen by him. Not as the scholarship kid. Not as background noise. But seen in a way that made her feel like she mattered.
And that made her hate him even more.
As she passed him in the hallway, her shoulder brushed his. He didn’t even flinch. Just kept walking.
She turned to stare at his back as he disappeared into the crowd.
And for the first time, she wondered: Was it hate?
Or was it grief for the life she never got to live?
- Writer
