I throw a worried glance at my brother. The smile he had been wearing ten minutes ago has been replaced with a scowl and a hard-edged stare. Thick tension radiates off him in suffocating waves. My brother is no stranger to fistfights. And he doesn’t have a problem throwing the first punch. Or the second and third.
When we were younger, Austin took a lot of shit for being slow. What our classmates didn’t understand was that he wasn’t stupid, he learned in a way that made him different. It took him a little longer to figure things out. After a while, it got to a point where if anyone made a comment about him not catching on quickly enough or they pointed out a bad grade, they would get pounded an inch within their lives.
I don’t want to see Austin slip back into that mindset again.
My fingers flutter to his arm. When his head twists toward mine, I hoist my lips, wanting to give the illusion of being unconcerned. After a moment, he gives me a terse nod as if he understands my silently conveyed message. We’ll call it a twin thing and leave it at that.
As we walk past more clumps of people, chatter and whispers hit my ears until the tips burn in mortification. This town must be seriously lame if our arrival has sparked this much interest.
“Bunch of fucking hicks,” Austin grumbles as we walk up the wide stone stairs before yanking open the glass door to the building.
I give him a tight smile, hoping things get better and we’re not treated like pariahs for the rest of the day.
My steps stutter as my gaze sweeps over the entryway. I’m just as bowled over as when we arrived at the house yesterday. I want to stop and take everything in all at once. The floors are a sea of glossy black-and-white checkered marble tile that stretches down the corridors. Near the staircase in the entry is a bust of a man displayed on an ornately carved pedestal. My guess is that it’s a likeness of Herbert Hawthorne, who founded the school. Gold framed pictures dot the upper portion of the cream-colored walls while the lower part is paneled in a black cherry wainscoting. I glance up at the timber-covered ceiling and the massive gold chandelier that hangs from above.
Students force their way past us, their gazes crawling over our bodies, but none offer help and I’ll be damned if I ask for it. There has to be a sign somewhere. My gaze travels around the corridor until it lands on black lettering etched onto a frosted glass door.
Relief floods through me as I point. “There’s the office.”
Austin remains quiet as we move through the crowded hallway. The further into the school we walk, the more out of place I feel. It’s a disconcerting sensation. One that makes the hair at the back of my neck prickle with unease. My brother and I are dressed exactly like everyone else and yet, we’ve been marked as outsiders.
With fingers that tremble, I grab the knob and push the door open, wanting to escape from the hallway and get away from all the prying eyes that are watching us. Once we step inside the office, I’m tempted to lean against the door in relief. I never want to go back out there again.
“Why hello there, you two,” a kindly voice greets from behind a massive desk strewn with papers.
It’s the first friendly face we’ve encountered since rolling into town yesterday.
I blink, wanting to make sure the older woman is speaking to us. When my gaze locks on hers, a smile wreathes her wrinkled features. Her grey hair is pinned up in a bun and a navy-colored cardigan is draped across her shoulders. Whenever I’ve pictured what a sweet old lady would look like, this was it. In other words, the complete opposite of my grandmother.
Her friendly gaze shifts between us. “I assume you’re Summer and Austin Hawthorne?”
“Yes!” I snap to attention before shaking my head in embarrassment. “Sorry.”
“My name is Mrs. Baxter and I’m the office secretary. I pretty much do everything around here, so if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.” Her lips lift as she claps her hands together with excitement. “It’s so thrilling to have another generation of Hawthornes roaming these halls again. It’s been,” her brow furrows as she does a bit of mental math before giving up with a sheepish shrug, “well, since your father was here. We’re all delighted by your arrival.”
The quick glance Austin and I exchange speaks volumes.
Thrilled is not the word I would use to describe how we’ve been welcomed. It’s more like we’re lepers freshly released from the colony. I’m tempted to tell her so but hold my tongue at the last minute. In no way do I want this woman to think we’re ungrateful for her kindness or that we expect to be greeted like royalty.
“Anyway,” Mrs. Baxter continues, interrupting my thoughts, “I’m sure you would like to see your schedules for the semester.”
“Yes,” I agree while Austin remains his stoic self, “that would be great.”
Humming under her breath, the older woman shuffles around a few papers before discovering what she’s searching for. “Here you go, young lady.” She gives me the slip before turning to my brother. Her movements stall as she blinks at him.
“My goodness, you certainly are a handsome young lad.” The secretary waggles a finger at him as I attempt to rein in my laughter. “You’re the spitting image of your father at the same age.” She shakes away the memories. “Remarkable.”
A dull red color stains Austin’s cheeks as he squirms beneath her open perusal. He’s grown accustomed to the staring, but not the forthright inspection. Most take one look at his sulkiness and give him a wide birth while admiring him from afar.
“Um, thank you?”
Now that we have our schedules, we study them in silence. I have—English lit 12, calculus, physics, AP French, AP environmental science, and a blow off class, AP psychology. It’s identical to what I would have had in Chicago, which is reassuring. I peek at Austin’s class list and notice that his is also the same. Pre-calculus, chemistry, English lit 12, physical education, regular psychology, French III, and study hall. I can help him with all of those classes if he needs it.
