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They always flinch when they see my eyes… Flinch, Remington.

“Remy,” Miss Denton says cautiously.

He doesn’t flinch. “What is it, Miss Denton?” he asks without breaking eye contact as if Miss Denton’s presence is bothersome to him. I can’t imagine speaking to anyone that way.

“Please escort this young lady to class.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” He feeds me a feline smile, and I can’t tell if he is joking. My presence here is obviously amusing to him, and he’s playing with me like I’m a toy.

The secretary sighs. “Remington, please. You’re headed there, anyway. Just take her. I need to get back to work.”

My stomach always churns during the first few days of school every year. Sometimes it’s a truly awful experience. But this place? I’ve already been warned off twice, and Remy is giving me the creeps. Something about him is off…and I have a strong urge to run away even if he’s one of the cutest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Fine,” he says, standing and reaching out his hand. “Let’s go.”

I swallow a pit in my throat before grabbing his hand and letting him help me up. Releasing my grip, I face Miss Denton, who hands me another piece of paper.

“Take this and give it to your math teacher. Tell him to call the office if he has any concerns.”

I nod and grab the paper from her hand, then turn to the door where Remy is holding it open for me, waiting for me with that similar twisted smile he had in the office.

At least he has manners.

He scans me from head to toe, and I shift uncomfortably as the belt continues its constant scraping.

Finally, after awkward silence, he asks, “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Diana,” I mumble, filled with panic as we walk into the bright hallway. I hesitate as the light shifts, and my vision momentarily disappears. The bright lights will etch into my vision, staying there for a few minutes. I lose my confidence with each step, but Remy moves his hand to my back, as if sensing my discomfort.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” he asks more pointedly as he leads me down another hallway that’s lined with blurry yellow lockers.

“I’m not sure how to answer that question.” I bite the inside of my cheek as I stumble, mortified. He’s so close to me, not giving me any space. “I can’t see that well. Sometimes I need a moment to adjust to the light. The pigments in my eyes are not like yours, and I’m sensitive to bright lights.”

He stops suddenly, blocking my path and faces me. He tilts his head as he peers at me. He’s so close now, and as my vision returns, I can see my white eyelashes in the reflection of his dark inky eyes.

“Why are they red?”

“They aren’t,” I correct him, blinking a couple times, “they are translucent.”

He ponders for a moment, then surprises me by grabbing my hand and gently pulling me down a new set of doors. “Class is this way,” he says, and I walk, my fingers intertwined with his as he gently leads me through a new set of doors.

He stops suddenly, my hand still in his. “Do you know who I am?” he asks.

My heart up-ticks. “No… Should I?” Whoever he is, he’s very odd himself, so maybe he shouldn’t be judging me. From what I can see of this school, he doesn’t fit in, either. He looks more rock n’ roll with his leather jacket and dark, faded black jeans. His attractiveness is undeniable, albeit terrifying.

“Have you heard of the last name Vital?” he asks.

I hum, thinking. “Vital? Doesn’t sound familiar.”

He moves closer, shrinking the space between us. My heart races, and I wonder how far away this math class is. “You’ll know exactly who I am soon enough.”

He takes my hand again, and I try to catch my breath as he guides me a couple of feet into the classroom. The whispers begin as soon as we walk in. The light shifts suddenly, making me dizzy, but he keeps his hand firmly on my back. I hate how much I appreciate the small gesture of support.

He leads me to a desk, where I sit and steady myself, and Remy walks up and hands the slip of paper to the teacher at the front. A few seconds later, everything shifts into focus.

All the judgmental faces take form, and once again, I want to die.

“Who the hell is that? She looks like a zombie.”