Chapter 6
SIX
Rule Number Three of Adeline’s Guide to Overcoming Loneliness: Adeline, don’t pressure yourself to “get over” loneliness (seriously, don’t do it, please). Embrace the imperfections of real life. It’s messy and real, but that’s exactly what makes it beautiful. Let it be as it is.
I brush off the girls’ remarks and make my way to the classroom. Not like I care. This is only a fraction of what I got in my old school. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine, I remind myself as I walk into class. And besides, I have plans.
Plan A: Make my way to the back of the classroom so quickly that nobody notices me.
Plan B: If they do notice me, pretend I don’t notice them noticing me. Foolproof.
Plan C: If someone actually speaks to me, fake a phone call. Or a cough. Or death. Whichever’s more believable.
Not ideal, but I’ve operated on less.
And so, the moment I step in, I inch toward the back, trying to move as quietly and sneakily as possible, but I’m only halfway there when the teacher announces, “Adeline Ross!” looking straight at me with an expectant smile.
I freeze, swallowing a sigh. Of course I wasn’t planning on getting very far, not at this school. Plastering on a polite grin, I turn. “Good morning!”
“Would you mind introducing yourself to the class, Adeline? Just a quick hello. We like to get to know our new students here,” he says, gesturing for me to step up in the way teachers do.
Heat rises in my cheeks as everyone’s gaze lands on me. “Um, hi, I’m Adeline Ross,” I say, my voice shakier than I’d have liked.
“Anything else you’d like to add?”
I scramble for something to say. Come on, think, Addie. Literally anything. Absolutely anything interesting. Anything worthwhile.
How come I’m coming up with nothing?
Either my mind has temporarily blanked or there’s actually nothing interesting to say about me. For my own sake, I’m going to assume it isn’t the latter.
“Uh, I like reading… and writing?”
Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with?
A snicker rises from the back, and I swear time stops. I guess people haven’t gotten any more mature since secondary school. “I like reading and writing too!” A guy’s voice rings out, almost mocking, and the guy next to him lightly smacks him on the arm, muttering, “Dude, shut up.”
A ripple of laughter follows, though this time, it feels more amused than cruel. I dart a glance at the guy, catching his easy grin before he turns back around, his friend smirking beside him. I just know I’m bright red.
I hear more snickering in the background, but I don’t even bother looking, because it’s nothing new, and honestly, it’s boring.
Although I’m guessing they probably don’t get many new kids, since not many people actually get in.
It’s astonishing that I managed to get in.
Although I doubt I’ll be able to stay, not with my grades.
The man that offered us the scholarship greatly overestimated me, and he is about to find that out, I think to myself as I try my best to listen to whatever it is the teacher is saying.
The more I try to listen, the more the teacher’s words seem to fade into the background because my attention gets suddenly drawn elsewhere.
It’s a pull I can’t quite explain.
And then I glance sideways, just for a moment.
My breath catches.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Because not even a few feet from me, casually, infuriatingly unbothered, sit Christian Ryder, Will Carson, and Liam Grey.
If you’re breathing in the UK, you know who they are.
And sure, I’ve seen the photos. The video clips. The drama. The articles.
But none of it, none of it, compares to seeing them in real life. It’s ridiculous. I figured that one out that day in the café.
But at least now, I can stare without it being awkward, or unprofessional.
***
Will Carson is leant back lazily in his seat, sleeves pushed up, eyeing me sceptically.
His fingers tap absently against the desk, most of them ringed, and all of them painted a chipped, matte black.
He has piercings—a small hoop in his nose, and his ears are stacked with mismatched hoops and cuffs.
Some silver, some black, something that might be a chain connecting two.
They shine against his skin, unapologetically obvious and flashy.
He stands out to me for many reasons, but most of all, it’s because he is undoubtedly terrifying. And I don’t use that word loosely.
His hair is white. Not platinum blond or bleached, but white. Pure and soft as snowfall, like someone drained all the colour out of him. It falls across his forehead in sharp, uneven strands. And next to him, on the desk, is a camera. A very fancy looking one, I might add.
His skin is pale, almost translucent, cold and lacking colour just like his hair.
And then there are his eyes. They’re dark, nearly black, and of a shape I can only describe as siren-like.
