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I slow in the main entrance and pivot, glimpsing a guy with light brown skin. It feels good to see a drop of diversity.
He extends his right hand, saying, “Rajid Burman. I’ve never seen you here before, so I’m guessing you’re the transfer student?”
“Yeah. I’m Kayla McNeil. Nice to meet you, Rajid.”
“You, too.”
Nodding to my schedule, he asks, “Need some help?”
“Yes, please.” I hand over the paper.
“We have the same English class.” He twists his mouth as he studies the rest of my schedule. “You’re taking AP Art.” He looks up at me. “Isn’t that the scholarship?”
I collect the paper from him and answer, “Yeah, I’m going to study art in college.”
“I see. Well, clearly, you’re excellent because you won the scholarship out of fifty students.”
“Thank you.” I dip my head, ever modest.
“Come on. Let’s find your locker before the bell.”
He gestures down the hallway, and I fall in step beside him.
“So, where did you transfer from?” he asks with genuine interest, looking at me on and off as we stroll.
“West Heights High School,” I reply. Not as revered as Charleston and doesn’t provide students with the same opportunities.
“That’s way across town,” Rajid observes, russet eyes squinting. “It’ll be quite a trip for you every day.”
I pick at my bag strap while speaking. “There’s a bus stop not too far from here.” It’s actually hella far. “And my dad will drive me when he can.”
He slowly nods.
We deviate down another hallway where the lockers are, and I regard the traffic of students.
The majority of the girls appear glamorous, from hair to makeup. As for the guys? Well, it’d be a lie to pretend I don’t appreciate how tall and attractive most are.
I sneak glances at Rajid. He’s cute. A few inches above my five feet five. Clear skin that’s a light shade of almond. Dark, low, silky-looking hair. Thick lashes and brows; defined jawline and thin lips.
“Here you are,” he says, stopping at my locker.
I snap out of it and reply, “Thanks.” Then create a lock combination and discard books not needed for the morning classes. “So, how is it here, like for real?”
“Hm.” He leans against the locker next to mine and folds his arms. “Charleston has its pros and cons. Sadly, there are some assholes.” He continues talking even as the atmosphere in the hallway transforms all of a sudden, feeling more intense.
My eyes wander in the direction of three guys approaching—the traffic pretty much moves for them.
“Parties happen every weekend,” Rajid goes on. “I’ll tell you who to avoid.”
“Cool.”
I cut back to the guys. My stomach jumps when the brooding one at the back flicks my way. He’s keeping a gap between himself and the other two.
Girls whisper and giggle with one another while sneaking glances at him. I realize that he’s the cause of the shift.
It’s understandable.
The guy is handsome—a younger version of actor Ryan Gosling, with sleek ash-blonde hair and unraveling deep-set azure eyes.