“I’ve asked two students from council to stop by and show you around.” She flashes another pleasant smile as if trying to put us at ease. “Hopefully, that will help your first day run smoothly.”
“Thank you,” I say, voice brimming with gratitude.
“It’s not a problem. Everyone here wants you to feel at home.” She waves away my appreciation before glancing toward the closed office door inside the spacious room. “The headmaster was looking forward to greeting both of you. Unfortunately, he was called into a meeting. It’ll have to wait until another time.”
Let’s hope not. It’s been a long-standing joke in our family that my parents should bite the bullet and rent office space for Austin next to our former principal since he was a frequent visitor. As those memories roll through my head, the door leading to the hallway opens and a petite blonde with soft blue eyes walks in.
“Good morning, Mrs. B,” she greets.
“Morning, Delilah.” The older woman glances at the clock on the wall. “You’re right on time.”
Mrs. Baxter waves toward my brother and the girl turns to us with a ready smile on her face. Austin straightens to his full height. I give him a bit of side eye and notice the way he’s staring at the new arrival.
“This is Austin. If you wouldn’t mind giving him a brief tour before first hour and showing him where his classes are located, that would be helpful.”
Delilah’s eyes widen as color rises in her cheeks before she glances away. My brother takes a step toward her before grinding to a halt. A strange tension crackles in the air between them that changes the energy in the office.
Uncomfortable with Austin’s unwavering interest, Delilah clutches her books to her chest before clearing her throat. “Can I see your schedule?”
Even in the silence of the room, her voice is barely audible. She’s not the first girl to get tongue-tied in Austin’s presence and she won’t be the last. I almost want to pat her on the shoulder and advise her to steer clear. I love my brother more than
anything, but the guy can be kind of a man whore. And this girl looks way too sweet to survive him. He’ll chew her up and spit her out before she even realizes what’s happening.
Instead of handing over the schedule, Austin closes the distance between them, crowding into the girl’s personal space so she is forced to look at the paper as he holds it in his hand.
I almost roll my eyes at his antics.
“It looks like we have a few classes together,” Delilah croaks, turning redder by the second.
Poor girl. I can’t tell if she’s thrilled by the prospect or dreading it.
“Great,” my brother murmurs. “You can walk me to class.”
Her gaze darts to him before skittering away. Another hot stain creeps into her cheeks. She clears her throat and glances anxiously at Mrs. Baxter before her gaze touches upon me. “Should I show her around, too?” A hopeful note threads its way through her voice.
The secretary shakes her head. “Sloane should be along momentarily to pick Summer up for her tour.”
Delilah’s slender shoulders fall as she gnaws her lower lip. “I guess we should go.”
“Yup.” My brother grabs the office door and jerks it open before a charming smile curves his lips. “After you.”
Uh-oh. I recognize the predatory gleam that has entered Austin’s eyes. I don’t envy this girl one bit. My guess is that she has no idea how to handle a guy like my brother. Sadly, I think she’s going to find out.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, shooting us a look full of dismay as she steps over the threshold into the bustling hallway. Austin stays close before tossing a glance my way. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
I nod in bemusement.
That girl is toast.
After the door closes behind them, the secretary says, “Your brother is going to be trouble, isn’t he?”
I snort as a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. My guess is that Mrs. Baxter will rue the day Austin drove through the gates of Hawthorne Prep. Girls will be in the counseling office bawling about their broken hearts and fighting with each other over him.
Now that my twin and his student guide have taken off, the older woman frowns before consulting the clock on the wall. I follow the direction of her gaze and realize the bell will ring for first period in five minutes.
“I hope Sloane didn’t forget to stop at the office,” she mutters before huffing out an exasperated breath. “I should have asked someone a little more—”
The office door is thrown open as a tornado of energy rushes in. “Sorry I’m late, Mrs. B! The parking situation was crazy. The front row of the lot should really be reserved for seniors. That would make life so much easier.”
I wince before my belly does a painful flip.
Oh, God. Please...not that voice.
All last night, it circled around in my thoughts like a hungry shark. My nerves, which had settled, seize up with dismay.
“The parking is the same as it’s always been, Sloane,” the secretary says wearily.
“Well, that might be true, but it’s the platform I’m going to run on for senior class president.”
Not bothering with a response, Mrs. Baxter clears her throat and points in my direction. “This is Summer Hawthorne.” Her kind gaze settles on mine. “Sloane will give you a quick tour before first hour begins.”
“Welcome to Hawthorne Prep!” The rude blonde from the store last night whirls toward me. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
I blink, knocked off-balance by her warm greeting and the toothy smile plastered across her pretty face.
This is the same girl from the store, right?
“Summer?” Mrs. Baxter prompts when I remain silent.
“Sorry.” I force my lips into a slight smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
Sloane’s beaming face transforms into one of sympathy. “I’m sure this is all super overwhelming for you. New town, new school, no friends...”
“Summer already has a copy of her schedule,” the older woman interrupts.
“Great!” The blonde plucks the slip from my fingers before her gaze slides over it.
