Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
CORI
"Just keep your head down and try to blend in," Aunt Lauren says quietly as we pull into the Legacy High School parking lot. "This is nothing like Chicago."
I can't keep a sarcastic chuckle from escaping as I shake my head. She doesn't know the first thing about Chicago. She turns to me with a warning, "I'm serious, Corinne. No trouble."
The car stops in front of the school doors, and I walk straight in, quickly finding the office. A lively woman greets me from behind the desk, "You must be our new student, Corinne Clark. I'll call our guidance counselor, Ms. Mason, and she'll show you around."
She reaches for the phone, and I look around the office, chuckling to myself when I see a poster that reads, What will your Legacy be?
What a joke.
"Corinne Clark," my name is called from behind me, a young blonde peeking her head into the office from the hall. She reaches her hand out to shake mine, "I'm Hanna Mason, the guidance counselor here at Legacy. We're glad to have you. Let's take a walk, shall we?"
"Okay," I agree, following closely behind her down the hall. Students wave and greet her, and my curiosity starts to peak. Do these kids actually like her?
"So, Corinne. What are your interests? Do you have any hobbies? Legacy has tons of clubs and sports."
I roll my eyes. I'm here five minutes and already being recruited to "get involved." I jerk to a stop, "Actually, It's Cori. Just Cori, and no. No clubs, and no sports. I'm here for school."
She doesn't falter at my hatefulness. Instead, she grins, "Okay, Cori.
You got it, only school. I'll let you in on a little secret though," she whispers, her best attempt at being sneaky.
"The best way to survive here is to find your place, to find where you fit.
Trust me when I say the outside is not where you want to be. Not in a place like this."
I wonder what she means exactly, as she shows me to the library and the gym, stopping outside a coach's office. "This is the dance—"
I stop her before she even gets the sentence all the way out, "School." I grit, "Only school."
She nods, quickly passing by the rest of the rooms, before turning on her heels, jerking us to a stop. "Cori, I read your file."
A bubble of laughter erupts, "Uh-huh. What did you learn?"
She stares back at me, "I have a feeling there's a lot more to the story than I read."
She continues walking, and I speak, "Ms. Mason, don't make the mistake of thinking that the truth exists. Especially when the truth is based on nothing but a bunch of lies."
"Welcome to Legacy High," she smirks, pushing the cafeteria door open, "one big, beautiful lie."
I look at her. "Some introduction," I clap sarcastically. "You really sold me on the place."
"I'm just being real with you. It seems like you need it."
I like her.
My eyes scan the room, landing on a table of kids in the middle, windows surround the room, but I would swear that the sun hits that table differently.
I notice how they interact and everyone else seems inferior. Every school has one. I roll my eyes inwardly, and I know exactly where I don't want to be.
That's when one of the guys' heads turns my way, and I see him.
His long and messy blonde hair is shaved on the sides, and his white t-shirt hugs his biceps.
He seems a foot taller than the last time I saw him, and he has filled out.
A girl stands next to him, batting her eyelashes, attempting to squeeze between his legs onto his lap.
His smile is bright but vanishes the second his eyes find mine.
He doesn't move, but his entire demeanor shifts. Everyone at the table turns to look my way, including my cousin, Jovie.
As usual, she throws a temper tantrum, stomping out of the cafeteria.
Nash—I think it is—pushes the girl from between his legs, searing his empty eyes into mine before making a scene as he leaves too.
The cafeteria door nearly breaks as it hits the wall, leaving everyone wondering what just happened. Myself included.
Ms. Mason draws her attention back to me, "Jovie will get used to you being here."
"Yeah," I agree, my mind still on the boy who nearly broke the door down to get out of my sight. Wondering who the hell pissed in his cheerios this morning. It was like the second his eyes landed on me, the ocean inside them turned black, and I was the water dousing his fire out.
The stares of the rest of the table are still bouncing off of me, one dark set of eyes nearly knocking me on my ass.
I expect him to look away or turn his attention to what I assume is his girlfriend, but he doesn't, not until she stands to leave.
With hearts in their eyes, most of the guys laugh at something she said.
I follow Ms. Mason out the door and back to her office.
"Here is your schedule," she smiles, handing the paper over. "If you have any questions, just let me know."
I shake my head in agreement, walking right back out her door. I shove the schedule down in the side pocket of my bag. I'm not very hungry, so I decide to skip the rest of lunch and walk outside for a little fresh air before taking on the last two classes.
The patio is decorated nicely and meticulously landscaped.
Trimmed bushes, perfect flowers. I shake my head, glancing down at the brick pavers below my feet, the same pavers that graced the walkways of Brooks High School for the Performing Arts.
I wrangle my mind away from my old school.
The only way to move on is to stop from going back. Physically and mentally.
I step around the side of the building, away from the tables, and notice a few kids hanging out. A couple seated on the retaining wall and a few smoking behind the dumpster.
