Didi
School has already started by the time I arrive at the single-story brick building, though a few kids are lingering outside, most wearing blue and white letterman jackets.
This school, though smaller than the nearby university, is among the bigger, nicer schools that I’ve attended.
The sign on the front of the school says:
Kinsmen High School
Home of the Jaguars
I enter the building, and a group of guys trail in after me, joking and bumping past as if I’m invisible.
They’re all wearing matching blue tank tops—the school colors—and shorts that ride up, showing off their muscular legs.
Their hair is shaggy, one with a long style that reaches his mid-back and round glasses.
Sweaty from practice, they laugh and slap each other’s backs.
I can’t make out the details of them from this distance, but a particularly muscled one, taller than the rest, trails behind, almost like he’s lost in his own thoughts. Even with my blurred eyesight, he’s hard not to notice.
Luckily, they don’t see me as I slink into the shadows of the hallway.
I watch them for a moment…or should I say, the sad one, as he runs his hand through his shaggy, sandy-colored hair and steps away from the others.
As my eyes adjust, I can make out his cute mustache.
He is impossible to ignore as he leans down to catch his breath.
His muscled thighs alone are the size of my entire body.
I’ve only been here two minutes, and I’m already swooning.
He turns his head, staring directly at my hiding spot as if he can sense me looking. Our eyes meet for a moment, and he furrows his brows and looks away.
Ouch.
I shrivel into the shadows.
The guy with long hair and circle glasses—who looks like a hippy—jogs back to him. “Tommy,” he says with a drawl. “What are you looking at, man?” His friend follows his eyes to where I’m standing, but his friend slaps him on the back before he notices me.
Tommy.
He shakes his head and looks at his friend. “Nothing. Let’s go.” The two of them jog off, and I appreciate his backside as much as his front. If he did see me hiding, then at least he didn’t tell his friend.
After they’re gone, I head into the front office. The school secretary glances up, surprised to see me. She stares for a moment before asking, “Can I help you?”
I hand her my transcripts. Before we left, I had them printed out. “I’m here to register for school.”
She takes the papers from my hands and sifts through them while I wait patiently.
Eventually, she sighs. “We are in the middle of the semester. If you want to graduate in three months, you will have to catch up.” Her eyes linger on mine, then she gives me a once over and her face goes white.
I ignore her. “Please. I just need three more credits. My grades are high. I won’t cause any problems, and I promise I’ll catch up and do everything I need to do.”
I wait through the tense silence, despite her obvious discomfort and fidgeting. Public school can’t deny entry for youth—I learned that at my last school.
Eventually, she hands me a sheet of paper. “Alright, fill this form out, please. But I will need to talk to the principal before we can formally let you in. He will be back tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll put you in English and math to start.”
I grab the papers before she changes her mind. “Thank you.”
She watches me. Her eyes and lips are tight with the look of disdain she’s giving me. I open my mouth to respond, but snap it shut, not wanting to cause problems or give her any reason to deny me entry.
“Is there a problem?” I ask as I run through all the things she’s probably thinking.
She taps her pencil. “I can’t legally deny you entry, and your grades are very impressive. But this isn’t the place for you. You should leave now before anyone sees you, and don’t come back.”
Jesus.
Too late. The door opens, and a guy walks in, I try not to gape at him. He has jet-black, wavy hair and is wearing a dark, cracked leather jacket. He’s tall like the others, but edgy with soft dark facial hair that frames his face.
If Tommy looked like sunshine, then this guy looks like a dark and stormy night. He is the exact opposite of me in every way—and I can’t stop staring.
I settle in my chair, completing the form, attempting to ignore his presence or the secretary’s dire warning. My eyes flicker up to him, and he peers down at me, looking less than amused as if he was who she was warning me about.
“Who the hell are you?” he asks.
My cheeks burn.
“Remington,” the secretary snaps. “Language. Why are you in here?”
He shrugs and dismisses her question. “I thought you liked me, Miss Denton.”
She lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Not today. Please, not today. Principal Kent isn’t here today, and I can’t deal with you, so please, go back to class.” I keep my gaze down, trying not to look at his penetrating dark eyes.
He shrugs. “I got kicked out of class.”
She folds her arms. “Remy, your mother would be rolling in her grave if she knew how you’ve ended up. Let me handle it. Take a seat.”
“Well, she’s not here, is she? Feel free to call my old man instead.”
She sighs and grabs the phone, calling who I’m assuming is the teacher of the class he got kicked out of and they have a hushed but intense conversation.
The black leathers squeak as he leans back on the chair, sprawling his legs out. I’m acutely aware of how good he smells. I’m tiny beside him, like a bug, and that is exactly how he looks at me—like he wants to step on me. He is just as big as the athletes I saw a few minutes ago.
He glances at me, dissecting every inch. I hold his gaze, and he stares right into my soul. His eyes are smoldering pots of darkness, which captivate me. His jaw tenses, and for a moment, the air is sucked out of the room.
They always flinch when they see my eyes… Flinch, Remington.
“Remy,” Miss Denton says cautiously.
He doesn’t flinch. “What is it, Miss Denton?” he asks without breaking eye contact as if Miss Denton’s presence is bothersome to him. I can’t imagine speaking to anyone that way.
“Please escort this young lady to class.”
“Why the hell would I do that?” He feeds me a feline smile, and I can’t tell if he is joking. My presence here is obviously amusing to him, and he’s playing with me like I’m a toy.
