Chapter 5 #2
Not for him, though. For me. For the tightness in my chest. For the way the ground keeps feeling like it might slide sideways. For the way I’ve learned to fill silences, so they don’t turn into spirals.
I don’t answer his question. I’m not sure I could.
So I fixate.
His hoodie. Brentwood.
“I couldn’t help but notice you’re wearing a Brentwood hoodie.
Do you go there?” I venture, because if I don’t, the quiet will pull me back to that moment.
And I can’t go there. Not again, not now.
And so, I internally beg this poor guy, who’s probably counting down the minutes till he can leave (I am too), to say something.
He says nothing but shifts his arm just enough to glance down at the faded letters stretched across his chest, like maybe he forgot he was wearing them.
He finally gives a short nod. Nothing else.
“My sisters and I—we just got offered places,” I ramble, twisting my fingers together in my lap. “It was all really sudden. Sort of unexpected.”
Still, no real response. Just that impossible stillness. The kind of quiet that makes you aware of everything you’re doing wrong. The way you’re sitting. The way you sound. The way you’re breathing.
I press my back against the seat, trying to ground myself, but the floor feels like it’s swaying. The air feels like it’s thinning.
“So… Brentwood’s supposed to be pretty amazing, right?” I say, the words scraping out of me now. “The school, the people, the campus. The reputation. All of it. Practically flawless.”
He lets out a short breath, like maybe he’s going to say something, but doesn’t.
“A perfect school,” I continue, eyes fixed on a smear on the glass, but then a thought forms on my tongue. One I’m not even sure where I get it from. “But then again… nothing real ever looks perfect up close.”
His shoulders tense, almost imperceptibly. The hand resting against his leg stills completely, as he turns his head toward me. Slowly.
And even with the sunglasses, I can feel him staring. I can’t see his eyes, but I feel the focus in them anyway. Like he’s scanning me, searching for something in the shape of my face, the tone of my voice.
But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t do so much as cock his head to the side, as if considering something.
I don’t know why, but suddenly the air between us feels thick, and I get this strange feeling I’ve overstepped somehow. Overstepped into a place I was never supposed to enter.
I shift under the weight of it, pulse skipping. “I—was that… dumb to say?” I ask, trying for a laugh that doesn’t come.
“Not dumb,” he says finally. “Just not something most people notice.”
My heart trips over itself, and for a moment, I just stare at him.
He soundlessly leans back against the headrest again, and turns his face away, just slightly. Like closing a door.
But his hand, still resting on his knee, is clenched now. Tight.
And for the first time since I sat down, he doesn’t seem so unaffected.
I debate saying more but quickly shut those thoughts down. The fact I’m even considering it is worrying in itself.
I avert my gaze, fidgeting with the strap of my bag instead and, struggling to keep my eyes open, I yawn.
The lack of sleep from the previous night must be catching up with me, because I can feel my eyelids growing heavy, my body yearning for rest. And the more I will them not to, the more desperate my eyelids are to close, and despite my best efforts, I find myself drifting off, the stranger’s face lingering in my mind as I slip into that place that currently seems much better than where I am right now.
Wow, even in sleep he won’t leave my thoughts alone.
***
“Get off,” a familiar husky voice calls out, the tone carrying a coldness that makes me jolt awake. Startled, I lift my heavy eyelids, and I realize I’ve somehow leaned onto the stranger’s shoulder in my sleep. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I quickly straighten up.
How did I manage to move into that position? As I lift my gaze, expecting an annoyed glare, he moves past me without a word.
Christ, he’s tall.
Nevermind tall, he’s a giant! No wonder he was sitting alone, it’s a wonder he had any leg room at all.
Gathering my belongings, I take a deep breath and prepare to step off the train.
***
Stepping onto the grounds of Brentwood is like stepping into a different world—one that’s polished, shimmering, and hauntingly perfect.
With towering arches and manicured hedges, the Brentwood crest engraved in gold on the massive fountain in the centre of the courtyard.
Everything here seems to shout, You don’t belong.
The halls stretch out before me, gleaming with polished marble floors and adorned with intricate artwork. I can practically feel the eyes on me as I weave through the corridors, quiet but watchful, assessing and judging.
Your skirt is far too long.
I wonder if that’s what everyone else thinks too.
I can’t help but brace myself for the possibility of judgmental stares and biting comments. Initially, I’m prepared for the whispers and snickers but to my surprise, no one says anything. Perhaps a few weird looks, but nothing horrible. This is amazing.
I fumble with my phone, shooting off a quick message to Naomi and Sam. Can’t find you. Meet at lunch?—Adeline
Naomi promised to look after me or at least have my back after all.
I glance down at my class schedule. I have Business next. Great.
Distracted, I walk straight into someone, and the impact snaps me out of my daze.
A soft splat hits the ground, and when I look down, I see a strawberry.
Just when I’m about to pick it up, I turn.
My breath catches as I take in a cold, perfect face.
Blonde hair cascades down her shoulders, framing eyes so blue they almost look white—like frozen water.
And the look she gives me… well, let’s just say she’s not thrilled.
“Watch where you’re going,” she hisses, voice all ice and venom.
Why does everyone at this school look like… well, that?
My cheeks flare, words fumbling as I try to apologize. “I—uh, sorry. It was an accident.”
She gives me a slow, withering look, her gaze dropping to my feet, and I swear I see her lip twitch. Two girls flank her, one with perfectly highlighted brown hair and the other with jet-black hair and a stare as sharp as a knife.
“Oh, my god,” the blonde girl sneers. “Wow… those look ancient. Like prehistoric-era ancient.”
Forcing a laugh, I shrug. “Maybe a little.”
“Come on, B. Let’s not waste our time with people like her, we’re going to be late.” This from the girl with the perfect highlights.
She doesn’t even blink. Just stares at me, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if examining something…
about my eyes? Then, without another word, she scoffs and steps around me, her shoes clicking against the polished floor.
As she moves past, she plucks another strawberry from a small container in her hand, biting into it without breaking her stride.
Well, that was strange.