From The Underground

Chapter 1

Moved.

Again.

Perpetually the new kid, over and over.

I’ve learned that it’s just not worth getting close to anyone because social services will move me in a few months anyway. There’s just…no changing it either. I get my hopes up that maybe this is it, maybe they’ll let me stay, and then I’m moved.

The foster family I’m with will get tired of me soon enough, and I’ll be shipped off to the next round of people who think they can raise me. Then, the cycle will start all over.

Haven Hammer’s, what a fucking joke of a mascot. A hammer. Not even like Thor’s hammer, just a regular hammer you’d find in any toolbox. I’m almost embarrassed for them.

It’s not the first time I’ve lived in Haven, but it is the first time in this area, this school district. It’s a bit of a better income area, but I don’t really care. I just need to survive a year.

With the new backpack Becky, my new foster mom, gave me this morning over my shoulder, I take a deep breath, shake my head and make my way through the clean but boring hallway. Lockers line each wall and there’s worn dark blue carpet under my feet.

Looking at the class schedule in my hand the receptionist handed to me this morning, I search for room 403. Homeroom.

I’ll be starting my days in this room for the foreseeable future.

399, 401, ah—403.

Before I open the door, I steady myself. They’re all going to stare, just show them it doesn’t bother you. Nodding to myself, I make sure my hoop earrings are sitting flat and twist the leather cord I always wear tied to my wrist.

Here goes nothing.

I should be used to it by now. Used to everyone stopping and staring when I open the door, but it’s still unnerving. The kids always gawk, the teacher barely notices, and that’s when the whispers start.

“Yes?” the teacher barks at me, making me get my ass in gear. Moving towards his desk, I go to explain my existence.

“I’m Roxie, Roxie Westin. The new student. I’ll be in your homeroom for the rest of the year,” I say, handing him my schedule as proof and moving my black hair off my shoulder, standing tall and strong. I’m not going to let anyone think I’m meek.

I’m Roxie fucking Westin, I’m a badass fucking queen.

“So I see,” the teacher, Mr. Jones, says. “Go find a seat and get started on some homework.”

I sigh in relief, he’s not going to make me do the fucking awkward ‘stand in the front of the class and introduce myself before we play twenty questions.’

I fucking hate when teachers make me do that.

“Got it,” I say quickly, taking my schedule back and stuffing it into my oversized sweatshirt pocket. There aren’t a lot of other students in the room, probably why they had me join this class.

That’s good with me. The less I have to interact with people, the better. There’s a few girls huddled together in desks towards the front of the class, and they stare at me, probably wondering if I’m going to sit with them.

I think the fuck not.

I pass them, looking to the other side of the aisle. There’s an obvious jock, sleeping with his mouth wide open.

Nope.

There’s a guy about my age, but he looks a little older, sitting in the second to last chair in the back row. He’s hunched over his desk, sketching it looks like, with a black hoodie pulled over his head.

Looks like a loner to me. Jackpot.

I sit in the last seat on the other side of the aisle from Loner and dump my backpack on the ground next to me.

Mr. Jones said to start doing homework, but I don’t have any.

I don’t want there to be a chance he comes over and asks me anything, so I pull out my own sketchbook and get to work on the piece I started last night.

Focusing on shading the side of the statue, I run my fingers over the outline of Athena. The goddess of war.

I like to think I’m like her; strong, fearless, unbreakable.

“Mr. Hernandez!” Mr. Jones snaps, breaking the silence in the room like a whip. “I have told you for the last time to take the hood off!”

Loner scoffs under his breath and sits upright. But as he does, it’s like he uncoils. Sitting straight up takes him minutes, then he stretches out and his arms go on for miles.

“You got it, Mr. Jones,” he says, and I blush from just his voice.

How is it so smooth?

He slowly–is that me or is time really slowing down?–pulls his hood back and looks around as he stretches. My breath catches as I’m shown the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in real life.

His hair is short, but long enough that as he pushes his bangs out of his face, a few strands fall back. He’s…so hot. His jaw is defined, his cheekbones high and those eyes… His eyes are magical, I swear. So dark and deep, they look black.

“Hi,” he says softly to me after he catches me staring.

“Hi.”

“I’m Ty.”

“Roxie.”

“No talking!” Mr. Jones yells out and I jump slightly before rolling my eyes.

Ty leans his arm back on the desk behind him as he looks at me with a lazy smile.

“He’s loud, but he’s harmless.”

“I can see that,” I say back, a smirk of my own mirroring his. I look down, the weight of his gaze setting me on fire before pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

“What are you drawing?” Ty asks quietly, moving a desk back so he can get a better look at my sketchbook.

“Oh, um,” I stutter–so fucking embarrassing–before biting my lip as I cover my book. “Nothing.”

“Don’t like sharing until it’s done? Mi mala, chica nueva,” he asks.

Oh god, he speaks Spanish and interjects it into his speech so effortlessly? I’m going to die.

“No, no,” I say quickly, not wanting him to leave just yet. I mentally steel myself before uncovering my book. “Just not used to people wanting to see it.”

Ty smiles in thanks, leaning over the aisle to see my work.

“Wow,” he breathes out, his eyes widening with surprise. “That’s really amazing. That’s really, really good.”

“Really?” I ask, shocked and surprised. Turning the book around so I can see it again, I look over my work. It’s not my best, but it’s definitely a good one. Drawing is calming for me, something that lets me get my emotions out without violence.

“Yeah, I like it. Is it Artemis or Athena?” Ty asks, leaning over the desk and grabbing his own sketchbook and flipping through the pages before opening to one and handing me his book.

“I drew Apollo the other day. Pretty coincidental. If you believe in that kind of thing,” he says softly, looking at me with a shy smile. His Apollo is breathtaking. It’s clear as day, the shading, the curves, the fine lines.

“How?” I ask, letting the word fade.

“What?”

“How are you so good?” I look at him, my eyes wide with shock. “Teach me,” I put my hand on his and ask earnestly.

“Yeah, sure.” Ty swallows and his eyes are locked onto where I’m touching him. His throat bobs.

Fuck, he probably thinks I’m crazy, I think, before pulling my hand away like he burned me.

“Thank you,” I say with a blush and hand him his sketchbook back. Ty’s quiet and staring at me with an expression I can’t recognize.

He nods before sitting back in his chair and watches me.

“Who are you?” he asks in a whisper.

I move my hair over my shoulder, and rest my head on my hand in a way I hope looks attractive.

“No one special,” I say with a self-deprecating tone. “Don’t get too used to me, big guy. I don’t plan on sticking around for long.”

His lips quirk up in a smirk and he shrugs his shoulders.

“We’ll see about that.”