Ice Cold Obsession

05

MIA

Westbridge High looks exactly like the kind of school I have spent my entire life trying to avoid.

I stand in front of its enormous entrance, staring at the building beyond the gates while adjusting the sleeves of my oversized hoodie.

Everything about this place screams money. From the expensive cars pulling into the parking lot to the perfectly dressed students walking through the entrance, it’s obvious that most people here have never had to worry about where their next meal would come from.

I pull my hood further over my head.

The plan is simple.

Keep my head down, attend my classes, avoid unnecessary attention and leave without giving anyone a reason to remember me.

I don’t belong here and I’d prefer to keep it that way.

Taking a breath I walk through the entrance.

It doesn’t take long before I notice the stares.

A girl standing beside her friends looks me up and down with her eyes lingering on my faded sneakers before travelling to my hoodie as she whispers something and the others burst into quiet laughter.

I pretend not to notice.

I’ve dealt with worse than a few spoiled girls who think their expensive clothes make them better than everyone else.

I check my schedule and begin walking towards what I hope is the right hallway. My eyes are fixed on the room numbers as I move, trying not to get distracted by the endless stream of students passing around me.

I turn a corner still looking at the schedule in my hand.

I walk straight into something solid and before I can steady myself my bag slips off my shoulder and my notebooks and a few loose papers scatter across the pavement.

“What the hell! Watch where you’re going.”

I immediately crouch to gather my things, my face warming with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, keeping my hood up as I reach for one of my notebooks. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t looking—”

“No kidding.”

His voice is sharp enough to make me pause.

I glance briefly at the person standing in front of me. He’s tall, broad-shouldered and wearing a look that suggests I’ve personally ruined his entire day.

Wonderful.

“You just walk around blind all day? Is that how you do things here?”

I press my lips together picking up another notebook. “I said I was sorry.”

“And I heard you the first time, but do you know how many people walk through here every day? Maybe pay attention to where you’re—”

“I said I was sorry.” I say the words come out sharper than I intend as I stand as my hood slips backwards.

For a moment neither of us says anything.

My eyes meet his, and I get my first proper look at the guy I’ve just collided with.

He’s annoyingly handsome, I’ll give him that. Dark hair falls carelessly across his forehead, his jaw is sharply defined, and there’s something about his eyes that makes it difficult to look away. He’s built like someone who spends most of his time on a gym with broad shoulders and a presence that makes people instinctively move out of his way.

And he looked familiar almost like—

No! It can’t be him.

I dismiss the thought, deciding to walk away as I shift my books against my chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

I blink. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I said I’m sorry.”

“Do you always walk around with your head buried in the clouds, or is today a special occasion?” He insults making my shoulders stiffen.

WTH!?

I’d apologised. What more does he want?

I look at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I let out a quiet breath glancing down at the books in my arms before looking back at him. “Right. Well I already apologised so unless you want me to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness, I think we’re done here.”

His eyes narrow. “What’s your problem?”

I almost laugh. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He lets out a humourless scoff. “Watch your mouth.”

I stare at him wondering if he’s always this unpleasant or if I’ve somehow managed to catch him on a particularly bad day.

“Why? Does it hurt your feelings?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

For someone who looks like he could have half the school falling at his feet, he certainly has a terrible attitude.

“You’re the one who walked into me,” he reminds me as though I’d somehow forgotten.

“And I’ve apologised. I’m not sure what else you expect me to do. Would you prefer I write you a formal letter?”

His jaw tightens. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

I look at him then briefly at the hockey bag hanging from his shoulder. “No actually. Should I?”

Something changes in his expression.

It must have bruised his handsome ego that I didn’t know who he was either ways I didn’t have time for this.

“Look, Puck Head I have somewhere to be. Some of us actually have classes to attend instead of standing in corridors picking fights.”

He stares at me momentarily speechless before saying “I’m not picking a fight.”

“Really? Because you’ve been shouting at me since I apologised. I’d hate to see what you consider picking a fight.”

He takes a step forward and I have to resist the urge to step back.

“You’ve got quite an attitude for someone who can’t even watch where she’s going.”

“And you’ve got quite an ego for someone who thinks the entire school should stop breathing whenever he walks past.”

That shuts him up.

Good.

I’ve had enough of this conversation.

I move around him saying, “Have a lovely day, Puck Head.”

I don’t wait for his response, I continue walking away but I can feel his eyes following me. I’ve already wasted enough time on a boy who clearly thinks the world revolves around him.

Still as I walk away I can’t help thinking about his face.

Those familiar features.

Those eyes.

There’s something about him that feels like a memory I’ve forgotten, something buried somewhere in the back of my mind but I shake the thought away.

Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.