Page 60 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

M y hands tremble as I clutch my books to my chest. Mom waved me off when I said I was too nervous to eat breakfast, and I wish she would’ve asked me why I was so nervous to start at Pointe Charter.

Switching schools in the spring semester of my junior year was like sneaking into a theater halfway through the movie.

Switching to the school the Keane family attends?

It’s like she wants us to be eaten alive.

Books slip from my clammy palms, and I readjust them. Mom gave such a stupid answer why they were switching Mase and me. As if I believed the bullshit that she wanted us to have our own identities separate from the Bianchis. At least at Roswell Academy, people knew not to mess with us.

But no, that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted me to lose all my friends and social standing all in one fell swoop.

Bitterness swirls in my chest as a bell rings. I pull the crinkled schedule from my pocket and find my third period. Math.

Ugh, I hate math.

English and history are my favorite subjects.

I was actually looking forward to the book report capstone for my English class this semester.

Everyone always dismisses Romeo and Juliet as overdone, but no one seems to find the beauty in the star-crossed lovers.

The worn copy sits in my book bag that’s slung over my shoulder, and I resolve to lose myself in the cracked spine during lunch.

With only three wrong turns, I finally make it to Algebra II a few minutes late.

My face heats when the teacher stops talking mid-sentence to welcome me.

Mr. Koplin is fit and looks to be in his thirties.

He holds out an arm, and I hand him my schedule as instructed by the front office.

He initials next to his class, and without looking up, he introduces me to the class.

“Everyone, this is Loren Catrone. A transfer from Roswell Academy.”

There are a few gasps, but thankfully, no one says anything.

It seems it’s obvious to the class about the caliber of students that attend RA: children of the Bianchi enterprise.

I’m not sure if Mr. Koplin is new, but the reaction causes him to stop skimming the rest of my schedule and look around the room.

“Let’s show her a warm Seagulls welcome.”

The class grows quiet, and he sighs in resignation, handing my schedule and directing me to sit in the only open seat in the back.

“Alright, let’s continue, shall we?” He returns to his whiteboard, and the squeaky dry erase marker echoes my steps to the back of the classroom.

When I slide into the chair, I drop my book bag on the floor. The books that didn’t fit crowd my desk. There’s a boy staring at me, not even trying to hide it. For ten minutes, he doesn’t look away, and I finally have enough.

“Can I help you?” I whisper-hiss as I turn to face him.

The boy has the most beautiful deep brown eyes and boyish charm already dripping from him. When I speak, the brightest smile takes over his face, and the cutest dimple pokes in his left cheek.

“I think we’re going to be good friends, Loren.” His voice is smooth, and butterflies erupt in my lower belly. The longer he keeps my attention, the more I feel captivated by the boy with brown eyes.

He smirks and reaches a hand over. “Callahan.”

I gingerly take his hand and shake it once. “Loren Catrone. Callahan…?”

Callahan doesn’t release my hand, just keeps shaking it as he stares into my soul.

“Just Callahan.”