Whatever. I don’t care.I stared down at my white knuckles clenched tightly on the desk as I continued to remind myself that I just had to make it through this year. One more year. After the last eight months, I should be able to make it through anything.
My eyes felt hot. I was an emotional crier, especially when I was spitting mad. Somehow my body interpreted fury as a need for a decent cry. Today I wasn’t furious, I was nervous. So it was easier to hold back the tears.
From my lowered gaze, a pair ofTestonidress shoes came into view. The only reason I knew what that brand was – and the fact these shoes were worth about two thousand dollars – was because of my friend back in Cali whose dad was a lawyer and loved expensive shoes. And so apparently did this person, who wasn’t shifting from in front of my desk. With a barely audible exhalation I lifted my gaze to find a pair of piercing blue eyes boring into me. Most of my body froze. Only my mouth worked as I tried to moisten my lips.
Jero Darken stood there, not moving, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was trying to figure out what sort of creature I was. Up close I noticed all the little details I’d missed outside. His skin was dark, almost copper in tone, and it might have been a trick of the light but it appeared to be softly glowing in the well-lit classroom. His dark hair had streaks of caramel through it and was a little longer than I’d thought, hanging over his ears in styled disarray. His features were masculine but finely honed. Well-defined brows arched over those unbelievable eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a color like that, blue but light, like the early spring sky. Against his skin they popped out at me, the color mesmerizing, though I did look away from them long enough to notice a small, older and faded scar that ran from his right ear down his jawline, giving him a roughish look. All in all, this was one potent, pretty, glaring, interesting specimen of guy.
Speaking of glaring, his was already starting to annoy me. It’s okay to be pretty – you can’t help your genetics – but politeness was something everyone was able to offer.
We must have been staring at each other for a while, the moment only broken when a girl walked up and nudged Jero. She didn’t move him, but he did swing his head, a lazy grin lifting his lips. “Hey, Aria,” he said to her. His voice was deep. “I’m just trying to figure out who this female is and why she thinks she can sit back here in our section.” He had a hint of an accent I couldn’t place. Of course he would have an accent that sent his words rolling off his tongue with a smooth drawl.
And of course he would be an arrogant ass.
Fighting my anger, I focused on the redhead at his side. She was tall, with legs that went on for a ridiculous amount of time. What the heck did she need legs like that for? She’d better be a pole-vaulter or a hurdler or some crap; put those legs to good use. Of course, as my eyes ran across her golden skin, thin frame, generous breasts, full pouty lips, and huge green eyes, there was a much higher chance she was a model. Figures.
I wanted to hate her on the spot just for being perfection, but that wasn’t my style. Jero was still glaring at me, but I was done with his attitude, and I wasn’t scared to let him know.
I stood suddenly; the female flinched back, but Jero didn’t shift at all. I gathered my books up, flipping my wavy hair back, knowing it was probably a huge mess by now but not caring. “Thanks for letting me know this isyoursection. I definitely don’t want to sit here.”
My tone made it very clear that I didn’t think this section was desirable at all, and he knew it, judging by the darkness that clouded that golden face. Many eyes were on me as I crossed to the other side of the room. So much for thinking they weren’t sitting near me. I had apparently sat right in the “elite zone.” Thankfully there were still a few seats near the front, which I sank into, keeping my head high as I stared toward the whiteboard. My hands were shaking slightly; I felt riled up in a way that was unusual for me. Especially since he hadn’t really said much of anything. It was just the attitude I could feel oozing off him, dripping from each of his words.
I fought the urge to turn and see if he was still glaring at me. What an asshole. Seriously. What world were we living in where crap like this still happened? Where people were segregated in high school because of money? I guess it was reality, happening every day, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
A few more tall and beautiful people arrived then, all of them crossing to sit near Jero and the redhead model. A blond guy in particular caught my eye, mostly because he looked a lot like the Darken brothers, just a lighter version: golden blond hair, golden skin tone, light green eyes, and smooth handsome features. From the corner of my eye I saw him greet Jero like an old friend, taking a seat beside him.
