Chapter 6 #2
It’s like something out of a movie. Red brick buildings covered in ivy, and perfectly manicured lawns. Students walk around in the same uniform I’m wearing, but somehow they make it look effortless and natural.
And the cars. The student parking lot is full of BMWs, Mercedes, and Teslas. The fact that our driver is in a tailored suit and wearing a driving hat makes a lot more sense now.
The driver pulls up near the main entrance.
Ryder immediately gets out without a word, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and walking away.
He doesn’t look back or check if I’m following.
He blends seamlessly into this world. Students call out to him, and he responds with warm laughter that carries across the parking lot.
It’s nothing like the cold voice he’s used with me.
Is this the real him? A popular senior, surrounded by friends and easy humor?
Did I bring out the worst in him?
“Miss?” The driver’s voice pulls me back. “We’re here.”
“Right. Thank you.” I grab my backpack and step out into my new life.
The main office is easy to find, just off the foyer. I’m greeted by the head administrator, Ms. Thornesmith, a woman with cat-eye glasses and a no-nonsense gray bun.
“Alice Winter?” she asks, looking up from her computer.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Welcome to Ashworth Academy.” She hands me a paper. “This is your schedule. The junior class president, Freddy Jones, was supposed to give you a tour, but...” She sighs. “The football coach has him doing extra conditioning this morning. That man commandeers far too much of that boy’s time.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “I can find my way around.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m just trying to get in touch with Jessa, who’s also on the student council. She can—“
“I’m sure. Really.”
Ms. Thornesmith studies me for a moment, then nods. “All right. But if you need anything, my door is always open. First period is in ten minutes. English with Ms. Patterson is on the second floor, east wing.”
“Thank you.”
I escape into the hallway before she can change her mind about me venturing out solo. The last thing I need is forced small talk with a stranger who’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer.
The warning bell rings, echoing through the halls.
The school is overwhelming. Marble floors, wood paneling, and high ceilings. Everything reeks of old money and prestige.
And students. So many students.
They fill every inch of the hallway. Clustered around lockers, sprawled against walls, and moving in groups that take up entire corridors. It feels like thousands of them, and the noise is deafening. Laughter, shouting, locker doors slamming, and the constant hum of conversation.
I press myself against the wall, trying to get my bearings. The signs hanging from the ceiling indicate the east wing and west wing, but students block my view, making it impossible to see where the hallways actually lead.
I push forward, clutching my schedule like a lifeline. Bodies press in from all sides. Someone’s backpack clips my shoulder. An elbow jabs my ribs as a girl reaches past me to grab something from her locker.
“Excuse me,” I mumble, trying to squeeze past a group of guys blocking the hallway.
They don’t move, or even acknowledge I spoke.
I edge around them, my backpack catching on someone’s jacket. A girl shoots me an annoyed look as I accidentally step on her foot.
“Sorry,” I yelp, but she’s already turned away.
The crowd pushes me forward like a current. I try to find the staircase, but everywhere I look there are just more students. More noise. More bodies.
A group of cheerleaders takes up half the hallway, practicing some kind of routine. I try to go around them, but there’s no space. Students flow around them on both sides, somehow knowing exactly where to step without colliding.
I don’t have that instinct. I bump into someone’s shoulder. Then someone else’s arm. My backpack swings and hits a girl carrying a stack of textbooks.
“Watch it,” she snaps.
“Sorry, I…”
But she’s already gone, absorbed back into the crowd.
I finally spot a staircase and push toward it, navigating through what feels like an impossible maze of bodies. The marble steps are wide and grand, but they’re also packed with students sitting on them, standing in groups, and blocking passage.
I climb carefully, keeping my backpack tight against my body so it doesn’t hit anyone else. Ryder’s wrath is fresh in my mind. My legs feel shaky. My head pounds from the noise.
How do these people navigate this every day?
On the second floor, it’s somehow even more crowded. Lockers line both walls, and students lean against every available surface. I follow the signs toward the east wing, but progress is slow. Every few feet, I have to stop and wait for a group to move, and squeeze through gaps that barely exist.
I check my phone. First period starts in three minutes.
I walk faster, my heart racing. I can’t be late on my first day. I can’t draw that kind of attention.
“Excuse me,” I say louder this time. “Excuse me, I need to get through.”
No one listens. No one cares.
I finally spot room 214 at the end of the hallway just as the final bell rings. So close. But there’s a wall of students between me and the door, and they’re not moving.
Through the chaos, I push forward more aggressively. I stumble past the final group of students and reach the door to room 214. Through the small window, I spy students already seated. Ms. Patterson is at the front of the room, writing on the board.
This is it.
My hand hovers over the doorknob. Maybe I should just skip it. No one would miss me. They wouldn’t even be expecting me.
I release the doorknob and take a large breath.
I didn’t fight my way through all those students to turn away now.
I smooth down my uniform, fix my hair, and open the door.
Every head turns toward me.
Ms. Patterson looks up from the board, her expression neutral. “Can I help you?”
“I’m... I’m Alice Winter. The new student.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Welcome, Alice.” Ms. Patterson’s smile is encouraging. “Come in and take a seat.”
I step into the classroom, scanning for an empty desk.
That’s when I see him.
Ryder, slouched in a seat near the back. His dark eyes widen when he sees me, and his entire expression shifts from relaxed to furious in an instant.
Crap.
I was afraid this would happen. I take a few senior classes, one of them being English. But seeing as Ryder is behind in English, I was hoping he’d be in some kind of remedial class.
But no.
No, no, no.
We’re in the same class.
“There’s an empty seat near the window,” Ms. Patterson says, gesturing to a desk directly in front of Ryder.
