Chapter One
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Keep your friends close and your enemies closer
Sun Tzu
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You would think after being a superhero for nearly five months, my body would grow accustomed to staying up all night catching bad guys. Which, of course, resulted to a thorough lack of sleep from my side.
Well, that’s not the case.
I slept away during English period, first thing in the morning and now, leaning against my cool, metallic locker, I’m ready for another nap. The rush of school students’ edges passed me, lowerclassman bumping against each other, and the sounds of slamming steel doors is the only thing keeping me aware. For one, I’m thankful for the hallway turbulence.
“OMG! And she said what?”
I turn my head slowly, with half-lidded eyes, my gaze on Penelope Greene as she gossips with her friends in loud voices. Well, I’d use the term ‘friends’ pretty loosely, considering half the girls making up her posse is only there because Penelope comes from a wealthy and affluent family. It’s no secret – the entire school knows of this little observation.
“Yes! And here I thought he’d actually mean it!” Another one, Riley Diaz, the second-in-command and ultimate gossip queen continues her session, clearly relishing the several attentive eyes.
“Yeah right!” A third girl chimes in, popping a piece of pink gum. Valerie, I think her name is?
“Like that would ever happen, Veronica,” Penelope huffs, with a roll of her eyes. Close enough.
“Now way,” Willow sasses, her voice so full of attitude and superiority, it nauseates me.
Who does she think she’s superior to exactly? The flipping wall?
I shake my head to myself, pushing off my locker and head towards my next class with decisive strides. It’s clearly pointless listening to the group of girls dish out their daily dirt. It sickens me that they have a comment on every student that passes by, as if they’re flawless. I scoff – as if. Everyone in this wretched school only cares about themselves.
You see, at Skylight High, the kingdom of popularity differs from most schools. The social ladders here, isn’t exactly what I’d call – conventional. Of course, Penelope reigns as queen of literally everything (Prom queen, homecoming queen, even queen bee), the illustrious dispute however, is who stands on the pedestal alongside her.
Harry Talonson or Skye Stingworth.
The latter, the king of nerds is nothing like any other school’s valedictorian. Harry might appear as the geek charming, meet-cute, but really? He has the most ruthless side ever, that keeps students at bay, yet they respect him enough to put him on an untouchable plinth. In short, Harry is aloof and vindictive.
Then there’s Skye, charismatic, conceited, and all-around prince of hearts. A football legend in the making, Skye is notorious for his boldness, daring nature and most importantly, leaving a trail of broken hearts wherever he ventured.
Like every other school however, the nerds and jocks don’t get along. And given the unintentional rivalry to win over the queen bee, the tensions between the two social groups only heightens further.291Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5V6ppCNM1m
“Watch where you’re going!” Someone mutters as I avoid the incoming rush of students, and I bend my head, avoiding eye contact.
I bite back an offhand comment, knowing very well whosoever they are, they’re not worth it. 291Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrPUPZY9Dis
Besides, the last time I opened my mouth, someone ended up crying and I’d landed detention.
I drop my books of my desk with a heavy sigh, finding my place in the back corner of the classroom, far away from prying eyes and insensitive glares. My short black hair falls across my forehead, the dyed purple tips brushing against my eyes, and I push it back listlessly, my foot bouncing involuntarily on the floor.
Every school has a lone wolf, the one that doesn’t entangle themselves with the rest, the one who notices everything – but no one notices. The one pushed around for being slightly peculiar, for not blending in no matter how bloody hard they tried. Mocked for being withdrawn and low-key.
Kourtney Woods is that girl. The outcast of Skylight High.
I’m that girl.
“Excuse me!”
I look up boredly, my eyes connecting with the cold, blue eyes of Harry Talonson as he gazes down at me with unconcealed contempt. Next to him, arms crossed is a friend of his – I think Simon? Y’know I’m not that good with names.
“Can I help you?” I say in a detached voice, my eyebrows raised in question.
The last thing I need is getting suspended because this rich know-it-all before me paid the teachers to scold me for something I didn’t do. Again.
“Out of here Woods,” Harry states condescendingly, squinting as if I speak a foreign language. “This is my seat”
I lean back in my seat, unwavered.
“You sat behind me, two seats to the right yesterday,” I state matter-of-factly, my gaze steady, contradicting his steely one.
“Well today I’m sitting here, so out,” Harry says firmly, as if his word is final and jabs a thumb over his shoulder.
I roll my eyes. And with a drawled sigh, I wake up from my place, hating him more than ever, as I purposefully drag my books from the table and advance to his old place, my shoulder bumping his. Hard.
