Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Nothing could have prepared me for my first day at Windsor Preparatory Academy. I thought that wearing a school uniform would help me blend in, that it wouldn’t be so painfully obvious how much I didn’t belong in this world. How wrong I was.
Mr. Lewis had dropped me off in front of the school, and I was sure he had gotten the wrong address.
This wasn’t a high school; it was like someone had dropped Hogwarts in the middle of Manhattan.
Tall, gothic buildings loomed over the street, the architecture reminding me of old cathedrals I had seen in travel vlogs and TikToks.
I stared, mouth agape, at the front courtyard made of hard stone, surrounded by black wrought iron fences.
The bright green landscape juxtaposed the dark, foreboding stone buildings in such a way that it made my eyes hurt.
I tugged at my school uniform awkwardly, pulling my new designer leather satchel closer to my body.
All I had inside was a wallet to match, a composition notebook, a few pens, a gourmet lunch Iris insisted on packing for me, and an expensive-looking iPad and iPhone Tiffany had insisted I have.
She had told me this morning that a new laptop would also be delivered after school so I could stay up to date on all my schoolwork.
Back in Georgia, I just made do with the public library’s outdated technology and the hand-me-down flip phone Nana gave me to keep in touch.
The satchel with all its expensive items felt heavy, like I had stolen goods on me instead of just new tech any one of these other kids wouldn’t even think twice about.
I followed the shuffle of bodies as students hurried to their first-period classes. I found my way to the front office, head down, hoping to blend in, to be invisible.
“Oh my God!” A shrill, high-pitched voice rang across the courtyard. Everyone, including me, turned to the voice. I froze, mortified to see the same group of teenage girls who had seen me black out at the store the day before. Kill me now.
“That’s the freak who passed out at Saks,” she continued, falling into a fit of giggles. “She had to buy new clothes because hers were hideous.” Her friends surrounded her, staring at me like I were a monster with three heads.
“What a weirdo,” another added, flipping her pristinely highlighted hair over her shoulder before turning to a taller and darker boy behind her.
While everyone was wearing the same dark navy and hunter green uniform, on this boy, it actually made him stand out.
His dark hair was swept back into a bun, a few stray hairs hanging about and framing his face.
He was tan and tall, towering over the other students by at least two feet.
His tie hung loosely at his neck, his hands digging into his pockets.
His eyes stole my attention. His somber green eyes narrowed on me, his eyes clouding with confusion and . . . fear?
I turned away, cheeks flushed as I rushed into the main office, desperate to escape the stares and laughter of my new peers. And especially that boy. The one with the dark green eyes.
Of course, two minutes into my new school and I was already the freak, the weirdo.
I walked into the main office where a well-dressed secretary sat, taking notes on her computer while answering the phone. I waited until she was free before giving her my name.
“Amaris Pollard?” A crisp, melodic voice cut through my nervous thoughts.
I turned around to see a tall woman approaching from the headmistress’ office, her posture perfect, dark red hair pulled into a tight chignon.
Her eyes were sharp, hawk-like, with an intense precision that commanded respect and authority.
“I go by Mari, actually,” I replied, tucking a stray blonde curl behind my ear.
She hesitated, seemingly surprised by my response.
“I’m Dr. Seraphine Duvall, Headmistress of Windsor Prep,” she said, extending a hand. “Welcome.”
I shook her hand, surprised by the firm grip. “Thank you. It’s an honor to be here.”
Dr. Duvall gave a small, appraising smile.
“I’ve heard much about you, Mari. Settling into a new school can be challenging, but I trust you’ll find your place here.
” She glanced at my new satchel, then back at me.
“Discipline, dedication, and curiosity are what make our students stand out. I expect nothing less from you.”
I nodded, unsure whether to be intimidated or inspired. “I’ll do my best.”
She tilted her head slightly; her gaze lingering on me in a way that made me feel both seen and measured.
“Good. Your first day can be overwhelming, but remember this—knowledge is power, and observation is your greatest ally. Be aware of your surroundings, Miss Pollard. Not everyone here may be as they appear.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the hint of caution in her words. “Yes, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Excellent. Now, I have meetings to attend, but my secretary will escort you to your first class. Do try to make a good impression.” With a small nod, Dr. Duvall turned gracefully on her heel and walked away, leaving me with a strange flutter in my chest—a mixture of admiration, nerves, and a sense that somehow, I felt I may have already fallen short of Dr. Duvall’s expectations.
