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Marco
Akid runs past me as the digital synth bell rings, signaling the start of classes. I sigh as I walk into Brightwood Prep for my senior year. I’m already over these walls and these faces, tired of the same old shit and the wary glances in my direction. Well, maybe I’m not tired of making these spoiled assholes feel uncomfortable. That part makes me smirk.
I keep strolling leisurely past the administration office and down the long science hall. The first session is already going, teachers calling roll or giving uplifting chats about how Brightwood has prepared all of us for the Ivy Leagues. My sister wants me to go to college, but I disagree. If it’s anything like this place, I’ll pass.
Easing into Mrs. Benton’s class, I take a seat in the back row, completing my cliché image as the bad boy. It doesn’t bother me. The way the other students shy away from me? Fine. The way they whisper about me and my family? Fuck ‘em. I’m perfectly happy blowing this place and never looking back, but I stay. Not for myself, but for my sister. If I gave up on this, it would disappoint her, especially since Sophia never got the chance to go to school when she was my age.
Trent sneers at me, he and his lacrosse buddies sitting in a line like three rowers in a douche canoe. I stare him down, daring him to do something about it. He and a few of his teammates tried to jump me last year. They got a few good licks in before I stopped holding back. After that, Trent’s father--a judge, of course--threatened to have me arrested for assault.
“Nice of you to show up, Mr. Davinci.” Mrs. Benton clicks through her slideshow that’s designed to refresh us on the particulars of cellular division.
“Thanks.” I give her a wave and let my smartass retort linger in the air as the other students click away on their laptops. Their copious notes won’t make them any smarter than they already are, but I suppose if they knew that, they’d be sitting back here with me. I pull out my phone and scroll through my messages. Sophia sent me a happy face and a ‘have a great day at school’ message. She’s such a mom.
I pocket my phone and consider napping, but Mrs. Benton is staring right at me as she lectures on mitochondria, so I turn and look out the window at the quad. It’s grassy and still green after the hot summer, the oaks shading just enough to give it some interest. But that’s not what catches my eye.
A girl, flanked by the headmaster and Dr. Ward, walks with her head down, her arms wrapped around a couple of textbooks as they speak to her. She’s tall and curvy, and her hair is a striking shade of blond. Not bottle blond or a summer gold. It’s nearly white, as if she has some genetic issue to turn it that shade.
I sit up a little straighter to get a better view, but they pass beneath one of the oaks and into the administration area. Is she in trouble? I know all about that. But she certainly didn’t look the type, not when she was clutching books to her and actually listening to whatever the headmaster was droning on about.
“Mr. Davinci?”
I look up at the glaring Mrs. Benton. “Yep?”
“I asked you what absolutely must occur before cell division can be achieved.” Her display is stopped on a page that says ‘Biology is a Slice of Life’ with an array of microscope slides. “But you were too busy daydreaming to--”
“DNA replication.” I may not give a shit about school, but that doesn’t mean I’m not good at it.
Her eyes narrow behind her round glasses, but she continues with her lecture.
A few other kids look at me over their shoulders, but my dead-eyed stare right back at them has them turning around in a hurry.
I lean back in my desk and settle in for utter boredom, but then the door opens and the girl from the quad steps timidly inside. Her big blue eyes glance around the room, and Trent holds up a hand and whistles.
“Over here.” He points to a seat beside him and his buddies.
She takes a step toward him, but I reach out and grab her hand. It’s instinctual and overpowering. I let her go and pull my hand back.
She turns those big eyes to me, her impossibly white hair falling past her shoulders and her pink lips parted.
“Sit here.” I point to the desk beside me. Why do I do it? I don’t know. Sadie gives me a particularly venomous look, notable since she hasn’t acknowledged me since the time I shut her down when she tried to tell people we were together.
The new girl nibbles her bottom lip, then places her textbooks on the desk and sits, dropping her backpack next to her.
Trent slaps his desk like a pissy tween, and Mrs. Benton looks up.
Adjusting her big glasses, she says, “A new student. The one from Sterling Academy across the river, right? You must be Miss Garver.”
“I, um, yes. Evangeline.” She stares down at her textbook, her cheeks coloring as the rest of the class turns to look at her.
“Welcome.” Mrs. Benton flicks her gaze to me. “But take care you don’t get in with a bad crowd.”
“Okay?” She still doesn’t look up, so she has no idea I’m the bad crowd Mrs. Benton is referring to, but she will. And sooner rather than later.
