King of Hawthorne Prep

I open my notebook and jot down a few notes as Ms. Pettijohn continues to lecture. As I do, I shift on my seat with the disconcerting sensation of being watched. Ever since I stepped foot on campus, people have been staring. Without bothering to glance around, my guess is that half the class is inspecting me as if I’m a strange species they’ve never encountered before. As much as I try to ignore the unease prickling at the back of my neck, it only grows stronger.

Unable to stand another moment of the scrutiny, I lean against my chair as my gaze sweeps over the neat rows of students that surround my desk. A few who had been openly appraising me, jerk their attention away when they realize I’ve caught them. Interesting. Maybe they aren’t so bold after all. As I continue to peer around the room, my gaze collides with a familiar one.

One I never expected to see again.

Certainly not here.

I blink as my heartbeat speeds up, jack hammering almost painfully against my breast.

There’s no way…

There’s just no way.

Except it is.

It’s him.

Kingsley observes me through narrowed eyes that hold a strange intensity. It’s like he recognizes me, but doesn’t. An odd mixture of emotion swirls through his eyes.

Recognition. Confusion. Hatred.

Wait a minute…hatred?

That can’t be.

The time we spent together was amazing. He has no reason to hate me. The last time we saw each other, his lips had been stroking over mine. We’d made plans to spend the next day together on his boat.

Swimming.

Sunbathing.

Making out.

The muscles in my belly contract as my lips lift into a tentative smile and I raise my hand in a wave. Instead of receiving a similar expression, his mouth twists into a scowl. Animosity burns brightly in his eyes before he pivots away, dismissing me with one icy look.

My hand, which had been suspended midair, falls to the desk with a heavy thud. I gulp down my disappointment and stare sightlessly at the notebook on my desk as confusion whips through me.

Why would Kingsley act like that?

Is he angry that I had to leave without saying goodbye? I tried to tell him what was going on. For goodness’ sake, his mom or whoever that was threatened to call the police on me! What else could I have done?

For the rest of the class period, my attention strays to him, but he stares straight ahead. It’s like I’m not even there. When the bell rings, marking the end of class, Kingsley rises from his desk and walks out with another boy. Not once does he glance in my direction.

His blatant rejection sends an avalanche of hurt and confusion cascading through me. There hasn’t been a single day when I haven’t, at least once, thought about him and wondered what he was doing. I’ve fantasized about different scenarios where we would run into each other. And now that it’s happened, he glares at me like I’m nothing more than sticky, sun-warmed gum on the bottom of his shoe.

His behavior makes little sense.

I have two choices. One, I let Kingsley leave and forget I ever met him. Or two, I suck it up and confront him. What makes the situation more complicated is that he’s the only person I know at Hawthorne. Hell, in this entire godforsaken town. And having at least one friend by my side would make all the difference in the world.

When you look at it like that, there’s only one option. Mind made up, I rise to my feet and take a step toward the door, hoping to catch Kingsley before second hour. The sooner I get this situation cleared up, the better I’ll feel.

“Ms. Hawthorne?” A sharp voice cuts through the low hum of student chatter. “A word, if you please.”

Damn.

The air escapes from my lungs in a rush as I swing toward the front of the room where Ms. Pettijohn waits.

“Ma’am?”

A few classmates linger, watching the exchange with piqued interest.

The older woman keeps her thin lips pressed together until the last of the stragglers take their leave. “I hope you don’t think special exceptions will be made for you because your family founded the school.”

My eyes widen as I shake my head. “Of course not.”

“Good.” She nods as if satisfied with the answer. “That’s not the way Hawthorne Prep works. It would behoove you to be humble about your heritage.”

My heritage?

What is that supposed to mean?

When I stare blankly, she flicks her wrist toward the exit. “I would encourage you to make a better impression on your remaining teachers than you did on me this morning.”

Ouch.

I point to the door. “I should go.”

She tips her head. “Excellent idea.”

With that dismissal, I scurry from the room and search the hallway for the dark-haired boy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since meeting him this summer. Whatever changed his opinion of me, I want to clear it up.