by Jaymin Eve
Marsil and his “twin” shifted then; in a single movement the pair turned and looked directly at Cara and me. My new friend let out a low shriek and quickly yanked me into the stream of students entering the building.
“Holy crap, that was close,” she huffed. I saw her glance back. “That’s not the first time they seemed to hear me from an impossible distance.”
I wanted to look back too. One of the “twins” had locked me in his gaze, and I was curious to see if he was still staring at me. We might have been a fair distance apart, but his eyes were such a striking crystalline blue that I had still noticed the color.
“Which one of them has the really blue eyes?” I finally asked Cara.
She grinned, shaking her head, some of her nerves fading and her humor returning as we put more distance between us and them. “Jero. He’s the huge flirt. I’ve seen his charm but never been the recipient, thank God. I would probably pee myself if he talked to me.”
I joined her in laughing then, quieting as she continued: “Marsil has dark brown eyes, which are almost as beautiful. Lexen, though, has the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re such a dark brown they almost look black, but I swear I’ve seen these tiny twinkling little lights that seem to illuminate them.”
She shook her head. I was starting to think that for someone who’d expressed such fear and unease she certainly paid a lot of attention to these elites. We made it to the main entrance and cold air engulfed me as we stepped inside. Forcing my mind from the Darkens, I focused on the school. Time to deal with being the new kid.
Inside was as shiny and fancy as the outside, looking a lot like I thought a space station would, lots of steel and metal, high ceilings, large banks of windows and natural light – not to mention it was filled with tons of crazy technology that I had no name for – drones buzzing above our heads; security cameras following students; automated doors that welcomed each person as they entered. As we passed some banks of lockers, I wasn’t surprised to see that they used thumbprint recognition for entry. It fit with the rest of the character of the building.
Classrooms spanned off this corridor. Cara led me past all of those, toward the huge center building. “This is the office,” she said as automatic double doors swished open and let us in. There was a half-circle desk inside, and behind it were three women, impeccably dressed, typing away.
“Hey, Ms. Sampson, I have a new student here. Emma…” Cara trailed off, flicking her head around to me.
“Walters … Emma Walters.”
Ms. Sampson, who looked to be in her late forties, didn’t smile at us. She just glanced down and started typing away rapidly. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight chignon, her brows dark and severe. Finally, she fixed her watery blue eyes on me.
“Scholarship students use that door there.” She pointed across to the right of the office. “They will enroll you, fix your uniform up, and give you the correct locker and lunch access.”
She slid a piece of paper over and Cara gave her a beaming smile as she picked it up. We walked off and I couldn’t help but stare back at the office lady. She was still watching me, no smile, eyes narrowed.
“Well, that was a warm welcome,” I said, more bite than I expected in my voice. She had kind of got to me, though. Really, nothing had happened, but I felt it – the snobbery and attitude.
Cara glanced back too. “Yeah, those ladies are such bitches. I want to constantly remind them that they are glorified PA’s, and that they don’t own this school. I swear, Ms. Sampson likes to tell people she’s directly descended from the Darkens themselves.”
I wanted to ask what the big deal was with the Darkens, besides the fact that they were blessed with money and great genetics, but before I could we were through the door, standing in a less sterile-looking waiting area. They were much friendlier in here. An older man led me to the uniform section and it took no time at all to get me fitted out with two complete sets. No tailoring was even needed, which was great. I changed in the small bathroom, and while the stiff starchiness of my new outfit was uncomfortable, I was glad to finally blend. Stuffing my other clothes into my leather pack, I walked out to find Cara waiting.
“Looking good, girl. You wear the uniform better than most of these rich dipshits.” She changed subjects rapidly then, as she often did. “I got your locker number too. It’s right near mine, in the scholarship section.”
I followed her from the room, the friendly man waving us off. Once we were back in the main part of the school, the bell let out a chiming ring. It echoed around the hall and the masses of people started to clear out, heading toward their classrooms.
Cara must have noticed my slightly panicked look, because she flashed me a huge beaming smile. “Don’t worry, I logged our late attendance with the office. They will send it around to all the teachers’ palm pads.” She noticed my confused look. “It’s like their own special version of a tablet device. I’ve never seen them anywhere but at this school.” Okay, then. “So we won’t get into trouble. And we’ll only miss homeroom. After that, your first class is history. I have math, so I’ll drop you off and catch you in AP English, which we both have for second.”
Schedule, right. I pulled out my copy, which clearly Cara had already checked out. She was right, and thankfully next to each class was a small map that showed me how to navigate the school. She leaned over my shoulder to see it again. “Then we have lunch together, which is great. You don’t want to cross that jungle alone.”
I nodded, having no doubt now that I’d seen this place that she was probably right.
Pushing our way through some students, we ventured into one of the arms of the building, where I was surprised to see a moving sidewalk in the center, which Cara jumped onto.
“Trust me, you don’t want to walk all the way to our section,” she called as she started to move away.
Of course not. Wouldn’t want to use our legs like suckers.
