I adjusted my glasses nervously as I stepped onto the polished marble floors of Kingston Academy. Everything about the place screamed perfection the towering windows letting in streams of sunlight, the crystal chandeliers hanging overhead, and the students moving through the halls with an effortless confidence I couldn't hope to match.
My straight gold hair rested softly on my face, catching the light as I walked. I brushed it back nervously with one hand, aware of how out of place I felt. Behind my glasses, my brown eyes scanned the hall, taking in the rows of lockers and the flurry of students around me. My nose was straight and slightly narrow, my face lean but balanced, a shape I had always thought was ordinary nothing like the striking faces I'd heard were common at this school.
I kept my bag close to my side, shoulders slightly hunched, trying not to draw attention to myself. Being tall didn't help; I stuck out like a sore thumb. Every step echoed on the floor, and I could feel dozens of eyes flicking toward me, though I didn't know how many were curious, how many were indifferent, and how many were silently judging.
I tried to focus on my schedule, memorizing the classrooms, the locker rows, the signs directing me where to go. It wasn't that I hadn't moved schools before, but this place felt different elite, exclusive, and unwelcoming. I wasn't naïve. I knew I'd be under scrutiny from the moment I walked in, but I hadn't expected it to feel this heavy, like invisible hands were pressing down on me.
As I passed the main staircase, I noticed movement from the corner of my eye. A short boy, standing casually against the railing, seemed to be watching me intently. I didn't recognize him, and I tried to ignore it, convincing myself it was nothing. But there was something in the way he studied me, quiet and deliberate, that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
I moved on, trying to shake the feeling, but then I caught sight of another figure tall, leaning against the railing, exuding confidence so effortlessly it almost hurt to look at him. He was smirking at me, and though he didn't say anything, I had the strange sensation that his gaze carried weight, like a test I hadn't agreed to take.
And then, just as I rounded a row of lockers, a third person caught my attention. Taller than me, hands casually in his pockets, leaning against a locker with a grin I couldn't read. His eyes lingered too long, brushing against me in a way that felt accidental, yet purposeful. I stepped back instinctively, muttering a quiet "Hi" that went unanswered.
My stomach twisted. Who were these people? Why were they watching me? My first day at this school was supposed to be simple find my classes, survive lunch, make it through the day without embarrassing myself. But suddenly, I felt like I was at the center of something I couldn't understand, a force pulling me in three different directions, all at once.
I shook my head, telling myself I was imagining it. They didn't know me. I didn't know them. Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe.
But as I moved toward my first class, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd already walked into a storm I couldn't see yet and that storm had three eyes, all fixed on me.