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“Name?” He slides the pointed nail of his forefinger down his roster, stopping at the empty row at the bottom of the page.
“Lilith Deville,” I reply as I move to the only empty space in this dreary classroom.
My new classmates murmur around me, whispering questions of who I am, where I’m from, and why I’m here in their stupid preppy bullshit of a school.
“I wasn’t aware I’d be getting a new student today,” the teacher mutters, a frown marring his aged, yet handsome features. I wonder if he knows that his red tie clashes with his orange hair or if he simply doesn’t care. “Where have you transferred from, Miss Deville?”
“A place where teachers couldn’t wear ties,” I respond loudly. “Ties became nooses in my old school.”
“High rate of suicide?” he asks, sounding and looking concerned as his hand adjusts the clothing piece in question.
“Not suicide, no.”
My meaning isn’t lost on him, his polite smile falls. He clears his throat and those whispers around me become more desperate. Eyes level on me and glance away, others stick to me like glue, some don’t even venture near me at all.
“Well, as I’m your first teacher of the day, welcome to Lakeside Preparatory Academy. I’m Mr. Bromley.”
I nod and pull the shit I need from my bag.
“Do you have a buddy for your first day?”
“I’m good.”
“It’s a big school.” He looks at a girl over in the back corner, I clocked her as soon as I walked in. “Perhaps Blair would…”
“I said I’m good,” I repeat, clicking the end of my pen incessantly.
More whispering. Somebody calls me a bitch.
I don’t care.
“Well, alright then. Everybody, eyes back on the board.”
“Hey,” the guy beside me whispers, tapping me on my bare shoulder with the eraser on the end of his pencil.
I look at him, his dark hair and pale skin, his stubble that he’s likely super proud of despite the fact it’s patchy, the trail of acne scars visible along his neck. He’s cute, exactly the kind of guy my sister would have dated. I hate him already.
I catch my reflection in his glasses, a faceless outline with wild hair and a stiff posture, then take his pencil that is still suspended between us and snap it with both of my hands.
His lips part and his brows furrow.
“What the fuck?” he mouths, looking at the broken pencil that I just dropped to the floor. “You’re not going to make any friends with that attitude.”
“Good,” I reply, smiling a fake-ass smile that I’ve perfected over the past few months. “I don’t want friends.”
“Psycho,” a girl behind me whispers but she straightens nervously when I turn to look at her and the desk that separates us.
All I have to do is stare and her wide gray eyes almost pop out of her head as her body slowly slinks off her chair like a slug over an edge.
Satisfied, I turn back around and look at the board. Mr. Bromley’s eyes are on me, his lips are a thin white line. I hold his gaze letting him know what I’m about.
I’m not here to learn. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here because I must be and here is where I’ll stay until I’ve gotten what I need.
My dad always said you can say more with a single look at the right time than you can with a thousand words. Actions speak louder than words.
“Loki, right?” I ask the guy whose pencil I just snapped.
He keeps his gaze ahead as Bromley starts talking us through some local history but I know he heard me.
“Who is the most arrogant guy in school?”
He frowns and wets his lips. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because the longer it takes me to get answers, the longer I’m in this hell hole of a school.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why do I care?”
I look at the girl behind me. “Clay eyes,” I hiss, craning my neck and twisting my body in my seat.
“Me?” She points to herself, her eyes wide again.
“What’s the punishment for sexual assault and harassment here?”
Her lips part, her eyes swim with confusion. “Why?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Suspension pending investigation…”
Loki shifts in his seat, catching the gist of my threat. He’s really annoyed. “Nok.”
“Knock?”
“Yes,” he huffs. “Nok is the most arrogant guy here.”
“By far,” the girl behind me agrees.
I don’t remember seeing that name on the list of pupils here. I scour my brain but nothing comes to mind.
“Full name?” I ask abruptly and his hands squeeze into fists.
“Nokosi Locklear.”
I know that name. It’s exactly the person I was told about.
“He’s like the only Native American that attends here, he’s not hard to spot.”
I rotate to look at her again and raise a brow. “This school is meant to be progressive and you’re telling me there’s only one Native American?”
“You have to be rich to get in.”