What the hell was this school? I hurried to jump on after her. The path moved quickly, and when we were about halfway along I started to understand the need for the moving paths. These arterials were huge. After another minute, Cara pointed out our stop and we hopped off at one of the breaks and strode over to a small row of lockers. I counted maybe thirty bunched together here.
“So this is the scholarship section,” Cara said, her elegant nose wrinkling. “They stash us down here. It takes us forever to get back to our classes. Thankfully, the teachers rarely care what we do. They don’t even notice whether we’re there or not.”
Lovely. My locker was 1102, and it was already cleared of all previous student information, so all I had to do was touch my thumb to it and then it was mine. Inside, all of my textbooks were neatly stacked. There were even extra notepads and pens. Sara and Michael had assured me that this scholarship included everything, and it looked like they had been right.
Cara crowded close to me and I forced myself not to push her away. She had no concept of personal space at all. I was getting used to it, but this was very close. I didn’t want her to know I was a damaged freak yet. I needed at least one friend. So, holding my breath, I waited while she rifled through my things. Finally she grabbed the books for my first few classes, and a small card.
“This card is for your lunch,” she said, handing everything to me. “We don’t get to eat the same food as the other students, but you won’t starve. Keep this on you.”
I took it from her, surprised to see my face on the side in a small square. “Yeah, it’s also your ID card, and as you can see, ours are red.” She whipped out her card too and flashed it at me. “The elite have black, and the rest of the school get purple. The class system here is insane. You need to learn your place fast.”
I swallowed hard, tucking my ID into my pocket. An actual class system? What the hell had I gotten myself into?
4
Homeroom was just finishing as we made our way back toward the main building. Students streamed out into the hallway
again. Cara assured me that they would have already marked me as being present. The school monitored everything through these palm pad devices – they were the size of smartphones, and specifically designed for the Starslight network.
It would be wise for me to remember that every time I opened my locker, or passed one of the many surveillance cameras, I was being watched. It made me feel almost as paranoid as Sara and Michael with all their conspiracy theories.
A lurch of worry rocked my stomach as I thought about my guardians. I’d been trying to ignore it, and a new school was definitely a good distraction, but ever since I’d gotten up this morning to find they were still not home, a decided feeling of dread had settled into my gut.
Something was wrong. I just continued to hope that whatever it was they’d be back by the time I got home this afternoon. Otherwise I’d have to figure out what to do. I had to push that worry down again when we reached the history classroom door.
Cara left me with a wave and I started inside. I always took history; it was my favorite subject, along with archeology and anthropology, which I hoped to study in college. With this school’s curriculum, I was a little confused though. It wasn’t very clear what sort of history this class was about. There hadn’t been an American history course on offer here, or any other kind I recognized. My favorite was ancient history, but I love it all, really. I religiously watched Indiana Jones and Bones in my spare time. Well, at least I had, before the fire destroyed my DVD collection, and my life.
Walking farther into the room, there were about twenty desks spread throughout it. Nice desks, with what looked like real wooden bench-tops. The chairs were padded with a thick dark cushion. Everything looked larger and more comfortable than any other school I’d been in.
As I glanced between the many empty spaces, I wondered if there was assigned seating. I should have asked Cara. Deciding it was better just to sit and move if I was in someone’s chair, I chose a spot close to the back, on the left side, furthest from the door. I dropped my backpack on the floor and pulled out the history text, a notepad, and pen. I had a few minutes, so I quickly flipped over the front page of the thick textbook to see if I could figure out what we were studying.
Pausing on the table of contents, the book appeared to be divided into four main sections. Number one was … “House of Darken.” I ran my eyes over the other three sections. “House of Royale.” “House of Leight.” “House of Imperial.” The large bolded title at the top of the four sections read: Starslights’ founding families.
Well, shut the history classroom door. Now I understood about the elite and chosen thing. The founding fathers … those statues out the front … they were linked to the rich guys from my street.
Still, how could they have an entire class about the founders of this school? How was there enough information here to warrant that?
My interest was rising as I continued to scan the subheadings under each of the sections. One was focused on Astoria, another titled The Rise of Humankind. Um … what? This school was whack. Why did rich people think they could just do whatever they wanted? They had pretty much discounted all history here except that of the four families who’d founded this school. Arrogance, thy name is Starslight Prep.
A few students were trickling into the classroom. I made a concerted effort to keep my gaze on the page, not really wanting to catch anyone’s eye yet. Cara’s warnings were paramount in the back of my head, and even though it annoyed me that they would even have such a class system, I decided to lay low until I learned the ropes. From beneath my lashes I saw a few glances thrown in my direction, but thankfully most dismissed me without a second look. One or two might have narrowed their eyes at me, but no one sat on my side of the room. In fact it almost looked as if they were all choosing to sit as far from me as possible.
Whatever. I don’t care. I stared down at my white knuckles clenched tightly on the desk as I continued to remind myself that I just had to make it through this year. One more year. After the last eight months, I should be able to make it through anything.
