Page 74

Adrian

The sun beats down on the windshield of my car as I drive up the winding road to Warwick Academy, a prestigious, private high school perched on a beautiful cliffside in Palos Verdes, a suburbia filled with the rich and famous in LA.

The city is situated on a small mountain, which boasts riveting views of the Pacific Ocean with waves crashing against the rocky shores.

The magnificent French Baroque-style establishment beckons the attention of passersby, and one can’t help but gaze upon the grand structure beyond gold-tipped iron fences.

It seems like they modeled the school after the Palace of Versailles.

I snort at the over-the-top opulence as I make a turn into the parking lot in my car.

What excess. What waste. What ridiculousness.

The waitlist is miles long, with folks putting their babies on the list before their first steps or words.

They say anyone would be lucky to score a spot at the academy, even if it’s only for a few months.

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the rumors.

Apparently, with the name of the school on resumes, doors are opened, connections are made.

Having attended Warwick meant “you have arrived.” I couldn’t care less about these so-called superficial accolades or secret handshakes of the rich and famous.

But attending Warwick, even for such a short period of time, has a lesser-known side benefit, one Mom told me about when she insisted I apply.

The headmaster here has deep connections with most of the prestigious colleges in the nation and as the head of an Ivy League feeder school, he writes letters and advocates to admissions committees for the school’s students during the critical few months when universities sort through the thousands of applications filtering through their system.

And I need the extra boost, the secret handshake.

I need a full-ride scholarship to a good college in order for me to dig our family out of the hole we are in. Plus, it makes Mom happy. It was always one of her bigger regrets that she couldn’t give me the same comforts and quality of schooling she had when she was younger. And so, I suck it up.

The engine groans and stutters. Fuck. I’ll need to find time and more of the money I don’t have to get it checked out.

I find an empty spot at the far corner of the parking lot and turn off the engine, bracing myself for the snobbery I’ll no doubt face as soon as I walk through those double doors.

A slice of dread funnels to my insides, but I shove it away, clenching my muscles, imagining myself in a suit of armor.

Impenetrable. I miss my public school down the hill where the normal folks live.

You’re doing this for Mom. These people don’t matter.

I pull down the rearview mirror and check my appearance.

Mid-length dark-brown hair, courtesy of Dad, which needs a haircut.

Light-blue eyes from Mom. No stains on my shirt or suit jacket.

It’ll have to do. I throw on a scarf, the flimsy material doing little to warm me up in the cooler temperatures of January.

Cracking the stiff joints on my neck, I take a deep breath and exit the vehicle.

The hairs on my arms stick up, and a jitteriness fills my veins.

I hear the whispers and see the finger-pointing from the corner of my eye before I even enter the main building, a towering structure with swiveling colonnades, arched windows, and intricate carvings on the stucco walls.

I’m a fish out of water and I definitely don’t belong here.

But that doesn’t matter. I’m too old for this shit and too tired to care.

These kids may be rich in their wallets, but they’re peasants in their life experiences.

“That’s our new scholarship kid, huh?”

“Duh. I mean, look at the piece of shit he’s driving. Are we accepting the poor now?”

“I hear he’s a legacy, though. At least, that’s what I overhead in the headmaster’s office the other day.”

I grind my teeth against each other as I clench my muscles.

Someday, I’ll show them. One day, I’ll walk amongst them and they’ll be clamoring for my attention instead.

Steeling myself, I shove open the two double doors and head into the administration office for my assignments, the curling flames of anger mixing in with the heaviness in my chest.

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

“How may I help you?” A middle-aged woman with curly brown hair and rosy cheeks sits behind a large oak desk.

“It’s my first day. I was told to report here.”

She glances up at me as recognition dawns in her gaze.

No doubt she knows about my family’s story and about Mom—I had to provide a family status in my application.

“Ah, you must be Adrian Callahan. I’m Doris, the school secretary.

” A small crease mars the smooth skin on her forehead as her brown eyes stare at me in what I’ve come to know as one of my most-hated emotions.

Pity.

I give her a terse nod. The emerald tie is choking my airway. The office reeks of the odor of full-grain leather and expensive, upholstered furniture. It smells like everything else in this place.

Rich. Old. Pretentious. Wasteful.

I tap my fingers on the desk in an erratic rhythm as I wait for the lady to return with a slip of paper and a pamphlet.

“Here’s your schedule and a map of the campus. Your first class is Shakespearean English Literature in Room 308 with Mr. Nichols. Class is just about to begin.”

Retrieving the documents, I dip my head in acknowledgement then turn to walk toward the door.

“Hold on. Our policy is to have someone walk you to your first class on your first day here. A welcome of sorts. I’ve called another student from your class to come by. Stay put and she’ll be here shortly.”

She.

