The New Girl
1028 Words
Chapter Three
The New Girl
Lexi’s POV
The corridor was always crowded every morning. And on weekdays like Mondays, it got worse. The buzz of voices and movement filled the hallway.
Students chattering. Laughing. Whispering. Leaning into one another like it was a party instead of school.
The noise was endless.
I hated noise.
I pinned my prefect badge to my shirt. A beam of sunlight hit it, making the gold letters shine.
LEXI MOORE
Head girl.
Big name, eh?
But all it really meant was I got to run around the school, trying to stop students from breaking rules.
And in Weasley High? That was a full-time job. These kids could get in trouble without even trying.
I pounded down the tiled floor, hurrying as I went. Nodded at the juniors who occasionally tossed a polite “Good morning” my way.
First class was at 8:00 a.m.
I was already thirty minutes late. Traffic had been crazy.
But Professor Looney—
Wait. What’s going on?
Students were bunched up in little groups, whispering and pointing. Faces lit up with excitement.
They were definitely up to something.
I got closer. Then I heard it:
“What’s that on your head?”
That voice—Brielle. No mistaking it.
Same grade as me. Cheerleader. Glamorous and nasty. The kind of girl who bullied for fun.
“Girl, your hair looks like someone microwaved a sponge.”
Laughter exploded around her.
I stepped closer. Whoever she was messing with had already pulled a crowd. More students were showing up, whispering, giggling, just standing around watching.
I pushed through the crowd—and then I saw her.
She looked scared. Frozen. Pale as chalk.
Definitely new. I hadn’t seen her around before.
Her hair was… okay, it was a lot. Big curls, frizzed at the edges like someone dumped conditioner on it and gave up halfway.
I cleared my throat—loudly.
“What the hell are you doing, Brielle?” I snapped.
I stepped out of the crowd, locking eyes with her and her little gang.
Nuisance.
“Oh Lexi—did you see her hair?” Brielle said. “It’s giving ‘birds nest on a bad day.’”
Laughter again.
I glanced at the girl. She was staring at the floor, quiet and pale.
“Shut the crap up,” I said to Brielle. My voice came out cold and stern.
She stepped back. Good.
I grabbed the girl’s wrist and led her toward the stairs.
Brielle’s gang? Three stupid girls who followed her like shadows. Brielle called the shots because she was the loudest and meanest and the brightest of the lot.
We turned a corner. I was already late for class, and I needed to drop this girl off wherever she was headed.
She was obviously new.
“What’s your name?” I asked, glancing her way.
She wore round glasses. Not tall. Her brown curly hair framed her face and made her look like someone who kept to herself. timid!
“Amira,” she said. “Amira Hart.”
Nice voice.
“Lexi.” I gave a small smile.
She smiled back—shyly.
Definitely the quiet type.
“What grade?”
“Twelfth.”
I looked at her, surprised. “No way.”
I laughed under my breath. “Same here. Come on, I’ll take you to class.”
We climbed the staircase. I took the steps two at a time, trying to beat the clock.
She tried to keep up. I noticed she had to jog a bit.
“What school did you transfer from?”
“Transverse High.”
“That’s the all-girls one, right?”
“Yeah.”
We stopped at a classroom door. She was out of breath, forehead shiny with sweat.
I smiled to myself and knocked twice.
“Come in,” Professor Looney’s voice boomed.
I opened the door. The classroom was packed. Everyone turned to look as we walked all the way in and grabbed the only available seat.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
I winked, pulling out my notepad. “It’s nothing.”
“As I was saying…” Looney started up again, loud and stern. The class fell into silence like a switch flipped.
Professor Looney always had that effect.
He wasn’t exactly friendly. Tall. Bald. Always irritated like he didn’t want to be here.
“Morphemes,” he barked. “They’re the smallest units of meaning in a word. There are free and bound morphemes. Who can define a free morpheme?”
A hand shot up.
Lesla.
Of course.
“Yes, Lesla.”
She stood and said, “Free morphemes can stand on their own and still carry meaning, without prefixes or suffixes.”
“That’s word for word from the grammar text,” he said, not impressed. “Sit.”
The room murmured quietly.
“Is he always like that?” Amira muttered beside me.
“Always,” I said. “Professor Looney. Don’t let the name fool you. He’s all bark, zero charm.”
She chuckled.
But nobody messed with him. Not if they were smart.
I leaned in. “And don’t get on his bad side. Trust me.”
She gave a little nod and leaned back in her seat.
Looney kept going like we hadn’t just paused.
“Bound morphemes, however, cannot stand on their own. They require prefixes or suffixes to form meaning. A morpheme, by definition, must always have meaning.”
I raised my hand.
He narrowed his eyes. “What now?”
“I have a question.”
“We’re not doing questions today,” he snapped. His glasses slipped again as he turned away.
Then the bell rang.
He grabbed his notes, muttered something we couldn’t hear, and walked out.
The class immediately burst into chatter.
I stuffed my books into my backpack, fast. Then looked over at her.
She was still staring at me.
“The next class is upstairs,” I said, throwing my bag over my shoulder.
“Where upstairs?” she asked.
“Third floor. You got your timetable?”
I asked—because I wasn’t going to babysit her.
- Writer
