I hold my breath as I arrive at my locker, but the only looks people are giving me are ones of curiosity, not disgust. Everyone involved must have been serious about keeping the fight hush-hush, so people don’t find out that the Fin is the type to land on his ass, then snitch the teachers about it. His real name is Dorian Finley-Cavendish, which is the most pretentious name I’ve ever heard. No wonder he goes by Fin.
Once I’ve grabbed my stuff from my lockers, I go to my homeroom. Jasper’s the only one inside, and I fall into a seat next to him, my books clattering against the table.
Jasper flinches at the noise, then scowls at me.
“Why are you sitting here?”
“You’re my buddy, aren’t you?” I retort, though embarrassment rises up in me. I know Jasper isn’t my friend, but I thought it’d be safe to sit beside him without being looked at like I’ve committed a crime. “I’ll move then.”
I start to stand up when Jasper grabs my blazer sleeve and yanks me down. His strength takes me off guard, though I suppose he’s a similar height and build to me. Although…I let my eyes run over him…I’d still beat him in a fight. It was easy to take Fin down yesterday.
“What thehellwere you thinking?” Jasper hisses, leaning in close even though there’s no one here to hear us.
The teachers asked me the same thing yesterday, after going on a rant about how violence isn’t acceptable here — like no shit, is violence acceptable at other schools that don’t have fancy uniforms and rich donors?
“Well?” Jasper demands.
“He started it.” I told the teachers the same thing yesterday. The three other guys in the bathroom said the opposite.
“That’s an excuse kindergarteners make.” His mouth is very pink, and his breath smells like mint.
I frown and pull away, but Jasper grabs my arm to keep me close. “Listen. Mrs Ferguson said I still have to be your buddy, or whatever the fuck. But you’ll get used to this school soon enough, anyway. If you’ve got questions, just ask someone else. Go make your own friends. Although…”
His eyes flit over me and the implication is clear. Who’d want to be friend withme?
“The point is, with the shit you pulled yesterday, I don’t want to be associated with you.”
I stare at him, and this time, when I pull away, he lets me go. “Fine. Good.” I gather my books. “I wouldn’t want to be associated with someone like you anyway.” I stomp to the back row and I let my books fall onto the table with a loud thud for the second time that morning. As soon as I sit down, I’m twitching with energy. When the hell is the teacher coming? I want to get out of here as soon as possible.
The hot feeling in my body…it’s anger, that’s all. It’s anger that Jasper has been rude to me since the moment he lay eyes on me — well, apart from screaming that I was a burglar.
When Senior picked me up at the airport, he spent the whole drive to Easton telling me about his grandson. I didn’t expect to be best friends with Jasper or anything, but the way Senior talked about him made me think Jasper would halfway nice.
Instead, he’s an asshole. The way Fin, Hudson and Aiden are assholes. The way those guys at my old school were assholes.
*
I keep to myself during classes, and pay attention to what the teachers say. At my old school, during class, students shouted and threw erasers at each other. Here, my classmates actually listen and thank the teacher at the end of every lesson.
At lunchtime, when I go to the library, I’m not surprised to see the number of students studying at desks. There are even kids who look like they’re in Year 7 or 8, doing their maths homework. Nothing could have convinced me to do my maths homework at that age.
I let out a sigh of relief, grateful I won’t look like a total nerd, and find an empty table by the windows. I need to catch up, anyway. I’ve never been good at school, but here it’s so obvious that everyone is ten times smarter than me. Oh well. It’s not as if I plan to go to university anyway.
Halfway through lunch, I hear a group of girls murmuring. I don’t look up, but I can see their navy kilts in my periphery. My shoulders stiffen. Are they talking about me?
As I flip the page of my maths textbook, I sense one girl come closer.
“Hi,” she says. “Kieran Phillips, right?”
I look up. Standing on the other side of the table is an Asian girl, with long black hair tied up with a navy ribbon. There’s a badge on her blazer, like the one Jasper has. Behind her, three other girls smile at me.
“Yeah,” I say.
She smiles and sticks out her hand. “I’m Trinity.”
I shake it, and one by one, the other girls introduce themselves. Thankfully, they don’t offer their hands to shake too. That would make me feel like I’m in a job interview.
There’s Imogen, who has white-blonde hair and also wears a badge which reads: Vice Captain. Kennedy has short brown hair and winged eye-liner, and there’s also a short, slight girl named Zaina.
