And sure, I’ve seen the photos. The video clips. The drama. The articles.
But none of it,noneof it, compares to seeing them in real life. It’s ridiculous. I figuredthatone out that day in the café.
But at least now, I can stare without it being awkward, or unprofessional.
***
Will Carson is leant back lazily in his seat, sleeves pushed up, eyeing me sceptically. His fingers tap absently against the desk, most of them ringed, and all of them painted a chipped, matte black. He has piercings—a small hoop in his nose, and his ears are stacked with mismatched hoops and cuffs. Some silver, some black, something that might be a chain connecting two. They shine against his skin, unapologetically obvious and flashy.
He stands out to me for many reasons, but most of all, it’s because he is undoubtedly terrifying. And I don’t use that word loosely.
His hair is white. Not platinum blond or bleached, but white. Pure and soft as snowfall, like someone drained all the colour out of him. It falls across his forehead in sharp, uneven strands. And next to him, on the desk, is a camera. A very fancy looking one, I might add.
His skin is pale, almost translucent, cold and lacking colour just like his hair. And then there are his eyes. They’re dark, nearly black, and of a shape I can only describe as siren-like. They’re beautiful, mesmerising even, but there’s an unmistakable darkness lurking within them, a kind of torment. And there’s a manic edge to him that feels a little unnerving, the way his eyes narrow, glittering in a way that makes my stomach tighten and my senses suddenly wary.
There’s something wild about him, something untamed. The type of boy who carries darkness in his chest instead of a heart. I can feel it, the way his presence fills the room, not loud or pretentious, but suffocating. Like the moment before a thunderstorm when the air turns too thick to breathe.
Scary.Something about him sets off alarms in my head, warnings to stay away.
So, avoid Will, got it.
To his left is Liam Grey, features more approachable, softened by a playful glimmer in his hazel eyes. Tan skin. Brown hair, tousled just enough to look perfect without lookingstyled. And unlike Will, who radiates pure darkness, Liam radiates light. Like the sun.
I can’t help but think he looks how summer feels.
He grins at me then, and it’s a boyish, confident grin.
Too confident for 9:15 in the morning.
I blink, stunned into stillness for a second too long.
Becausewhat is happening?
My gaze shifts to Christian, who sits at his other side.
Pale skin, buzzed brown hair that borders on black, and sharp cheekbones. His eyes are a piercing shade of dark blue, covered by glasses that sit comfortably on his nose. He holds a kind of cool, detached curiosity as he looks at me.
His features are clean-cut, neat. Sharp. But there’s something watchful in the way he scans the room, even while silent.
But it isn’t just him staring. He sits near that scary blonde girl I bumped into earlier today, and yep, she’s still terrifying. Her ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, glinting with something almost predatory. She doesn’t say a word; instead, she just stares, and I watch as she reaches into her bag and casually plops another strawberry into her mouth.
She must really love strawberries. I don’t blame her, they’re pretty delicious.
So, the whole club’s here then.
Will Carson, Liam Grey. Christian Ryder. The blonde girl.
All of them are here.
All except one.
All except —
“Miss Ross?”
The teacher’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts. I snap my attention back to him, and he’s looking at me with a hint of impatience that I hope isn’t as heavily rooted as it looks.Wow, great work Adeline, you’ve officially created a bad first impression.
“Sorry, what?”
