Chapter ONE
A d a l i n e
Thereis not a single thought in this boy's head. Not even one! Would it be offensive to say I saw this coming? I mean, he’s a typical student here; annoying and entitled. This is our fifth session and I haven’t received an iota of work from him since we began. Even right now, he’s just staring at me with this dazed, blank look.
“What was the question again?” Andrew asks, sounding tired.
What exactly are you tired from? I’ve been tutoring you for an hour and you’ve spent the whole time on your phone!
Instead of saying what is on my mind, I opt for an easier, more scintillating option. “I’m not tutoring you anymore.” As I pack my things away, he just shrugs in response.
Of course. Why should he care? He’s rich and will probably pay his way through any university he wants, just like every other Neanderthal at this nightmare of a college—Richmond sixth form academy—predominantly home to the richest, most entitled brats in England.
The real question is, why am I wasting my time tutoring these kids? I ponder on the question as I walk out of the school library. Well, tutoring does have its benefits; like looking exceptional on my university application forms, which is the only thing that really matters to me.
Although I feel my brain cells dwindling, which is starting to drain me the more I continue to tutor them, there are still some perks to it and if something is beneficial to me, especially to my education, I’m doing it.
That’s why I took that academic scholarship for Richmond Academy when I was twelve. I wasn’t going to stay at my shabby, old secondary school. Although going from being surrounded by kids my age, to an academy where the age range is around 12-18…isn’t exactly the easiest thing. However, I got used to it fairly quickly.
Everyone here at Richmond is affluent; I think I'm undoubtedly the only scholarship kid here as the other four dropped out like dominoes year after year. They couldn't handle the pressure. By that I mean they couldn't handle the rich, entitled cunts in this place. I don't blame them, if I wasn't so determined to achieve my dreams, I would have left this place years ago.
This is one of the most prestigious sixth forms in the country, so dealing with idiots for the last five years has been worth it. At least, I am able to experience all the academic privileges here, especially the lockers; double-sized, beautiful, navy-blue lockers that match my uniform.
My abundance of books fit so perfectly within this locker, as does everything else; like my headphones, which I’m currently taking out and slipping onto my head.
Music is one of the only things that makes me feel grounded sometimes; that and studying. I’m exceedingly hell-bent on becoming a surgeon, if I wasn’t, I would for sure think about becoming a musician, regardless of the fact that I can't carry a tune to save my life.
Music really is so versatile. I could listen to music during sex, in the shower, while working ou—
“It's like you're married to those headphones.” I feel my headphones being snatched off my precious head, which simultaneously snaps me out of my thoughts.
I slam my locker door shut, turningaround to come face to face with the culprits—my best friends. Victoria is the one holding my headphones with a smile on her flawless face.
Victoria Williams. Her family is one of the richest families in Europe—especially here in England. Her parents are world renowned basketball players and her entire family lineage are sport prodigies. She's no different; any sports team you can name? She is on it.
I on the other hand would rather die than join a sports team. Spending hours sweating while doing cardio? No, thanks. I can think of something that will give me the same amount of cardio and triple the pleasure.
Here she stands, my headphones in her perfectly manicured hands, her walnut brown eyes gleaming with mischief and her dark, brown skin glistening even in this damp weather. Sometimes, it was hard to be annoyed at her; she was too pretty to be annoyed at.
I yank my property back. “What have I told you assholes about touching my headphones?”
“That you'll dismember us if we touch your shit?” Aryan answered, smirking as he slings his arm around my shoulder.
“Exactly,” I respond, punching his stomach lightly.
Of course, in true Aryan fashion, he clutches his stomach melodramatically wailing while I hide my grin. Even if I wanted to hurt him—which I'm very capable of—it would not faze him in the slightest. Aryan Oberoi is a brick wall; a six foot three, pure muscle, South-Asian, brick wall.
Just like Victoria and pretty much every other student at this school, Aryan's family is exceedingly wealthy.
His family comes from very old money. Something in the lines of petrochemical ventures. I haven't the faintest clue what any of these ventures mean and neither does Aryan.
He isn't really the sharpest tool in the shed, but he never lets that affect him. He’s more into physical pursuits like Victoria, especially boxing.
We couldn’t be more different. I was academically inclined, whereas they couldn’t care less and focused more on physical pursuits. I was poor, they were rich, which didn’t make a difference to me.
I knew we’d become best friends my first week at Richmond when I got detention for rallying against the sexist dress code. When I walked in to the room, they were both there for doing the exact same thing. A true friendship was born that day.
“Always so violent,” Victoria responds jokingly, opening her locker.