I smirk at the harsh impact of bone on bone – Harry was all brains and no brawn.
The class fills up and the teacher walks in soon after to begin the lesson. My attempts to stay awake and listen through Miss Desmond drawl on and on about the cold war are short lived. I mean I try, honestly, I do, but he woman gives all history teachers a bad rap for being boring. Pencil skirts, neat blouses and cold demeanours, Miss Desmond is the picture-perfect image of what a history teacher should look like.
I like the subject, seriously, even learning about wars that took place before my time, but if there’s one thing that irks me, it’s the ability of a teacher to make you hate the subject. Or love it, I guess. And right now, as my eyes flutter shut and I struggle to keep my head up, all I can think is that Miss Desmond does the former pretty darn well.
“Miss,” Harry interjects primly, after a boring spell of numbers, dates and long, long paragraphs of words my mind is too worn out to comprehend. “It says here that world war 2 ended in 1945 but you wrote 1944 on the board”
Miss Desmond goes on to her notes, double checking to verify the error. She quickly skims through, examining with thick, horn-rimmed glasses. She raises her head, a look of loathing flashing in her beady eyes, too quick for anyone to notice.
“Thank you, Harry, for the rectification!” Miss Desmond smiles tightly, like the sucker up she is. “My apologies, it looks like the inaccuracy was on my part”
She erases the whiteboard and amends her fault, before continuing with the lesson. I can almost imagine the smug smile on Harry’s face as I glare daggers into the back of his oversized head. This isn’t the first time he’s corrected a teacher this week and it sure as hell won’t be the last. Harry has some kind of sadistic pleasure in finding faults with people. Especially if that person is a teacher ... or me.
I’m the first to leave the class when the bell rings, manoeuvring around the desks and chairs like a sprinter doing hurdles before anyone else can beat me to the door. Given by low profile, no one notices me slip in the opposite direction of my next class, which my timetable reads as Phys Ed. I have a torturous forty-five minutes with Coach Looney and I’m not looking forward to it.
Well, its Coach Lune but close enough.
Finding a secluded area, near an empty classroom, my gym clothes stuffed into a small bag, I make sure not a soul sees me when I teleport to the girl’s locker room, straight into one of the vacant stalls. I’m in before any of the other girls in my class arrive, giving me few minutes head start. I’m never, ever in the mood to deal with the population of students that exists at this school.
I exit the stall, throwing my casual clothes over my shoulder, my strides confident but unassuming. I’m dressed in purple gym shorts and a plain white t-shirt although I didn’t bother changing my sneakers.
“Oh my God! How is that creep always done so fast!” A voice I recognise as one of Penelope’s minions ridicules me the moment I show my face, changed and ready.
“It’s not like she has any curves to worry about anyway,” Her friend supplies.
I roll my eyes at such a cliché comeback, if you can even call it one. I mean really? I get it, I’m not some walking Barbie Doll but is that the best you can do? Sure, I don’t have an hourglass figure – I have some well-toned muscles instead.
“Don’t let the creep hear you!” Another whispers as they cackle like witches around a cauldron. “Just now her druggee daddy will come!”
My fists clench and I grit my teeth from saying something I’d only end up regretting. The lats remark stung, more than anything else, because not a single soul in the school knows my true story. It’s not that my dad is some drug addict or whatever ese they peg him for – my dad is dead. Both my parents are. And for some reason, admitting theta to these students will only make me feel more vulnerable. So I keep my mouth shut and leave.
The chill air is crisp outside and the fresh smell of mowed grass sailing in the breeze is light and feathery. A cool gust of wind vents my cotton t-shirt, ruffling my hair delicately. I smile to myself, breathing in the outdoors and all the wonderful scents it offers. 291Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL481dQ6Ti3
“Woods, heads up!”
A soccer ball hurtles in my direction and before I can process the image, my reflexes kick in and I catch the ball with both my hands, shaking from the speed of what just occurred. I look towards the group of boys standing in close range, assuming the ball came from their direction, when Skye Stingworth approaches me, one of his charming smiles plastered on his face.
“Nicely done Woods,” He tips his head, sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Just take it,” I toss the ball back to him nonchalantly, ignoring his flattery.
Skye catches easily in one hand, with the practiced precision of someone who could kick a ball before they could even walk.
“Thanks Woods,” His smile turns playful as the group of boys watching our exchange, calls his name. “Gotta go!”
I roll my eyes and turn away, hating the smile that settles on my face as a result of Skye’s stupid, cute nature, and even stupider, cuter face.
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