“Anything I need to know? Any mean girl I should stay away from?” I try and get my mind off the anxiety eating me alive.
“Bianca Reed and her minions,” Kass automatically replies. “Definitely don’t give them a reason to hate you.”
I nod. “Noted.”
My heartbeat increases considerably when I spot the building I now get to call school in the distance. Bigger than any high school I’ve ever seen back home, it’s just as intimidating as I thought it would be. My cousin pulls up into the school’s parking lot, and suddenly, hitting my head against the window until I pass out seems like an option to consider.
Seek discomfort, they say. This isn’t even discomfort anymore. We’re way past that point.
“Ready?” Kassidy smiles, turning off the engine.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s going to be fine. You’re not alone. Kendrick and I are here, remember?” she tries to reassure me. I do feel better knowing that I have family to turn to if I need help.
Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I get out of the vehicle and slowly make my way to the entrance. My eyes jump to a faded sign where Riverside High School is written in bold letters. Next to it, a red graffiti tag—that they obviously failed to completely wash away—of the word “get” along with an arrow pointing at the word “high.”
Get high.
Typical.
I push the front doors open and walk into the overcrowded hallways. I glance at the students. I can’t even imagine how hard it’s going to be to make friends. We’re seniors. Everybody already knows everybody.
Trying to make friends is going to be like trying not to cry while watching The Notebook—an impossible task.
As we make our way through the commotion with difficulty, I am surprised and a bit disappointed when I don’t see students that stink of clichés. No jocks, no cheerleaders, not even a couple of nerds. They seem like regular teenagers. Extraordinary ordinary. I assume the American high school movies I’ve watched in my life are to blame for my ridiculous expectations.
Kassidy scoffs. “See? It’s just like any other school.”
When I notice signs and directions are hung up on almost every wall, I sigh in relief, the fear o
f getting lost slowly fading away. What was I so afraid of?
“We’re here.” She stops in her path and points at a locker with the number 308 on it. I will never be grateful enough that she arranged for us to be partners. I carelessly stack my books inside of it and look up. I immediately know something’s wrong when the happiness drains from my cousin’s face in a matter of seconds.
She isn’t happy anymore.
She’s scared.
What in the world is she looking at? I turn around, my eyes stopping on the students who were laughing seconds before. One thing is clear: they’re not laughing anymore. The entire room has gone quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet you can’t possibly find in a packed high school hallway. Their eyes seem to be glued to the floor. No one dares to look up. Then, the million questions racing through my mind find an answer.
There he is.
Down the hall. A very tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably attractive guy. Walking with ease, he holds his head up high as a lock of his brown hair falls in front of his eyes. Tanned skin, tattoos, blue eyes.
Never mind, I found a cliché.
Everything about him screams trouble and “I just escaped from a bad teenage movie, someone take me back.”
Sure, he looks good. Fine, he looks more than good, but not “my simple entrance was enough to shut everyone up” kind of good. Then, like he can feel the weight of my eyes on his shoulders, he looks up.
Our eyes meet.
I expect him to ignore it and carry on with his “I’m the terror of the school” job, but he does exactly the opposite. He frowns and maintains the eye contact like he’s waiting for me to look away.
I don’t.
“Tell me she didn’t,” I hear a girl mutter in the distance.