5. Drake #2
Mother, Father, and our retinue of guards escorted Arty and me to the front gates of the school where dozens of kids were being dropped off by their parents.
Everywhere I looked, I saw families from all over the world telling their children goodbye.
The side-glances shared with many of the parents didn’t go unnoticed by me.
One family in particular, my father glared at as if his life depended on it.
The school headmistress, Olga Cantwell (I’d researched her, too), descended the grand front steps of the towering stone building that looked more like a castle or mansion than a school.
She gave a wonderfully flowery speech about togetherness, learning, and safety.
The parents approved; the kids vibrated with excitement to get inside.
“Keep an eye on your sister, Arthur,” Mother said. She placed a kiss on my brother’s head, then smoothed his mop of hair sticking in every direction possible.
“Yes, ma’am,” he dutifully replied. Then, with hugs and goodbyes from our parents, we were sent inside the impressive, almost intimidating building. Past the front doors, my brother swiftly abandoned me to the shuffling crowd in favor of the friends calling his name.
Lost in a sea of bodies all marching toward the same place, it all overwhelmed me.
The sound of laughter, faces smiling, kids of all ages heading to the entrance hall on the heels of the Headmistress.
She gave instructions and spouted rules along the way, but I was too swept up in the excitement to pay attention.
The architecture of the stone walls, wooden beams, ancient history in glass cases, and tapestries and banners hung in every corner bewitched me.
And there were so many other kids. Surely, I’d make all the friends I’d dreamed of?—
A hard shoulder rammed into me, sending the books in my arms clattering to the floor. I gasped and bent to lift the pages of my novel. Black leather of an expensive shoe stomped on the book, and one of my fingers. I yelped and snatched my fingers back, falling back on my behind.
“Well, look who it is.” A shiver forced itself down my spine. I recognized that mocking voice.
I glanced up to find three boys already dressed in the dark gray with red trim school uniforms towering over me.
One boy was pale with auburn hair hiding behind the leader.
On the other side was a dark-skinned Italian boy staring down at me with a hint of recognition, but mostly curiosity.
But it was the boy in the middle who held my attention.
His foot remained on my book, and I gritted my teeth.
“What do you want?” I snapped, dusting myself off as I rose to my feet.
He feigned offense, placing one hand on his chest. His scoff had all the haughty air of a spoiled brat. “You don’t remember me?”
I crossed my arms, facing his challenge head on.
“Not at all. Should I?” With that, I looked him up and down in the disdainful way my mother looked at people she didn’t approve of.
His jaw clenched, and I almost heard his teeth grinding together. His hands curled into fists.
“We met at one of our parents’ meetings a few years ago.” Then he assessed me, sneering with distaste. “And you’re just as frumpy and repulsive as you were back then.”
The insult hit me in the chest, and my cheeks heated.
I chanced a look down at my oversized purple sweater I’d worn on the plane.
Larger clothes were simply comfortable, but he seemed to interpret that as unkempt.
But when his chestnut brown eyes landed on my hair and he grimaced, I ran a nervous hand through the curls.
“I recall there being a book involved then, too,” said the handsome Italian boy at his side. His nasty smirk detracted from his pleasing features.
“Right, there was.” The boy stomped his foot on my book, crushing it into the floor. I cried out and leapt to stop him. The spine cracked, and the pages tore. His friends moved without question, putting their arms out to stop me.
“Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this? What did I do to you?” I choked out, beating back the flood of tears pricking the backs of my eyes.
He bared his teeth in a nasty smile. “Shame you don’t remember me, because I remember you. And I remember how you bit me over a stupid book!”
Pieces fell into place of a shadowy memory hovering at the edge of my mind. Two boys tossing my book over my head and laughing at me for what felt like forever until I’d grabbed him and sunk my teeth into the very arm keeping my book away.
“That—that was you?” I took a step back. The crowd of students had dissipated into the entrance hall, leaving me alone with three adversaries.
“It was, you filthy little mouse.” He stood taller; lips peeled back from his teeth in a threatening smile. “Do you even know who I am?”
“Should I?” Not the best response.
His anger flared higher when his friends snickered at his expense.
“I guess I shouldn’t expect you to know anything with your nose stuck in silly books. You’re the littlest Montgomery though.” He spat as if my family name poisoned his tongue. “Your whole family reeks. That’s what my dad says, after all. You’ll be good for nothing, just like your brother.”
Then it clicked.
“You’re Drake Graham.”
He beamed as if I were a slow child who finally got an answer right. My fingers twitched with the urge to smack that look off his face and correct him that my family was the superior one back in the States. But they had me outnumbered and cornered.
“The one and only.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. His friends chuckled when he shared a look with them. Then, he sniffed down his nose at me. “Look, little Monty, this school might be neutral territory, but our families are competitors. That makes us enemies, doesn’t it?”
“If you say so.” I hugged myself tight, trying to hold together the unraveling threads in my chest. This kid was a threat and already proved he had a mean streak. Without backup, I couldn’t react like I wanted to.
And I wouldn’t let him see me cry over my ruined book under his foot or the malicious tone of his voice.
Drake stepped forward as if to grab me but squeezed his fists at his sides instead. My breath lodged in my throat under his shadow. But I held my ground, glaring back up at him.
“Just stay out my way, you and your stupid brother, and we won’t have any problems, will we?” He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something rotten. Then he kicked my destroyed book at my feet, causing me to flinch reflexively back.
And he laughed, watching me cower to pick up the book before gesturing to his buddies to follow him.
He was right. Our families were rivals, and we already had a history of hostility.
The boy was a bully in the making and unfortunately, he’d set his sights on me because of one incident years ago (that he was responsible for, mind you), and I’d need to avoid him at all costs.
If I wanted to make any friends and stay focused on my grades, then I’d pretend Drake Graham didn’t exist.
Yes, that was what I would do. After all, how hard could it be to escape one nasty little boy for the next seven years?