“It’s nice to meet you,” Layla says softly.
“Will you be attending Brooklyn High?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, my mom got me registered, so I can start tomorrow.”
“You’ll love it,” Mom says before turning her attention to me. “It’s late, and you have school in the morning as well. Come in soon, please.” She looks back at Layla. “It was nice to meet you. I’ll have to stop by tomorrow to introduce myself to… your parents?”
“Yeah, my mom and dad.”
“Good luck on your first day tomorrow. If you need anything, I’m sure Camden can help you.” With a smile and a wink, Mom excuses herself.
“Here, put your number in,” I say, handing her my phone. She raises a single brow. “So if you’re lost or anything tomorrow, you can text me,” I add. “Don’t worry, I heard the part about you having a boyfriend.”
Her face falls at the mention of the guy she had to leave behind. She inputs her number, and once she hands me back my phone, I pull it up and hit call. Her phone rings in her pocket, and I click end. “Now you have my number, in case you need anything.”
“Can we please stop by Starbucks on the way to school?” Bailey groans as we walk to the car. Oscar, our driver, opens the door, and I’m about to get in when I see Layla stepping outside with a frown marring her features. She’s dressed in the girls’ version of our school uniform—a blue, yellow, and white plaid skirt, a white button-down shirt with a matching plaid tie, and black flats—with her backpack situated on her shoulders and her camera around her neck.
When she sees me watching her, a small smile appears.
“Who’s that?” my younger sister asks.
“Our new neighbor.” I wave Layla over. “You on your way to school?”
“Yeah. I have my GPS pulled up…”
“Get in,” I tell her. “It’ll take a good thirty minutes to walk and even longer on the train since it’s the morning rush.”
She eyes the vehicle, Oscar, then my sister.
“This is Oscar, our driver.” Oscar tips his hat—yes, he actually has a hat like the drivers you see in movies and speaks in a British accent. He’s been our driver for years and is awesome about not telling on us for the shit he sees us do.
“And this is my little sister, Bailey. She’s a freshman.”
“His much cooler sister,” Bailey adds with a side-eye.
After Layla introduces herself, we pile in, and Oscar stops by Starbucks so we can run in and grab coffee and breakfast on our way to school. Layla asks if she can roll down the window during our drive, and she snaps pictures of everything in sight.
When she says she’s never even so much as visited the city before moving here, I offer to show her around this weekend.
“That would be amazing,” she gushes in excitement. “This place is like a photographer’s playground.”
When we arrive, Bailey takes off toward her friends, and Layla stands in place with a coffee in her hand, checking everything out. It must be daunting coming from a small town to the city. Brooklyn isn’t huge compared to Manhattan, but our high school is three stories and houses almost three thousand students. Even though my dad is a famous musician, and my family is hella rich, we’ve gone to a public school our entire lives. My parents want us to stay humble, and that’s fine by me. Had I been forced to attend private school, I never would’ve met my boys.
“You’re not going to take any pictures?” I ask, nodding toward the camera still around her neck.
She glances down as if just remembering it’s still there and pulls it over her head, pushing it into her backpack. When I give her a questioning look, she simply shrugs and says, “Don’t want to be the weird new girl with a camera around her neck.”
I nudge her hip lightly. “There’s nothing weird about you, Shutterbug.”
She smiles at the nickname. It’s not original by any means, but it fits her.
“You ready?” I ask, taking her hand in mine.
She glances down at our joined hands, swallows thickly, and briefly closes her eyes. “Not even close.” But then, she opens her lids and, with renewed strength, nods once and saunters forward.
While she’s speaking to the lady in the front office to get her schedule, Braxton texts me in our group chat asking where I am, and I tell him I’ll see him at lunch.
We find out Layla has three classes with me, including first period, so after she finishes in the office, I walk her to class. When we get inside, the bell is just ringing, and everyone is piling in. I always sit in the back with Declan, who also has English first period.
When he walks in, he notices Layla right away, giving me a raised brow, clearly appreciating what he sees. Feeling an odd sense of protectiveness over Layla, I shake my head, making it clear she’s off-limits. Sure, she has a boyfriend, but he isn’t here—and let’s be honest, at fifteen and living hundreds of miles apart, they aren’t going to last. Her simply having a boyfriend won’t stop the guys from swooping in like vultures and trying to pick apart the fresh meat.