"You gotta be a senior to be out here," a girl says, hopping off the wall. Her hair is long and dyed silver, and her black clothes match her sassy attitude. Lucky for her, she's met her match. I don't feel like taking any crap today.
"How do you know I'm not a senior? I just walked through the door of this hell-hole today, so?"
I sling my backpack down and use my arms to pull myself up to the wall to sit. Like it or not, I'm not going anywhere.
One of the guys pulls a cigarette up to his lips, "Damn, where did she come from?"
The guy next to him, with black hair and a lip ring, smiles, "Who cares? She's feisty, and she can stay."
The girl huffs, "You guys know she's sitting right here, right? She can hear you, morons."
She turns to me, "I'm Lainey. I'm a junior."
I laugh, remembering she just scolded me about this patio belonging to seniors only, "I'm Cori, also a junior and I came from Chicago."
She winks, "Welcome to Legacy."
"Everyone is so welcoming," I cringe.
"It's all fake. Everyone is, but you seem smart enough to know that."
I roll my eyes, pulling my water bottle from the side pocket of my backpack. I glance back into the cafeteria through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tall, dark, and handsome's eyes are still trained on me as he leans back in his chair.
I turn away quickly, not wanting to make eye contact. Lainey rolls her eyes, "Looks like you've already become prey. That didn't take long."
"Prey?" I question, the bell filling the silence.
"Yeah, the sharks." She nods toward the table full of privilege and athletes.
"Most girls would die for a glance from Carson, and here he is staring at the new girl through the window, his eyes all dark like he's hunting."
Lip-ring laughs, "You are so morbid, Lainey."
"Shut up, Madden. You are one of them! We only let you hang around because you don't buy into the bullshit."
He rolls his eyes, picking up his backpack. Legacy Baseball is perfectly stitched across the back. "See you around, new girl."
"It's Cori," I jump from the wall, dusting off the back of my jean shorts. "See ya."
He smirks, taking off in the opposite direction as everyone else.
Lainey walks next to me, "What class you got next?"
I sigh, yanking the pale yellow schedule from my bag, "Uh, Chemistry."
"So you're a genius? Figures."
I growl, "No, just dumb enough to retake Chemistry."
The truth is, I've probably taken all of these classes already, at an accelerated level.
"Well, you are headed in the wrong direction. I think Madden has Chem too."
She points across the breezeway in the direction Madden is walking.
"See ya later," I offer, and she grins, taking off in the opposite direction.
"Bet. Don't take any shit from anyone!" She yells, making me giggle. I think I made my first friend.
I barrel into Chemistry, handing my schedule to the teacher. A short, pudgy man with a bit of a chip on his shoulder. He introduces himself as Mr. Bradshaw, giving me a syllabus.
"Everyone, we have a new student," he introduces, making me want to crawl into a hole. "This is Corinne. Make her feel welcome."
Everyone's eyes are searing into me as I take the only seat in the room, all the way in the back, next to Madden.
"So we meet again," he laughs, pushing his black hair away from his forehead.
"Yeah, seems so."
He glances down, scribbling something into his notebook.
I can't help but notice how he looks a bit unnatural.
His hair is as black as charcoal, and his skin is pale, the perfect shade of white.
His eyes have a golden shine to them, kind of reminding me of a vampire.
He's hot, in an—I don't care—type of way.
Just believe me when I say it works for him.
"How did you get into senior Chemistry?" He asks, not bothering to look up from his notebook.
"How did you?" I snap, matching his curiosity.
I don't want these people to know where I came from, who I am. That was kind of the whole point of moving here.
His voice catches me off guard, "So Chicago, when do you try out for cheerleading?"
I almost choke on my laughter, "You are so off base. I don't waste my time waving pompoms around."
He eyes me, calling my bluff, "Those are 'cheerleader' legs, and you look like America's sweetheart. Just because you hide it behind a band t-shirt and a pair of Converse doesn't mean I can't see it." He moves his pencil from the notebook, pointing it at my legs.
"You don't know anything," I snap.
He smiles, "You're right. I don't. I don't know what mansion you stumbled out of, but I have a feeling you aren't going to offer up the information, so I'll guess."
I huff, staring back down at the Chemistry book at a bunch of useless crap I already know.
"Tortured popular girl gets dropped in a new school?" He judges.
I turn to him, kicking his backpack with the toe of my shoe, "Okay, Shark."
He stills, staring at the bag, "Touché."
"What position do you play?" I question, his head turning in my direction, his brows knitting together.
"What do you care?" He asks, closing his notebook.
"You're right," I snap. "I don't."
He smiles, placing his notes on my desk, "These are from last week if you want to copy them."
I don't need them, I could do this work in my sleep, but I take them anyway, pulling out my phone to take a picture of them.
"Thanks," I smile, handing the papers back to him.
Make that two friends.