By the time I had gotten checked in with the front office with my schedule and map of the school, I was walking into my chemistry lab about ten minutes late.
Everyone looked up and eyed me carefully, scrutinizing my frizzy blonde curls down to my new brand-name shoes that still hurt my feet.
The teacher stood at the front of the class with his bushy, gray-speckled black eyebrows raised, waiting for me to speak.
“Um, I’m new,” I stuttered nervously.
The teacher rolled his eyes. “And your name?”
Snickers echoed through the room like a tidal wave. My face flushed, and I looked down at the linoleum floor.
“Mari Pollard.”
The teacher picked up a piece of paper from his desk and skimmed it.
“Amaris?” he bellowed, his eyes looking up from his roster to me.
“Um, yes, but I go by Mari.”
“Your seat is over there, next to Mr. Gaines,” the teacher replied dismissively.
I nodded and then made my way over to my new seat. I never looked up to meet anyone’s eyes. I only stared at the floor and the new shoes that squeezed my big toe too tightly. My feet missed my old, worn boots.
I tried to slide into my chair as quietly as possible. Miserably, the opposite happened. The chair made an obnoxious scratching sound against the floor, causing even more giggles and more stares.
When I was sure no one was looking, I brought my eyes up to the front of the class.
The teacher was talking about a lab we would be doing Friday with our lab partner, who I realized was the boy sitting next to me. I carefully glanced his way and was shocked and embarrassed to find him staring back at me, dark green eyes shining.
Oh, shit. It was the same boy from this morning.
I blushed, darting my eyes back to my chemistry book, willing the Earth to open up and swallow me whole. He failed to stifle his deep chuckle, and I blushed even more, sinking deeper into my seat. So stupid.
I had gotten an even better look at him now that I was sitting so close.
His brow deepened as he continued his scrutiny of me.
I glanced at him again, noting how his dark hair curled just around his ears.
His dark face was covered in stubble that on any other boy would look messy, but instead, made him look dangerous. Yes, this boy was trouble.
I blushed when I glanced at his eyes again.
They were such a deep, dark green, reminding me of the frogs I used to catch when I was really little.
Nana and I would take old Billy, our old stray pit bull, down to the creek and see who would catch the most frogs.
I usually won, but now I think Nana had just let me win.
Old Billy passed away the next summer, just after I had turned twelve.
My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a deep, young voice.
“So, you’re new, huh?”
I glanced to my right and found the green-eyed boy with his right eyebrow raised. His left hand gracefully continued to take notes, while never taking his eyes off me.
His accent made it clear he must have been from the UK. Perhaps he was a new student too and would take pity on the new school freak and just leave me be. Please don’t be a douche.
“Uh . . . yeah,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice down. The teacher, Mr. Phillips, was eyeing me vigilantly.
“Where from?” he asked. I was surprised he hadn’t dropped it but kept his eyes on me like this was important.
“Appling, Georgia,” I mumbled.
His face fell a bit. “Never heard of it.”
I cringed.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. It’s right outside of Augusta, two hours from Atlanta,” I replied, trying to get the taste of bitterness off my tongue.
“Oh, Augusta, huh? My dad has gone down there to watch the Masters once. Ever been?” he asked.
I waited a moment before I answered, trying to be sure that Mr. Philips wouldn’t call me out. I don’t think I could handle embarrassment like that again.
“No,” I replied. “I don't like golf.”
I left out the part about how Nana would preach against such things as golfing on Sunday, and the part about not having the money for such expensive tickets.
The mysterious boy, Mr. Gaines, dropped the conversation as soon as Mr. Phillips called him out.
“Water H20 and Methane CH4 are similar in size, yet water is a liquid at room temperature and methane is a gas. What is the fundamental reason for this . . . Mr. Gaines?”
“Water's ability to form strong hydrogen bonds,” he answered without hesitation.
I was surprised. I had usually come to know that people who are extremely good-looking don’t usually have the brain to go with it. This boy may be trouble, but he was smart at least.