The Bad Boy Who Loved Me First

The morning before they left, Emily had gone back to their old apartment to collect a library card she'd forgotten in the kitchen drawer. The rooms looked smaller without their furniture. On the windowsill sat the pale ring left by her mother's favorite flowerpot, and beneath it a pencil mark showing Emily's height at thirteen. Her mother had measured her every birthday until the year hospital shifts became too long and birthdays became something they celebrated with convenience-store cake after midnight. Emily pressed her thumb to the pencil mark. She wasn't angry that Laura had found someone kind. She was afraid that, in a house where everything could be replaced with something better, the life they'd shared would become an embarrassing story nobody wanted told. Her phone vibrated. Vanessa Hayes, whom she'd met only once over a video call, had sent a message: *I saved you the room with the best view. Also, if Dad offers to show you his collection of antique clocks, pretend you're late for something.* Emily laughed unexpectedly. A second message followed: *You don't have to call me your sister. We can start with friends.* That, more than the photographs of the mansion, had persuaded Emily to get into the car. The first thing Emily Bennett learned about the Hayes family was that even their driveway looked expensive. The second was that her mother was afraid of it. “Are you feeling sick again?” Laura asked as their car passed through the iron gates. Her fingers had already found the little bottle of pills in her handbag. “I’m fine, Mom.” Emily tucked the bottle away. She had taken her medicine on the train, and the familiar dull pressure beneath her ribs had faded. “Really.” Outside, the house rose behind immaculate lawns and a fountain that probably cost more than everything they had owned back home. Yesterday Emily had been a girl from a small town, studying at a kitchen table while rain tapped against the windows. Today she was moving into a mansion owned by Richard Hayes, a property developer whose name appeared on buildings across the city. Her mother’s boyfriend. Soon, perhaps, her stepfather. Richard parked and hurried around the car to open Laura’s door. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and the careful smile of a man accustomed to giving orders but desperate to get one thing right. “Welcome home,” he said. Home. Emily kept her face still. A young woman waited on the front steps, flanked by a line of household staff. She was tall and striking, with glossy hair falling to her waist and a streak of blue hidden near one temple. “This is my daughter, Vanessa,” Richard announced. “She’s a year older than you, Emily.” “Hi, little sister.” Vanessa smiled and offered her hand. “Don’t look so terrified. Nobody bites here. Well, Dad does when someone touches his coffee machine.” Richard groaned. “Vanessa.” Emily smiled despite herself. Dinner was served at a table long enough to seat a board of directors. Richard remembered how Laura liked her food. Vanessa asked Emily about her old school, then tactfully changed the subject when Emily ran out of answers. Everyone was kind. Somehow that made it harder. Kindness meant Emily had no excuse to resent this new life. Her mother had worked herself exhausted for years, caring for patients and keeping their little household afloat. Richard looked at Laura as though she were the only person in the room. Emily wanted that happiness for her. Even if it came with a price Emily didn’t yet understand. Upstairs, Vanessa opened a bedroom door. Pale curtains framed tall windows. A reading chair sat beside a bookshelf, and fresh flowers stood on the desk. “If you hate anything, tell me,” Vanessa said. “We can change it.” “It’s beautiful.” “Good. We’re in the same senior class at Hartwell Academy, by the way. I’ll show you around tomorrow.” Hartwell Academy. The city’s most exclusive high school. Students entered because they were brilliant, wealthy, or both. Emily was neither. She was there because her mother had fallen in love with a powerful man. After Vanessa left, Emily unpacked her books first. Her old notebooks looked painfully ordinary on the polished desk. She called her mother, though Laura was only down the hall. “Are you happy?” Emily asked. There was a pause. “I think I could be.” “Then I’m happy, too.” She meant it. Mostly. Later, she lay awake watching moonlight spill across the carpet. Her new room was silent. She missed the sound of rain, the creaking pipes, the little life she knew how to live. She made herself a promise: one school year. Keep her grades up. Stay out of trouble. Never give anyone a reason to say she didn’t belong. By morning, she would discover that Hartwell Academy had other plans. At breakfast, Richard laid a slim folder beside Emily's plate. It held her timetable, a campus map, and a school access card printed with her name. Someone had taken the trouble to spell Bennett correctly. "You didn't need to do all this," Emily said. "I know." Richard sat opposite her. "But I wanted you to have one less thing to worry about. The school accepted your grades, Emily. I made the introduction. You earned the place." She looked up. She had assumed the opposite since the moment she saw Hartwell's gates in the brochure. Vanessa reached over and stole a strawberry from Richard's plate. "He practiced that speech in the car yesterday. It was terrible the first time." "Vanessa." "I'm