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Emily
2010
Ten. That’s how many times I have done this in the past three years. Ten new schools. Ten new groups of friends I had to fit in with. This one is in a league of its own though. I haven’t had to try to fit in to this sort of crowd before. The elite offspring of the rich and famous.
I’m sure I stand out like a sore thumb. The scholarship kid, only here because her daddy died a military hero. I hate that everyone in this cafeteria knows who I am, knows that I’m the daughter of that soldier who died.
My face was plastered all over the news six months ago, when word broke out that my father died while saving the lives of five other men in his platoon. I should be sad. I should be missing my dad.
The thing is, I’m angry at him. Angry that he chose to save the lives of others instead of his own. Angry that he’s not coming home this time. He promised me that this was going to be his last tour. I guess, in a twisted way, he didn’t actually break that promise. I don’t miss him though. I’ve grown up with him hardly ever around, so it’s not a huge difference now that he’s gone.
After the funeral, my mum packed up and moved us back to the Hunter Valley, a rural area just outside of Sydney. She applied for this scholarship—said it’s the last time I’ll have to change schools, so I might as well get into the best one there is. I’m fifteen; I have three more years of schooling left. Three years of being stuck in this gilded prison.
These rich kids know I’m not one of them. All morning I’ve had nothing but sneers and disgusted looks sent my way. No matter how much I paste on a smile (however fake it may be), one day, it will be real. I just have to keep pretending until it is.
I count to ten with the biggest, friendliest smile I can muster. My head high, I walk through the cafeteria looking for an empty table. Or a group willing to invite me to theirs. I don’t find either.
What I do find is a table at the very back, one lone boy sitting in the middle of it. My breath halts, and my heart starts beating rapidly. This has to be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. Golden blonde locks fall down past his eyes, complementing his tanned skin, the uniform doing nothing to hide his developing muscles.
Looking around, it’s clear there is nowhere else to sit. With my head still high, and a smile so wide my face hurts, I go and sit across from the boy. The moment my tray hits the table, all sound in the cafeteria halts. I can feel eyes burning into my back, but I don’t dare turn around.
Instead, I look at the boy across from me, who in turn, gives me his best scowl. A scowl I’m sure would scare off every other student here. Not me though. I am my father’s daughter after all. I will not show fear.
“Hi, I’m Emily. The new girl, obviously.” My voice does not give any indication of the anxiety I’m feeling from having his gaze sear through me.
“This is the part where you say hi back and tell me your name. Then, you know, we’re BFFs and the rest is history. You’ll be the cookie; I’ll be the cream. You’ll be the Tim to my Tam. You’ll be the Vegemite to my toast. I think you get the drift.” I stop rambling and look him directly in the eye.
There’s a flicker of amusement, but just as quickly as it comes, it’s gone. He tilts his head and stares at me for what seems like hours. Then, out of nowhere, he stands, picks up his milkshake and slowly, very slowly pours it over my head.
The gasp that leaves my mouth is the only indication of shock or annoyance that I’m willing to give him. My smile is plastered back on my face as I stare up at him. I will not show him fear, I remind myself again.
He leans down and whispers in my ear. “You’d do best to stay far away from boys like me. I’d destroy you, little girl. You’re new here, so this is the one pass you get.”
His cruel words and harsh tone confuse me. I know I should be scared. I should be pissed off—he just tipped milk all over me. I’m not though. I don’t know what I am, but I don’t want the interaction between us to stop. It’s like I’m under some kind of spell.
Turning around, I straighten my back, pick up the sandwich on my plate and start eating it. I hear his heavy footsteps walk away. As much as I want to turn back and look at him, I don’t.
Ten minutes later, a group of girls comes over, sits at the table with me and starts chatting away like we’ve always been friends. No one ever mentions the milkshake incident. I want to ask about the boy, the beautiful, heavily disturbed boy. But for a second time today, I don’t.
Josh
2014
It’s the end of Senior year. Thank fucking God I’m finally getting out of this fucking soul-destroying hell they disguise as a school. The place is filled with pretentiousness on top of pretentiousness. The kids of celebrities and old money, spoilt fucking little brats. They wouldn’t know a day of hard work if it hit them over the fucking head.
The one exception is her.
Three years and she’s been the one thing I can’t seem to break. It’s only a matter of time though. Everyone is breakable. I take great pleasure in watching these fuckers succumb to their breaking points. I revel in their fucking tears, their pleas for mercy.
Not her, not fucking Emmy. She’s a thorn in my side. No matter how much I want to break her, there’s something niggling deep down that stops me from ever going too far with her. Something that makes me want to keep her in one piece. I try to ignore it, but I know it’s a losing battle.
Emily. She’s like an angel among the demons of hell. Her bright, sunny, happy disposition stands out like a nun in a whorehouse. It’s sickening. I’ve tried everything to get her halo to shatter. None of my taunts or pranks have broken her.
But the thing I hate about her most is that I actually fucking like her. I’ve never liked anyone. Not even my own mother. I couldn’t care less what happens to that woman. But Emmy, I’ve gone out of my way to make sure no boys here get close to her. They’ve tried, and they’ve all ended up with broken fingers or jaws.
After the first year, they got the message she was off limits. Off limits to them, and most fucking definitely off limits to me. The only thing I’d ever do is ruin her. As much as I want to do just that, I can’t fucking make myself do it.
Standing in the shadows, I inhale the nicotine from between my fingers, attempting to calm the beast who wants to come out and play. I’m watching Emmy, my fucking Emmy, dance with some jock. A soon-to-be dead fucking jock. I heard he has scouts in a bidding war over him—he won’t be any good to any footy teams with busted kneecaps.