I force my legs to move, walking down the aisle as every eye in the classroom tracks my movement. Ryder’s glare continues to burn into me.
As I swing myself toward the vacant seat, my backpack swipes across the neighboring desk and sweeps the other student’s belongings onto the ground. At the precise moment my pigment turns tomato red, cheers and laughter erupt from around the classroom.
“What the hell!” the girl beside me squeaks. She huffs and groans as she bends over to retrieve her notebook, pen case, and phone from the floor. “This is the latest model. I just got it, and you totally tried to demolish it.”
“I-I…” I stammer as her eyes narrow at me with disgust. “I’m sorry.”
“Chloe,” Ms. Patterson chimes in. “Exactly why do you have your phone out during class?”
The rage on Chloe’s face dissolves, and she pockets the phone. “Umm, technically, class hadn’t started.”
Ms. Patterson holds out her hand. “As soon as you step foot inside my classroom, class begins.”
Chloe rolls her eyes and hands her phone over to our teacher.
“Is it wrecked, ma’am?” another girl asks.
“Did you hear that smack when it hit the floor?” another student says. “Wanna take bets on how many cracks it has?”
I slide into the seat and pull out my notebook, hoping to become invisible. Seriously, Alice, is there a way for you to make an entrance that doesn’t involve wrecking other people’s property?
“There will be no betting in my classroom,” Ms. Patterson says, turning back to the board. “Now, as I was saying, your essays on ‘What We Carry’ are due Friday. I expect thoughtful analysis of the protagonist’s relationship with inherited obligation...”
“Alice.”
The harsh whisper comes from behind me. Close enough that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.
I freeze, pen hovering over my blank page.
“What are you doing here?” Ryder’s voice is low and sharp, meant only for me. “Why are you in my English class?”
I don’t turn around. He said not to talk to him. He’s breaking his own rule. Is this a test? I can’t respond. No good would come from responding.
“Alice.” More insistent now. “You’re in the wrong room. This is a senior class, and you’re a junior.”
My face burns. Other students notice and turn in their seats.
“I take senior English,” I whisper back.
“Gimme a break.” His voice is still quiet but venomous. “You need to leave. Right now.”
“I can’t just—”
“Mr. Hamilton,” Ms. Patterson’s voice cuts through the room. “Is there a problem?”
The classroom falls silent except for the deliberate leaning back of Ryder in his chair. “No, ma’am. Just thought she might be lost. She’s new.”
“I’m aware.” Ms. Patterson’s eyes narrow slightly. “But your concern is unwarranted. Miss Winter is supposed to be in the class.” She clasps her hands and scans the desks with a bright smile. “Now, if we’re all settled, let’s continue.”
But the damage is done. Students are staring now, openly curious, and whispers ripple through the room.
“Why was Ryder talking to her?”
“How does he know her?”
“Seriously, what was that about?”
“Oh, I can tell you exactly what that’s about,” a deeper voice says, and I recognize it immediately.
Brooks.
I open my copy of the novel, hoping that if I dip my head low enough, it might suck me into the pages and I can disappear from reality.
“That’s our manager’s niece,” Brooks says, not bothering to whisper.
“Okay, and?” a girl asks.
My stomach drops, causing me to look up. Ms. Patterson continues writing on the board, her back to the class.
“She’s basically taking over Miranda’s house and crashing into every room like it belongs to her,” Brooks goes on with a chuckle in his voice. “Smacking a phone onto the ground is nothing to her.”
“Yikes,” someone mutters.
“Is she okay?” a girl asks. “She looks like she’s about to cry.”
“That’s just how she is,” Brooks says dismissively. “Jumpy. Clumsy.”
“Alice,” Ryder hisses from behind me, his voice low and urgent. “You need to get this class changed. Go to the office after class and tell them there was a mistake.”
I keep my head down, clutching the pen hard until the cut on my palm burns.
“I’m serious,” Ryder whispers. “Transfer out. It’s better for both of us.”
“Wait, Hamilton,” a guy says, louder now. “If this chick is living at Miranda’s, does that mean you’re living together?”
A bone-chilling round of oohs and ahhs surround us.
I can feel Ryder tense up behind me.
“No,” Ryder says carefully. “She’s just—“
“Just what?” another voice presses. “You haven’t taken your eyes off her from the moment she walked in.”
“Yeah, what’s the deal?” someone else chimes in. “You two hooking up in that creepy old house in the mountains?”
There’s a screech behind me from Ryder pushing his chair back. “Look, there’s nothing between me and that girl. She’s just someone we got stuck with, and she thinks she can steal my manager’s focus when we’re so close to our showcase.”
The swirling comments come to a halt.
I stop breathing. Seriously, how do I breathe?
“Mr. Hamilton.” Ms. Patterson turns from the board, her eyes flashing. “You might be something of a celebrity these days, but that doesn’t give you the right to make inappropriate outbursts in my classroom.”
There’s notable silence behind me until the squeak of Ryder straightening his chair.
“Yes, Miss Winter is a new student here,” Ms. Patterson goes on.
“She’s a gifted student, and before even stepping foot in this classroom, she received notes from me for this class.
Precisely to tutor our dear Mr. Hamilton.
She’s meant to be here, and if she wants everyone to know her life story, I’m sure she’ll tell it in her own words. ”
Suddenly, the knowledge of how to breathe reenters my brain. With a sigh of relief, I collapse in my seat, and show a small, thankful smile to my new teacher.
But as the class continues, it’s evident the damage has been done. Whispered comments about ‘teacher’s pet,’ ‘crushing on Ryder,’ and ‘stalker vibes’ are already in circulation.
And it’s only the first class of the day.