helping." She winked at Emily. "And rule one of Hartwell: if anyone acts like their parents own the place, they probably donated a bench. Don't be impressed." On the drive, Emily studied the map until she could picture every corridor. She was good at maps, good at schedules, good at preparing for things she couldn't control. Vanessa spent the trip telling stories about teachers and an infamous student who'd once climbed onto the auditorium roof to retrieve a drone. She never said his name. "What happened to him?" Emily asked. "Nothing much," Vanessa replied, a shade too quickly. "Some people get away with everything." At the school gates, Emily saw two students turn to watch the Hayes car. One whispered to the other. Vanessa noticed and lifted her chin, as if daring them to say something aloud. "Stay with me," she said. "The first day is always the worst." Emily wished she'd kept hold of that advice for more than seven minutes. Vanessa lasted exactly seven minutes as Emily’s tour guide. They had barely crossed Hartwell Academy’s courtyard when a boy in a loosened tie appeared behind Vanessa and pressed a hand onto her head, ruining her carefully arranged hair. “Catch me if you can, princess!” he called. “Ryan Brooks!” Vanessa shouted. She thrust her bag into Emily’s arms and chased him across the lawn. “Vanessa?” Emily called. But both of them had vanished around a building. The campus was a maze of pale stone, glass walkways, and courtyards large enough to host weddings. Emily stood between two identical-looking academic wings with her own bag over one shoulder and Vanessa’s clutched against her chest. Senior Class Seven. That was all she knew. The warning bell rang. “Perfect,” she muttered. She retreated beneath an old tree, where the shade offered some relief from the punishing late-summer heat. She was considering which stranger looked least intimidating when a girl’s voice cut across the empty courtyard. “What did I do wrong?” Emily turned. A beautiful girl in another school’s uniform was following a tall boy dressed entirely in black. Tears streaked her cheeks. He walked as if he couldn’t hear her. “Adrian, please.” She caught his wrist. “I can change. Just tell me what you want.” The boy stopped. Even from a distance, Emily could see why the girl had chased him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and unfairly handsome, with dark eyes and an expression that suggested the world had already exhausted his patience. “I’ve told you,” he said. His voice was low, almost gentle in its finality. “I’m not interested.” “But yesterday—” “Yesterday doesn’t change today.” He freed his hand without force and walked away. Emily’s heart sank for the girl. She knew she should look elsewhere. Instead, she stayed frozen behind the tree, a witness to something far too private. Then the boy stopped. He turned his head directly toward her. Emily ducked. Her heel caught on a root, and she landed on the grass with a muffled thud. Vanessa’s bag struck her knee. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. Footsteps approached. Of course he had. When she looked up, he was standing a few feet away, one hand in his pocket. Up close, his face was sharper, his gaze darker. He studied her, then the two bags she was hugging like shields. “I wasn’t—” Emily began. He raised one eyebrow. “Listening,” she finished, which was an extraordinarily bad lie. For a moment, neither spoke. A breeze lifted the leaves overhead. Emily could hear her own pulse, too quick and too loud. The corner of his mouth moved, almost a smile. Then he turned and left. Emily exhaled so hard she nearly laughed. She got to her feet, brushed grass from her skirt, and hurried after the first teacher she saw. After the boy in black disappeared, Emily stayed beneath the tree until her breathing slowed. She wasn't sure what embarrassed her more: being caught eavesdropping or the fact that he hadn't bothered to ask her name. She rubbed grass stains from her palm and noticed a tiny silver charm caught in the roots, shaped like a star. It might have fallen from the crying girl's bracelet. She picked it up. The charm was cold and surprisingly heavy. She considered chasing after the girl, but the courtyard had emptied and the warning bell had already rung. Emily slipped it into the zippered pocket of her bag. She would hand it to the school office later. At least that would be one problem she could solve. A group of students crossed the path, laughing about someone called Walker. "He told her no three times," one said. "She still showed up at the gate." Another replied, "He shouldn't have let her think she had a chance." Emily looked toward the place where the girl had stood, her face wet with tears. She knew nothing about either of them, yet the easy cruelty of the conversation stayed with her. When the teacher finally found her, Emily was holding Vanessa's bag so tightly the strap had marked her fingers. She loosened her grip and followed the woman inside, telling herself that the boy beneath the tree was simply a stranger. She would forget his face by lunchtime. “Excuse me? Could you tell me where Senior Class Seven is?” The woman smiled. “That’s my class. You must be our transfer student.” Emily followed her toward the building, grateful for the rescue. She had come to Hartwell hoping to remain invisible. Unfortunately, the first boy she had met was impossible to forget—and she had the terrible feeling he would remember her, too.