The secretary sighs. “Remington, please. You’re headed there, anyway. Just take her. I need to get back to work.”
My stomach always churns during the first few days of school every year.
Sometimes it’s a truly awful experience.
But this place? I’ve already been warned off twice, and Remy is giving me the creeps.
Something about him is off…and I have a strong urge to run away even if he’s one of the cutest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Fine,” he says, standing and reaching out his hand. “Let’s go.”
I swallow a pit in my throat before grabbing his hand and letting him help me up. Releasing my grip, I face Miss Denton, who hands me another piece of paper.
“Take this and give it to your math teacher. Tell him to call the office if he has any concerns.”
I nod and grab the paper from her hand, then turn to the door where Remy is holding it open for me, waiting for me with that similar twisted smile he had in the office.
At least he has manners.
He scans me from head to toe, and I shift uncomfortably as the belt continues its constant scraping.
Finally, after awkward silence, he asks, “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Diana,” I mumble, filled with panic as we walk into the bright hallway.
I hesitate as the light shifts, and my vision momentarily disappears.
The bright lights will etch into my vision, staying there for a few minutes.
I lose my confidence with each step, but Remy moves his hand to my back, as if sensing my discomfort.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” he asks more pointedly as he leads me down another hallway that’s lined with blurry yellow lockers.
“I’m not sure how to answer that question.” I bite the inside of my cheek as I stumble, mortified. He’s so close to me, not giving me any space. “I can’t see that well. Sometimes I need a moment to adjust to the light. The pigments in my eyes are not like yours, and I’m sensitive to bright lights.”
He stops suddenly, blocking my path and faces me. He tilts his head as he peers at me. He’s so close now, and as my vision returns, I can see my white eyelashes in the reflection of his dark inky eyes.
“Why are they red?”
“They aren’t,” I correct him, blinking a couple times, “they are translucent.”
He ponders for a moment, then surprises me by grabbing my hand and gently pulling me down a new set of doors. “Class is this way,” he says, and I walk, my fingers intertwined with his as he gently leads me through a new set of doors.
He stops suddenly, my hand still in his. “Do you know who I am?” he asks.
My heart up-ticks. “No… Should I?” Whoever he is, he’s very odd himself, so maybe he shouldn’t be judging me.
From what I can see of this school, he doesn’t fit in, either.
He looks more rock n’ roll with his leather jacket and dark, faded black jeans.
His attractiveness is undeniable, albeit terrifying.
“Have you heard of the last name Vital?” he asks.
I hum, thinking. “Vital? Doesn’t sound familiar.”
He moves closer, shrinking the space between us. My heart races, and I wonder how far away this math class is. “You’ll know exactly who I am soon enough.”
He takes my hand again, and I try to catch my breath as he guides me a couple of feet into the classroom. The whispers begin as soon as we walk in. The light shifts suddenly, making me dizzy, but he keeps his hand firmly on my back. I hate how much I appreciate the small gesture of support.
He leads me to a desk, where I sit and steady myself, and Remy walks up and hands the slip of paper to the teacher at the front. A few seconds later, everything shifts into focus.
All the judgmental faces take form, and once again, I want to die.
“Who the hell is that? She looks like a zombie.”
“Freak.”
“Demon eyes.”
“Ghost skin.”
Remy takes a spot beside me and crosses his arms, his expression unreadable, if not amused, and the teacher, clearly taken aback from his surprise, coughs.
“Okay, settle down,” the teacher says with a pinched expression. “Everyone, let’s welcome Diana.”
No one welcomes me; in fact, you can hear a pin drop from the deathly silence that takes over the room.
No one wants me here, and I’m starting to see what Marty and Miss Denton were trying to warn me about.
No one will even look me in the eye; everyone diverts their gaze.
I slump in my seat and grab my notebook and pencil.
The teacher sighs and turns back to the chalkboard and continues writing formulas, which I immediately recognize from my studies a few weeks ago.
“This week we are going to finish our practice of the quadratic formula. And we also have a pop quiz,” he announces.
This elicits a strong emotional reaction from the class.
A girl sitting near the front with perfect long curls and equally perfect posture speaks up, “It’s the witch’s fault. She’s cursed and needs to go. We don’t need any more bad luck in this town.”
The teacher shakes his head as the rest of the class snickers. The teacher passes out a piece of paper to everyone.
“One more peep out of you, Cindy, and I will send you to the office for the rest of the day.”
She scowls and continues to glare at me.
It’s then I notice the guy from earlier still wearing his short shorts and striped tank top, staring down at his test. His legs are incredibly muscled, like he must run a lot.
I couldn’t make out the features of his face earlier, but I’m convinced it’s Tommy. He’s holding his head in his hands, and he has a small bead of sweat on his brow.
Although clearly distressed, his facial features are soft. His sandy hair curls around his face and his mustache is incredibly cute.
He glances up momentarily and catches me staring at him. I quickly divert my attention downward and begin to focus.
Darn it, Diana…stop it!
When I glance back at him, he is once again fretting over his quiz.
I forget about him, and everyone else, and start working on the equations. I aced this subject a few weeks ago, and I finish the quiz much faster than everyone else.
Tommy’s stress grows with each passing minute.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Time’s up,” the teacher announced.
“Pass your quizzes to the right for grading.” I glance at Remy, his black hair now partially obscuring his face, and hand him the paper.
We review the answers, and when Remy returns my quiz, every answer is correct.
And his eyes suddenly seem kinder.