Probably another snobby, party girl decked out head-to-toe in expensive jewelry, driving a luxury vehicle purchased with her parents’ funds.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the thought of needing to wait for a spoiled child to escort me to class.

After all, I’m older than all the students here.

The grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimes a familiar tune in the background— The Westminster Quarters, as I’ve learned from my hours spent studying at the library on the weekends to catch up on coursework I’ve missed during some especially grueling weekdays.

The haunting, beautiful sound echoes in the room.

The craftsmanship of the clock is exquisite, with angels and flowers carved deep into the red wood case.

The face is enclosed in glass with the minute and hour hands forged from gold, which glint in the lamplight.

The copper pendulum, slightly dulled with age, swings to the chimes.

I’m momentarily mesmerized by the beauty of the antique and don’t hear the door open behind me.

“Hi, Doris. How are you doing? You look wonderful today,” a sweet voice says from behind me—a voice radiating warmth, like a cup of steaming, creamy hot chocolate on a freezing winter’s day.

I smell a faint scent of lilies before I see her.

My heart picks up in rhythm for no apparent reason as I slowly turn around. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the owner of the dulcet voice in front of me.

Long, sleek hair, the color of espresso beans, streaked with dark-russet strands.

A heart-shaped face with large mocha-brown eyes framed with the thickest of lashes.

Porcelain skin, smooth with only the lightest scattering of freckles.

A small pair of lips currently quirked up in a smile. Two beautiful dimples.

Pocket-sized to my six-foot-two height, with curves in all the right places.

An elf. A fae. A pixie.

“Emily, you smooth talker. I’m doing fine, thank you. How are you doing yourself? How is Jess doing? We miss her around here, you know.”

Emily. Her name is Emily.

She gives me a wink and walks up to the desk, propping her arms on the top.

The fragrance of lilies is stronger as she stands next to me.

The hairs on my arms prickle to attention under the suit jacket and my senses are on alert, as if my body knows something about this person that I don’t know.

As if this is somehow a turning point in my life.

Shake it off, dude.

“She’s doing great. She’s at ULA and staying on campus—acing her classes as usual. She even has a boyfriend. I’m happy for her.”

“Oh good. I’m glad to hear. We expect nothing less from her.” Doris clears her throat and motions to me. “This is Adrian Callahan. Today is his first day. He’s in the same Shakespearean Literature class as you. Can you walk him to class and go over how things work here?”

Emily cocks her head to the side and flashes a blinding smile at me.

A real one, not the fake ones I’m doling out or the ones I’d expect from the school of snobs.

“I’m Emily Kingsley. Welcome to Warwick.

” She extends her hand toward me. Kingsley.

A slither of unease snakes its way through me, but I can’t pinpoint the reason.

I clench my hand, quickly wiping my palm on my trousers, and gently clasp her hand in mine. My large palm engulfs her soft one and I could swear I see her quickly intake a breath of air.

“Hi,” I murmur, my voice sounding deeper than usual.

The moment passes as quickly as it appeared and I reluctantly drop her hand. She twists her fingers and rubs her palms together, a flush creeping up her slender neck. My fingers twitch with an irrational impulse to trace the pinkness there.

“Come on, follow me. I’ll show you the ropes.”

I glance back at Doris, only to find her staring at me with the damn pity in her eyes again. I give her a nod and follow Emily out of the office.

“So, Adrian, tell me about yourself. What brings you to Warwick? Are you really older than the rest of us? Is it true your mom went here when she was younger? Where were you studying before? What are your plans after graduation?”

Her low heels make click, clack staccato sounds on the marble floors as she walks quickly in front of me, the energy practically radiating from her aura.

Her navy-and-green-checkered skirt sways side to side, highlighting her toned legs, currently clad in white, knee-high socks, with a thin green stripe near the top where they meet her smooth skin, and the round curves of her backside.

A warm, fluffy scarf is curled around her slender neck.

I may have a different opinion about our uniforms now. I think I like them.

She stops mid-stride and I nearly plow into her. Emily stares at me expectantly, genuine curiosity brimming in her eyes. How refreshing after the chilly reception I experienced outside of the school just now.

“Are you going to ask me for my social security number next and the inseam of my dress pants?”

Her eyes quickly dart to the front of my pants and she looks away, the pinkened cheeks making a reappearance. She resumes walking and tosses her hair back. “I see how it is. You’re going to be one of those grumpy boys at school.”

“Men.”

“Huh?” She glances up at me as I take a few large strides and catch up to her.

“I’m not a boy. Far from it.”

The beautiful pink may be a permanent shade on her skin now. I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from grinning, the burn of anger slowly doused by whatever water magic this curious pixie is inflicting on me.

“Scholarship student. Yes, I’m nineteen. Yes, she graduated from here. Lomita High. Not sure—college, maybe. And no, I’m not a grump. I just don’t like to talk a lot.”