“You should probably get moving,” Mrs. Baxter encourages. “There isn’t much time before first hour begins. Perhaps you could help Summer locate her locker in the senior hallway and then head to class?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. B!” she chirps. “Maybe we can do more of a tour at lunch.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” the secretary says, nodding her approval.
The other girl’s lips stay quirked as she turns to me. “Ready to go?”
“Yup.” I blow out a steady breath, unsure what to make of the situation. I’m almost positive it’s the same girl from last night, but it’s like she’s had a personality transplant. I don’t understand what her deal is. Maybe she doesn’t recognize me?
Sloane grabs the door and holds it open before calling out a jovial goodbye to the office secretary as the bell rings. Anyone loitering in the hallway scurries to class until it’s empty. Once the door closes behind her, the lock clicking audibly into place, Sloane’s smile melts from her face. A spiteful expression morphs in its place before she crumples my schedule in her hand and drops it to the tile at her patent leather heels.
“Good luck, bitch. You’ll need it.”
That being said, she elbows me in the arm and leaves me standing alone in the vacant corridor.
Chapter Nine
With my mouth hanging open, I watch Sloane stride away, her long blond hair swinging like a thick curtain behind her as her heels click against the marble. Once she vanishes around a corner, I blink out of my stupor. The corridor which had been filled earlier, is now eerily silent.
I should have known.
Same girl. Same bitchy behavior.
Welcome to Hawthorne Prep!
Releasing a breath, I squat down and snatch the balled-up schedule from the floor before rising to my feet and flattening the half slip of paper in my palm.
Now what am I supposed to do?
I take a moment to contemplate my next move. Maybe I should find my locker and drop off my backpack. After that, I’ll head to first hour. If I’m lucky, I won’t run into Sloane again.
Ever.
Although that seems unlikely.
What the hell is her problem?
For the time being, I push that question to the back of my mind. It takes over five minutes to find my locker and then another handful to figure out how to open the stupid metal contraption. I grab a notebook and pen from the bag before stuffing it inside the barren locker and slamming the door closed.
Now off to first hour.
I spend the next five minutes walking in circles through intersecting corridors before finally getting my bearings and winding up at the door to my English lit classroom. This has to be the most confusing building I have ever been in. Whoever numbered the rooms is an idiot. Some aren’t even in order. What’s the point of using a numeric system if you aren’t going to use it properly?
Naturally, the classroom door is closed.
My shoulders slump with the realization that there will be no quiet sneaking in for me.
Unsure what to do, I fidget for a couple of seconds, nervously smoothing down a few wisps of hair that have escaped from my bun before forcing myself to wrap my hand around the brass doorknob and turn it. Other than a slight rattling noise, the wood doesn’t budge.
Seriously?
I’m having the worst luck ever.
The only way I’m getting inside is to disrupt the teacher who is already lecturing at the podium in front of the class.
It takes a full sixty seconds to work up the courage and rap my knuckles against the door. Through the thin rectangle of glass, I see a few heads swivel in my direction with curiosity. When a smug blue gaze locks on mine, I gasp.
Sloane’s glossy pink lips lift into a cunning smile before she leans forward in her desk and whispers something to the brunette parked in front of her. That girl quickly flicks her
bored gaze toward me before flashing a grin at Sloane.
Heat scalds my cheeks as I recognize the other girl as the sidekick from last night. Thirty excruciating seconds crawl by and no one bothers to answer the door.
I’m going to have to knock again.
Sloane continues to watch me with barely suppressed giddiness as I lift my arm and tighten my fingers into a fist. If these bitches think I’ll slink away like a coward, they have another thing coming.
This time, I make sure the knock is loud enough for the whole damn class to hear. The teacher’s monotone voice falls off abruptly as her gaze slices to mine through the glass before she purses her thin lips and walks from the front of the room toward me.
After she unlocks and opens the door, she stands at the threshold, barring my entrance. “Ms. Hawthorne, I presume?”
I clear my throat, realizing the entire class is eavesdropping on the exchange. “Yes.”
“You’re late.” Her lips thin even more than they already are.
I bob my head. “Yes, I—”
“No excuses. From now on, you will arrive to my class in a timely manner. I do not tolerate disruptions.” She huffs out a breath as if my lateness has been an ongoing issue that she’s had to contend with. “Today, I will excuse your tardiness, but I will not do so in the future. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes,” I whisper meekly, embarrassment blistering my cheeks.
“Excellent.” Only then does she step aside before extending her arm magnanimously toward the room. “Please take a seat so we may continue.”
Silently I scurry to the first open desk I find before sinking onto the wooden seat. Already my mind is conjuring up a list of reasons I can give my parents as to why it would be better to transfer to the local public school. There is no way it can be worse than this. Although, considering this school is named after our family and its Dad’s alma mater, it’s highly doubtful my parents will go for that.
I flick my gaze toward the overly thin woman at the front of the room as she drones on about her expectations. English has always been one of my favorite subjects. I love to read a wide variety of books and to write. Somehow, I don’t think that will be the case this semester.
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