Noise.
Olive's POV.
If I had to describe Westwood High in one word, it would be obnoxious.
Usually, the hallways just smell like body spray and desperation, but today?
Today the air was practically vibrating. I walked through the front doors and was immediately smacked in the face by a neon pink flyer taped crookedly to the trophy case.
"WELCOME TO WESTWOOD, TROY BAYSON!"
I rolled my eyes so hard it actually hurt. The "Bayson" name was everywhere. It was on the lockers, it was on the bathroom mirrors, it was even being handed out by freshmen who looked like they were part of some weird cult.
Apparently, a transfer student from some elite private school was a bigger deal than, I don't know, actually getting a life.
"Watch it, loser!"
A sharp shoulder shoved into mine, sending my backpack slipping down my arm. I didn't even have to look up to know it was Piper.
She was strutting down the hall like it was a runway, her hair perfectly curled and her lip gloss thick enough to darken anyone's mood.
"Move faster or get out of the way," she sneered, glancing back at me with that fake-diamond-encrusted smirk.
"Some of us actually have places to be. Important places. Unlike you, who looks like she slept in a dumpster."
"Funny, Piper," I muttered, adjusting my bag. "I was gonna say the same about your personality, but even a dumpster has some use."
"Ugh, whatever." She flipped her hair and kept going, her heels clicking like a countdown to my next migraine.
I kept walking, trying to ignore the buzzing crowd huddled around a giant banner near the cafe.
Everyone was whispering, phones out, probably stalking the guy's i********: before he even stepped foot on campus.
"Hey, grumpy"
A heavy arm dropped over my shoulders, and I didn't even flinch.
Max.
He was grinning down at me, his messy hair making him look like he'd just rolled out of bed—which, knowing him, he probably had.
"You look like you're about to punch a wall," he joked, nudging me.
"Is it the posters? Or did Piper forget to take her 'be a decent human' pill again?"
"Both," I sighed, leaning into his side for a second because, honestly, I was tired.
"Who even is this Troy Bayson guy? Why is there a parade for a transfer student?"
Max let out a low whistle. "Man, you really live under a rock, don't you? Principal Brad announced that he's transferring in a few days in the student gathering today. Plus, the Baysons are like... royalty. Rich, untouchable, and apparently, Troy is the last of them. The cheerleaders are already planning the wedding, and the guys are terrified their girlfriends are gonna dump them the second he walks in. So the parade is kinda relevant."
"Gross," I said, wrinkling my nose.
"Hey, don't hate the player, hate the game," Max laughed, stealing a stray flyer off a locker and folding it into a paper airplane. "But you're right, look at this place. You'd think the President was coming. Even the teachers are acting weird."
He was right. The vibe was off. Everyone was waiting for something to happen, like a movie was about to start and they all wanted front-row seats.
I just wanted to find a corner where it was quiet and pretend I didn't exist for six hours.
"He's just another stuck-up rich kid. Probably thinks he owns the world." I said, shifting my bag.
"Maybe," Max said, launching the paper airplane into the trash can with perfect aim.
"But hey, at least it's something to talk about other than the cafeteria's mystery meat."
I managed a tiny, tired smile. "Fair point."
The bell rang, loud and jarring, cutting through the chatter. Max gave my shoulder a quick squeeze before heading toward the math wing.
"See ya at lunch, Try not to bite Piper's head off before then!"
I watched him go, then looked back at the flyer on the floor.
Troy Bayson.
"Just another distraction," I whispered to myself.
I just headed to class, eyes down, trying to survive another day in paradise.
——
The drive home felt like a mile-long crawl. The second I stepped into the house i smelled the stale air. I lazily trudged upstairs landing on my bed like I'd ran a marathon. I didn't want to think about anything. Not tonight.
I didn't even take off my backpack before I was pouring the cheap vodka I hid under my bed into a mug. I drank until the ceiling stopped shaking and everything blurred into nothing.
Tomorrow was another day, but I wasn't planning on being awake for the start of it.
——
