Chapter 7
SEVEN
Rule Number Four of Adeline’s Guide to Overcoming Loneliness: Adeline, write down what you’re feeling. It doesn’t have to be pretty or even make sense, but just get it out—onto paper, onto your phone, anywhere. Seeing your thoughts can make them smaller.
“Hey, Adeline, is everything okay?” Lilia asks, her concerned gaze directed at me.
Her brows furrow, and she leans closer, her voice filled with genuine worry, and I hesitate, my instincts telling me to confide in Lilia, to tell her everything and let her help me.
Help. Maybe that’s all I need. Or maybe I just need to grow up and handle it myself, because getting people involved in my situations has never done anyone any good.
And she’s been so nice, and she doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my problems.
And so, as quickly as the thought surfaces, I push it down.
For her.
“Oh, no, it’s nothing. Just had a rough night’s sleep, that’s all. I’ll be fine,” I reply, brushing off her concern with a forced smile and a heavy heart.
Lilia studies me intently, her eyes reflecting a hint of scepticism.
She seems to sense that something isn’t right but clearly, she respects my decision not to share it.
I appreciate her concern, really I do, but there’s no way I’m ever going to burden her with my stupid paranoia. If that’s what this is.
Maybe I’m already being a burden? Maybe by talking about Kai, that brought her trouble? The thought hurt. Mainly because it was since she had mentioned that people tended to stay away. And now I had just gotten her involved.
“Alright, Adeline,” she says softly. “Just know that if you ever need to talk, everyone needs friends sometimes.”
“Friends?” I swear I could jump around like a crazy person right now. I’m sure I would have, had she told me this in a different setting.
“Well of course, what else would we be?” she says with a smile so warm I swear I feel it.
“I-I’m not sure,” I say honestly, staring at her with pure joy. Because I know I should probably be worried right about now. About the messages, about everything… but I’ve just made a friend. On my first day.
Would you look at that, we’re making progress.
***
I hastily gather my belongings and follow Lilia out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings.
But the unsettling message continues to haunt my thoughts, clawing at the edges of my mind like some kind of annoying pest. I try to brush it off as simply a tasteless prank.
A joke, or a pathetic attempt at one. It’s nothing, I tell myself.
But the damage is done—the unease has been planted and it’s simply too late.
It’s nothing.
As we walk toward our lockers, Lilia turns to me with a mischievous grin. “Hey, Adeline, I want you to meet someone. She’s going to love you,” she says, nudging me playfully.
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“You’re going to love her,” Lilia assures me, chuckling. “She’s waiting for us at our lockers. Come on!”
When we reach the lockers, I notice a strikingly beautiful girl standing there.
And woah, she looks like she belongs on a runway or a magazine cover, with her long black hair all the way down to her shoulders, framing a face so flawless it’s almost intimidating.
Her light brown skin glows just as brightly as her deep brown, fierce eyes.
This school must grow beautiful people or something.
Lilia beams. “Beatrice, meet Adeline. Adeline, this is Beatrice Mallory.”
The mention of her name instantly sparks recognition. Beatrice Mallory, daughter of Makaila Mallory, a world-renowned fashion designer (Naomi’s favourite) and a successful CEO of a global luxury brand. I had seen her and her parents on the news before. Of course she’s stunning.
Beatrice turns to me with a warm smile. “Call me Bea. Beatrice sounds way too formal.” Her voice is rich, friendly, disarming.
Before I can respond, she gasps, “Oh my god, aren’t you
gorgeous? Seriously, your eyes are amazing!”
“I told you!” Lilia exclaims triumphantly.
A genuine smile forms on my lips, though I can’t quite believe her words. “Oh, um, thank you,” I stammer, flattered but unsure how to respond. “That’s really kind of you.”
Beatrice chuckles softly, her brown eyes filled with sincerity. “You need to look in a mirror more often, Addie.”
Before I can say anything else, the sound of voices draws our attention. Will, Christian and Liam walk past, their presence magnetic. I catch myself staring, and for a brief moment, my eyes meet Will’s, who tilts his head slightly, a taunting smirk curling the corner of his mouth.
A shiver crawls up my spine before I can stop it.
Next to me, Beatrice lets out a low whistle. “Well,” she says, voice casual, “that didn’t take long.”
I frown. “What didn’t?”
She gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “It’s okay. Happens to the best of us.”
“I was just observing.”
“Observing,” she repeats, biting back a laugh. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“You and the rest of the school,” Lilia quips, gesturing toward the girls whose stares follow them like moths to a flame.
Bea’s expression shifts then, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. Her gaze lingers on Christian Ryder, who walks beside Will. The look she gives him is sharp, venomous.
If looks could kill, he would so be dead right now. Noticing my realization, Lilia speaks up. “They used to have a… thing.”
“A thing?” I ask, curious.
Bea cuts in quickly. “It doesn’t matter. It meant nothing to the both of us.” Bea looks pretty set on it, but it’s clear there might be a little lie behind what she’s saying. Or a big one, seeing how Lilia is looking at her.
“So, who’s that girl?” I ask quickly, trying to change the subject. I gesture to the blonde girl, nervously searching through her locker. Lilia and Beatrice exchange a knowing look before speaking in unison, “Paris.”
“Paris?” I echo.
Lilia nods. “Yeah, she’s Berlin’s sister. But she’s nothing like her. Like at all.”
Paris has striking blonde hair, although a darker shade than Berlin’s and a lot shorter, barely reaching past her shoulders.
Her eyes, though, are a shade of captivating hazel that radiates warmth instead of the piercing intensity of Berlin’s icy blue.
Warmth and a kind of quiet sadness lingers beneath her expression.
She’s so unlike Berlin, I never would have guessed they were related.
Clearly, she’s massively overshadowed by Berlin.
We’re similar in that way.
“Yeah, they have a thing for cities, don’t they?” Lilia jokes.
Bea’s voice softens. “She’s kind of like a ghost. Nowhere near as popular, but I think she prefers it that way.”
“Why is she treated so differently?” I ask.
Lilia sighs. “Berlin rubs people the wrong way, and that kind of extends to Paris by association. People can be cruel.”
Bea nods. “We’ve tried to reach out to her, invite her to sit with us, but she usually keeps to herself. She has some friends, but they’re not… great. I don’t think they even like her that much.”
I watch as Paris grabs her books and hurries away, her eyes glued to the floor.
“As much as I can’t stand Berlin, I feel bad for Paris,” Lilia murmurs.
I don’t respond. I just watch Paris’s retreating figure and feel a strange connection—to the girl who hides in the shadows, just like me.
Sometimes it’s easier that way.