Emily arches her brow at my quick responses. A small smile graces her lips. “Hmm. Interesting. I’ll get more out of you at some point this year.”

I let out a deep chuckle, the rough sound seeming foreign to my ears. How long has it been since I truly laughed? Too long. The heaviness, which apparently abated in the last ten minutes, is slowly seeping back into my chest at the thought, slithering back into its familiar home.

“So, the campus is divided into four buildings with a central courtyard. This building is for liberal arts and languages, the one on the other side is for sciences and mathematics. That one way over there is for extracurriculars, including the gym, the pool, art workshops, theater, etcetera. The final building houses the dining hall. Most students end up eating on campus because the food is actually really good here. With the insane cost of tuition,” she pauses and rolls her eyes as if recognizing the ridiculousness of this environment, “they’ve hired a wonderful chef here. ”

“A chef? Why am I not surprised?”

“I know this all seems very pretentious…and most of the time I’d agree with you, but there are some really wonderful people here.

Not everyone comes from affluent backgrounds.

The school has a few slots each year for top performers who live in the vicinity.

In fact, my sister Jess’s best friend, James, was one of them, and he’s an awesome person.

He’s at MIT now. There are also exchange students and scholarship students.

I think it’s pretty great most of the time. You’ll see.”

I arch my brow, my expression no doubt dripping in disbelief, and she grins cheekily at me. “Trust me, Adrian, you’ll have a good experience here. Emily Kingsley will not lead you astray.”

Shaking my head, we round a corner as she points to a closed door on the far right. “That’s us. Mr. Nichols is pretty awesome too.” She stares at me and arches her brow. “I sense more skepticism radiating from you. Trust me, Emily—”

“Kingsley will not lead me astray,” I mutter under my breath, finishing the sentence for her, unable to stifle a smile as I turn the doorknob and let her proceed before me.

Her gaze shines with laughter as she crosses the threshold, her heels accidentally tripping on the raised step in the doorway.

She tumbles forward and I quickly curl my arm around her waist to steady her.

Her breath quickens as my heart skips another beat and I stare into her widened eyes, noticing the small, golden flecks shimmering against the light.

Despite the thick clothing between us, I could somehow feel the heat of her lithe body seeping through the layers of cotton and wool.

My fingers tighten and curl reflexively.

She gasps, her soft lips parting. My eyes flicker to the movement and liquid heat rushes to my chest.

“T-Thank you. Quick reflexes there,” she whispers breathlessly, the apples of her cheeks flushed.

I quickly release her and drag my hand through my hair, my fingers still tingling from the brief moment of contact.

I clench and unclench my hand, wanting to release some of the sudden tension there.

Someone clears his throat loudly and I feel the heavy weight of someone’s stare.

Dragging my gaze away from Emily, I survey the classroom for the source of the unease, and locate a hulking jock with gleaming, white-blond hair shooting daggers at me through eyes with barely concealed fury. Frowning, I glance away.

The murmuring in the classroom comes to an abrupt halt.

Twenty pairs of eyes track my movements as I amble over to the teacher.

Tiny droplets of sweat bead on my forehead, the tie feeling too tight around my neck.

I ignore the pointed looks. The damn whispers.

My eyes trail over to Emily, who has taken her seat in the third row.

She gives me a wink, one dimple forming in her smooth cheek.

My lips twitch in the smallest of grins.

“Thank you, Ms. Kingsley, and you must be Mr. Callahan.” A lanky man, probably five years or so older than me, walks over and shakes my hand. “I’m Mr. Nichols. Your desk is that one, fourth row down. Please take a seat.”

Ignoring the soft murmurs in the classroom, I stride over to the empty desk behind Emily, my eyes trailing over her features. She gives me a nod of encouragement. Someone coughs again.

“Loser.”

The rest of the class snickers.

My head whips toward the offender, the blond jock from earlier, who is smirking at me while his group of hooligans cackles beside him. “What are you looking at, scholarship kid?”

I crack my neck and clench my hands in tight fists as a burning fire unfurls from my abdomen, threatening to break free. My lips twist in a snarl and I take a deep breath. I’m not here to make trouble. Six months, then I’m out of here.

“Ryan, what the heck was that?” Emily whispers to the blond jock, her brows furrowing.

“Just coughing. The stench of trash is so strong, I can’t help it. But don’t you worry about me, darling.”

“Ugh. I’m not your darling. Will you just drop it already? And stop being such an asshole.” Emily turns around as I settle in behind her. Sorry, she mouths.

I shake my head as I tamp down the heat of anger swirling inside me. She gives me a sad smile and turns toward the front of the classroom. Ryan flips me the middle finger. I clench my jaw.

Fuck. This is going to be the longest six months ever.