My eyes felt hot. I was an emotional crier, especially when I was spitting mad. Somehow my body interpreted fury as a need for a decent cry. Today I wasn’t furious, I was nervous. So it was easier to hold back the tears.
From my lowered gaze, a pair of Testoni dress shoes came into view. The only reason I knew what that brand was – and the fact these shoes were worth about two thousand dollars – was because of my friend back in Cali whose dad was a lawyer and loved expensive shoes. And so apparently did this person, who wasn’t shifting from in front of my desk. With a barely audible exhalation I lifted my gaze to find a pair of piercing blue eyes boring into me. Most of my body froze. Only my mouth worked as I tried to moisten my lips.
Jero Darken stood there, not moving, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was trying to figure out what sort of creature I was. Up close I noticed all the little details I’d missed outside. His skin was dark, almost copper in tone, and it might have been a trick of the light but it appeared to be softly glowing in the well-lit classroom. His dark hair had streaks of caramel through it and was a little longer than I’d thought, hanging over his ears in styled disarray. His features were masculine but finely honed. Well-defined brows arched over those unbelievable eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a color like that, blue but light, like the early spring sky. Against his skin they popped out at me, the color mesmerizing, though I did look away from them long enough to notice a small, older and faded scar that ran from his right ear down his jawline, giving him a roughish look. All in all, this was one potent, pretty, glaring, interesting specimen of guy.
Speaking of glaring, his was already starting to annoy me. It’s okay to be pretty – you can’t help your genetics – but politeness was something everyone was able to offer.
We must have been staring at each other for a while, the moment only broken when a girl walked up and nudged Jero. She didn’t move him, but he did swing his head, a lazy grin lifting his lips. “Hey, Aria,” he said to her. His voice was deep. “I’m just trying to figure out who this female is and why she thinks she can sit back here in our section.” He had a hint of an accent I couldn’t place. Of course he would have an accent that sent his words rolling off his tongue with a smooth drawl.
And of course he would be an arrogant ass.
Fighting my anger, I focused on the redhead at his side. She was tall, with legs that went on for a ridiculous amount of time. What the heck did she need legs like that for? She’d better be a pole-vaulter or a hurdler or some crap; put those legs to good use. Of course, as my eyes ran across her golden skin, thin frame, generous breasts, full pouty lips, and huge green eyes, there was a much higher chance she was a model. Figures.
I wanted to hate her on the spot just for being perfection, but that wasn’t my style. Jero was still glaring at me, but I was done with his attitude, and I wasn’t scared to let him know.
I stood suddenly; the female flinched back, but Jero didn’t shift at all. I gathered my books up, flipping my wavy hair back, knowing it was probably a huge mess by now but not caring. “Thanks for letting me know this is your section. I definitely don’t want to sit here.”
My tone made it very clear that I didn’t think this section was desirable at all, and he knew it, judging by the darkness that clouded that golden face. Many eyes were on me as I crossed to the other side of the room. So much for thinking they weren’t sitting near me. I had apparently sat right in the “elite zone.” Thankfully there were still a few seats near the front, which I sank into, keeping my head high as I stared toward the whiteboard. My hands were shaking slightly; I felt riled up in a way that was unusual for me. Especially since he hadn’t really said much of anything. It was just the attitude I could feel oozing off him, dripping from each of his words.
I fought the urge to turn and see if he was still glaring at me. What an asshole. Seriously. What world were we living in where crap like this still happened? Where
people were segregated in high school because of money? I guess it was reality, happening every day, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
A few more tall and beautiful people arrived then, all of them crossing to sit near Jero and the redhead model. A blond guy in particular caught my eye, mostly because he looked a lot like the Darken brothers, just a lighter version: golden blond hair, golden skin tone, light green eyes, and smooth handsome features. From the corner of my eye I saw him greet Jero like an old friend, taking a seat beside him.
The teacher arriving distracted me from the elite. He was a portly older man with a receding hairline, two-day growth of beard, and what appeared to be a cluttered, vapid sort of personality. He spilled half the contents of his briefcase across the desk, bumped his head when he went to pick up the pens on the floor, and then tripped over the trashcan. By the time he introduced himself as Mr. Perkins, I was already half in love with him. He was adorable.
“I know most of you have taken some history classes with me before,” he said, his voice alight with infectious enthusiasm. “Bear with me while I catch up the newbies to this class.”
I had a feeling I was one of the only newbies here. Everyone else seemed to have friends and know each other. I was already wishing that they’d told me before I enrolled that this was a specific class on the history on the school, and that others would have already studied the basics – which I could not have done because, shockingly, this was not a topic in my last school. There we had studied a broader perspective on actual history.
Oddly enough, the guidance counselor I’d spoken to on the phone here had been very adamant I take this class. The word mandatory was thrown around, if I remembered correctly.
Mr. Perkins clapped his hands together. “This year will be divided into four sections,” he started. “Part one follows the four founders of Starslight School. Part two is the history of Astoria and its development from a two-horse town into the thriving hub we have today.”