The teacher arriving distracted me from the elite. He was a portly older man with a receding hairline, two-day growth of beard, and what appeared to be a cluttered, vapid sort of personality. He spilled half the contents of his briefcase across the desk, bumped his head when he went to pick up the pens on the floor, and then tripped over the trashcan. By the time he introduced himself as Mr. Perkins, I was already half in love with him. He was adorable.
“I know most of you have taken some history classes with me before,” he said, his voice alight with infectious enthusiasm. “Bear with me while I catch up the newbies to this class.”
I had a feeling I was one of the only newbies here. Everyone else seemed to have friends and know each other. I was already wishing that they’d told me before I enrolled that this was a specific class on the history on the school, and that others would have already studied the basics – which I could not have done because, shockingly, this was not a topic in my last school. There we had studied a broader perspective onactualhistory.
Oddly enough, the guidance counselor I’d spoken to on the phone here had been very adamant I take this class. The word mandatory was thrown around, if I remembered correctly.
Mr. Perkins clapped his hands together. “This year will be divided into four sections,” he started. “Part one follows the four founders of Starslight School. Part two is the history of Astoria and its development from a two-horse town into the thriving hub we have today.”
Thriving hub.That might be a bit of an exaggeration.
“Part three and four will look at some American history in general, and how it pertains to the Pacific Northwest.”
Well, at least there was some general history in there also, although still well slanted toward Astoria and this school. Gotta give them points for pride and patriotism. Mr. Perkins spent the rest of the lesson going over the plan for the year. No one around me was paying attention, but I was already enjoying learning about this new world I’d found myself in. The best way to understand this school and its cliquey groups was to learn from the past. Find out how the four founders came to rule this school, and according to Mr. Perkins, Astoria also.
The bell rang and noises echoed as everyone pushed out their chairs and gathered books. I wasted no time, wanting to get out of there before the elite, just in case they decided to retaliate for my little dig before. I expected they had completely forgotten my existence by now, but just in case it didn’t hurt to haul ass.
Once I was free of the room I whipped out my timetable, searching for my English class on the little map. A quick glance was all I needed to see that it was on the other side of the main domed section of this building, down another arterial. Picking up the pace, I jumped on a walkway that was moving in the direction I needed to go. These unusual paths seemed to be all over the school. They weren’t exactly encouraging exercise here, but I guess in a school this size they had to incorporate some sort of conveniences.
I could see lots of other students zipping past, some ahead of me on my particular path, others jumping on and off via small gaps in the side. I wasn’t sure I’d be very good at that part. Most likely I’d fall flat on my face and give everyone here a good laugh. Thankfully, for my first solo ride I only had to step off the end, which was easy. Then I was jogging past the administration office and onto another moving path. I kept an eye out, counting the classroom doors as we passed them, and when mine was next I braced myself for the exit.
There was nothing graceful about my leap and the “ouch” that burst from me as my right knee collided with a poor student who had been just standing there minding his own business. By the time I’d untangled myself and stepped back, Cara was right there at my side.
“Emma! Dude, we need to work on your dismount. You would not even be close to medal contention.”
With another groan I rubbed my knee, lifting my head to the guy I’d smacked. “I am so sorry,” I said rapidly. “I hope you’re okay!”
The first thing I noticed were his eyes. Seemed everyone in this school was blessed with pretty eyes. His were the lightest of green, sparkling as he grinned down at me. “I have to say, beautiful women throwing themselves at me is not my usual thing, but I’m going take it as a sign that you and I need to become friends.”
He stuck his hand out, that smile growing even wider. “Ben Witchard. Senior. Performing arts major. Your new BFF.”
Ben was tall and lanky, his stunning eyes surrounded by dark-as-night lashes, skin a pale ivory, and hair a mess of brown corkscrew curls. Everything about him screamed warmth, and I immediately liked him. I placed my hand into his and he shook it with a firm grip.