They’re beautiful, mesmerising even, but there’s an unmistakable darkness lurking within them, a kind of torment.
And there’s a manic edge to him that feels a little unnerving, the way his eyes narrow, glittering in a way that makes my stomach tighten and my senses suddenly wary.
There’s something wild about him, something untamed. The type of boy who carries darkness in his chest instead of a heart. I can feel it, the way his presence fills the room, not loud or pretentious, but suffocating. Like the moment before a thunderstorm when the air turns too thick to breathe.
Scary. Something about him sets off alarms in my head, warnings to stay away.
So, avoid Will, got it.
To his left is Liam Grey, features more approachable, softened by a playful glimmer in his hazel eyes. Tan skin. Brown hair, tousled just enough to look perfect without looking styled. And unlike Will, who radiates pure darkness, Liam radiates light. Like the sun.
I can’t help but think he looks how summer feels.
He grins at me then, and it’s a boyish, confident grin.
Too confident for 9:15 in the morning.
I blink, stunned into stillness for a second too long.
Because what is happening?
My gaze shifts to Christian, who sits at his other side.
Pale skin, buzzed brown hair that borders on black, and sharp cheekbones. His eyes are a piercing shade of dark blue, covered by glasses that sit comfortably on his nose. He holds a kind of cool, detached curiosity as he looks at me.
His features are clean-cut, neat. Sharp. But there’s something watchful in the way he scans the room, even while silent.
But it isn’t just him staring. He sits near that scary blonde girl I bumped into earlier today, and yep, she’s still terrifying.
Her ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, glinting with something almost predatory.
She doesn’t say a word; instead, she just stares, and I watch as she reaches into her bag and casually plops another strawberry into her mouth.
She must really love strawberries. I don’t blame her, they’re pretty delicious.
So, the whole club’s here then.
Will Carson, Liam Grey. Christian Ryder. The blonde girl.
All of them are here.
All except one.
All except —
“Miss Ross?”
The teacher’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts. I snap my attention back to him, and he’s looking at me with a hint of impatience that I hope isn’t as heavily rooted as it looks. Wow, great work Adeline, you’ve officially created a bad first impression.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, you can take a seat now.”
I don’t wait to be told twice (although I literally did before), but as I dart to the back, someone calls out, “Hey, Adeline.”
I nearly trip in shock. That would have been really embarrassing. A girl with soft blonde hair and warm brown eyes smiles at me. She’s beautiful, like everyone else here, but her eyes shine with the type of kindness you rarely see. The genuine type. Pure, not forced.
“Come sit here,” she says, nodding to the empty chair beside her. Stunned, I blink.
“Are you talking to me?” My voice barely leaves my throat.
Oh my god, Adeline. Get it together, please.
Obviously, she’s talking to you, who else would she be talking to?
She laughs, and it’s soft and genuine. “Well, you’re the only Adeline here. I’m Lilia.” She gestures again, and I force my legs to move.
I sit beside her, still a little numb. “Thanks for… inviting me,” I say, fully aware I probably have the biggest grin on my face right now.
“I saw you, in the hallway. You know when you practically bulldozed into Berlin,” she smiles.
So that’s her name. Berlin. A strange name, but a fitting one.
She leans close, lowering her voice. “Ignore Berlin and her entourage. Sometimes I wonder how even they put up with her.” She rolls her eyes. “I guess people get less scary once you get used to
them.”
I want to tell her how untrue that is. How fear of a person never fully goes away.
If only it were that easy.
***
“No seriously, they aren’t nearly as bad as you think.” She beams.
“Well, I don’t know about that. And they’re kind of hard to run in,” I state truthfully. These shoes certainly won’t survive this winter. In fact, they’re already practically falling apart.
“Yeah… maybe not, but then again I run in heels all the time,” she chuckles. “Fashion is subjective anyway.”
Wow. I can’t help but be in complete awe of the confidence Lilia has, the kind that seems to almost radiate off her like beams of light.
She has a point though.
“And who were those girls, the ones sitting around Berlin?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Oh, them?” She laughs. “The blonde one, as you know, is Berlin Brooks. She thinks she’s all that here just because her family is partnered with Kai’s.
Her dad’s some renowned business tycoon, he has an empire spanning like hundreds of industries and her mum’s a lawyer, so they’re pretty high status. ” She scoffs.