Bella
I watched her walk away, confusion swelling in my chest. My fingers drifted to the spot she slapped.
And boy, did it hurt.
It stung like a burn, and I could still feel the cold, sticky thing clinging to my skin. Slowly, I peeled it off.
That was when the room seemed to hollow out.
Silence. Like everyone forgot how to breathe.
"Uuuh… she's a brave one," someone muttered from the back. Their voice was half impressed, half terrified.
Then someone else stood up.
It was the girl I'd noticed first when I walked in, she'd been lounging at the back, eyes heavy-lidded like she was bored with life.
Now she looked anything but bored.
Her skin was pale, ghostly even, like she hadn't seen the sun in a decade. But her lips?
Blood red.
And her long, platinum blonde hair shimmered under the chandeliers like silk threads dipped in moonlight.
She moved like a predator, slow, deliberate, with a glint in her eye that made my stomach knot.
"Do you have a death wish, new girl?" she asked, her voice calm, but too calm. Like a whisper before a hurricane.
Before I could get a word out, the lecture hall doors swung open.
In walked a man dressed in a dark academic suit, the sharp lines of his blazer mirroring the severe expression on his face. Without so much as glancing up, he strode to the podium, placed a sleek black notepad down, and barked out a command:
"If you're not seated in the next five seconds, don't bother. Just leave my class."
His voice was cold, clipped, and powerful enough to slice the room in half.
Miss Ghostly Beauty didn't hesitate. She vanished from my side and practically bolted to her seat.
I sat up straighter, suddenly more aware of every wrinkle in my clothes, every misplaced strand of hair. My back was stiff, my skin buzzing with discomfort. A university with bullies was already a nightmare…add uniforms and public humiliation, and you've got Raventon.
"Miss Waverley," the lecturer said, lifting his head for the first time and adjusting his thin-rimmed glasses. His gaze landed on me like a weight. "That is not our uniform."
My mouth opened to explain, but he cut me off with a raise of his hand.
"You will be excused for only this class because you are new," he said as the digital projector flickered to life behind him. Equations and diagrams began to scroll across the screen like a futuristic scroll.
"The semester is just beginning," he continued, turning back to the class, "but quite a bit has already been covered. There are ten new students in my roster this year. I suggest you all catch up quickly."
Then again, his eyes found me.
"That won't be too hard for you, now would it, Miss Waverley?" he added, his tone unreadable. "Considering you were the most outstanding student in all regional entries this year."
My heart dropped.
What a setup.
The attention I'd hoped to avoid came crashing down on me like a spotlight. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward me, some wide, others narrowed with thinly veiled disdain.
I forced myself to lower my gaze, digging my fingernails into my palm to ground myself.
I hated this. No, I loathed this.
I should've been used to it by now, the expectations, the praise I never asked for, the resentment it stirred, but somehow, it still made my skin crawl.
And now, I wasn't just the girl who fainted in front of the Upper Circle.
I was the genius freak who also got special treatment.
Great.
They were definitely going to hate me more now.
The lecture kicked off with the class being as quiet as a graveyard. I had questions, but I feared asking them. The professor's voice echoed, but my mind wandered, lingering on the strange silence around me. In the middle of the lecture, someone pushed open the door, and in walked a boy. Almost immediately, I felt an unexplainable chill. Half of his face was hidden by the black hoodie he wore, but his lips were exposed, sharp, dark, and full.
His skin was pale, though much better than the ghostly bully from earlier on. He was tall, with an intimidating presence that seemed to pull the room's energy toward him. His eyes, hidden beneath the shadow of the hood, felt like they were scanning everyone at once, yet his movements were smooth, deliberate. There was something about him, something I couldn't quite place that sent an unsettling shiver down my spine.
"You are late, again," Mr. Hilary stated, narrowing his eyes at the boy.
"I am here now, aren't I?" The boy's cold voice came out rather fearlessly, and then, without permission, he proceeded to walk to the back of the class and sat.
I expected an uproar from the no-nonsense Mr. Hilary, but he simply continued with his class like it hadn't just been interrupted. His calm reaction struck me as odd, like this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. It made me wonder. I couldn't stop myself from turning back to see who this person was.
Deep mahogany eyes met mine, and immediately, I faced forward, my heart racing. Something about them felt familiar, like I had seen them before. It was then that my eyes widened as my mind recollected that it was the same pair of eyes I last saw before I fainted.
I swallowed hard, trying to push the thought away, but the nagging sensation in my chest wouldn't leave. Brushing it off, I tried to concentrate on the lecture. I forced my eyes to stay on Mr. Hilary as he rambled on, but the words blurred together. My thoughts kept drifting back to those eyes. Why did they haunt me so?
Two hours later, the class ended.
But that was when my torture began…
I met Miss Pale Face and her whole crew waiting for me at the entrance. Without a word, I walked past them, expecting them to do something, but instead, they just followed behind me, like freaking predators. I could feel their eyes on my back, their footsteps mirroring mine with an unnerving precision. I kept looking over my shoulder at the obvious stalkers, who weren't even pretending to hide it. Their intent was clear, they were watching me, waiting for a reaction.
My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to keep walking, trying to act unaffected. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing they were getting under my skin. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that they were drawing closer, like wolves circling their prey. My eyes kept flicking back, catching glimpses of their cold stares, each one as predatory as the last.
In the hallway, there were lockers, each with our names attached to them. I hadn't had time to check before, but now that I was walking through the corridor, the sight of the neatly organized rows of lockers caught my attention. And then, I saw him standing in front of my locker, his hands rummaging through the contents as if it were his own.
It was the hooded boy.