"-lex!"

"Alex!"

"ALEXANDER LEIGHTON MOORE! "

I shot up in bed like I'd been catapulted, instantly regretting having eyes. The sunlight stabbed straight through the pathetic gaps in my curtains, illuminating my room like some kind of divine punishment.

"Alexander, get up! You're going to be late! Don't make me get the spare keys and drag you out of there!" Mom's voice rang through the door; sharp, impatient, and loud enough to shake the posters off my walls. A series of bangs followed like she was trying to drum her way in.

"I'm up! I'm up! I'll be right down!" I groaned, face-planting into my pillow as if it could somehow save me from reality.

There was a pause, long enough to make me consider actually getting up, then footsteps retreated down the hall.

Crisis averted.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, heart thudding. Today was my first day at my new school. Not just any school—the school. The city's shiniest, most exclusive academy. Rich kids, legacy students, trust funds big enough to buy a small country.

And me.

To be fair, I didn't get in because I was a genius or because I bribed the admissions office with gold bars. No, I got in because my older sister Cynthia already went there, and apparently nepotism is alive and well.

"Man, connections sure are handy," I muttered, absently petting the pink reversible octopus plushie resting on my stomach.

"Do you think I'll fit in?" I asked it like it could answer me. The plush just smiled back, mockingly cheerful. I hugged it tighter.

"Well... Cynthia goes there. People might try to get along with me, right?" I said, trying to convince myself.

Hopefully.

...----------------...

The car rolled to a stop.

"We've arrived, Miss Cynthia. Sir Alex," our driver announced.

I clutched my bag like a life preserver, staring out the window. The front gates were massive, pure ivory, and swarming with students. Mostly girls. All of them looked like they'd stepped out of a glossy magazine. And they were waiting— for something.

"Can't you drive inside?" Cynthia asked, her tone flat but clearly annoyed.

I glanced at my sister. Three years older, built like a runway model, with platinum hair, flawless makeup, and legs that looked illegal in at least seven countries. Even her eyes were intense; though technically fake today, thanks to her blue contacts.

We were siblings, sure. Same green eyes underneath. But next to Cynthia, I looked like a background character in her movie. She drew people in. I repelled them. Like a moth versus a bug zapper.

"I'm sorry, Miss," the driver said carefully, "but the crowd's blocking the way. You and Sir Alex will have to walk." He used that gentle tone people use when they're afraid of being vaporized.

Cynthia just hummed, glanced in her mirror one last time, and opened her door.

Instant pandemonium.

Screams erupted as if Beyoncé had just stepped out. Girls called her name, reaching out like disciples. Cynthia walked through the chaos with the poise of a queen, head high, hips swaying, the crowd parting for her like she owned the ground itself.

"Dear God, why did you give everything to my sister?" I muttered, glaring at my own reflection in the window. "Would it have killed you to sprinkle just a little bit of that magic on me?"

"Sir Alex? Aren't you getting out?" the driver asked kindly.

"Do I have to?" I mumbled, shrinking further in my seat "I don't belong here."

He chuckled. "Of course you do. Give it some time. You might meet new friends."

I groaned, but forced myself to open the door. The car drove off soon after, abandoning me to face the crowd alone.

'Why is everyone gathered here again?' I thought as I edged closer to the gate.

But then— chaos. Louder screams. Heads whipped toward me making my heart stop. They were looking at me.

Wait. WHAT?

Were they. . .cheering for me? Calling my name?

Oh God. Was this the Cynthia effect? I couldn't help but blush at the thought. Maybe I wasn't so invisible after all. Maybe this school wouldn't be so bad-

"Hey, shorty. You're blocking our way."

My bubble of hope popped instantly. I turned around, clutching my bag like a shield, and came face-to-chest with... well, a lot of chest.

'Wow. Nothing makes me feel shorter than someone's sternum.'

Slowly, I looked up. Piercings everywhere; lips, brows, nose, ears. His dark eyes glittered with mischief and something worse. Bad news radiated off this guy like cologne.

"S-sorry," I mumbled, stepping aside. Too late, I noticed he wasn't alone. Three other guys stood behind him, equally pierced, inked, and at least two heads taller than me.

"What's the hold-up, Deek?" one of them said, smirking. "Don't tell me you're picking on a kid."

"This little mouse was blocking us," Deek said lazily.

I scrambled out of their way, accidentally bumping into the crowd. A few girls glared daggers at me. That's when I realized: they weren't squealing for me. They were squealing for them.

Well. That explained a lot.

The gang sauntered past, ignoring their fans. I sighed in relief, ducking my head and slipping into the gates, only to be swallowed by chaos again. The crowd screamed even louder than before. Someone popular must've arrived behind me.

'Who was it this time, Ariana Grande? '

Girls shoved and elbowed each other. I lost my balance, tripped, and hit the ground hard. My bag shielded my chest, but someone definitely stepped on my hand.

Perfect. First day, and I'm already roadkill.

I stayed curled on the pavement, waiting for the stampede to pass. Eventually the noise faded. I risked opening my eyes, spotting an angry red mark blooming on my hand. Great. A bruise to remember this moment by.

"Are you okay?"

A voice. Deep. Gentle. Close.

I froze. Tears threatened. I didn't even want to look up, didn't need my humiliation witnessed. But then warm hands helped me to my feet, steadying me against a broad chest. So much chest.

"Do you want me to take you to the nurse's office?"

I looked up and suddenly forgot how to breathe.

His eyes were the color of late autumn, rich and warm, like coffee on a cold morning. His dark hair curled just enough to make you want to run your fingers through it. His lips moved, parting and closing, saying something I couldn't hear over the pounding in my ears.

Dear God. I was still unsure about it before, but now you're just shoving the truth in my face.

"I... I think I like men."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Then everything tilted, spun, before everything went black.

My eyelids fluttered open, sluggish and heavy, and I found myself staring at a white ceiling. Long fluorescent lights hummed above me, too bright, scattering harshly over every corner my eyes could reach.

“Where…” I croaked, wincing at how pitiful I sounded; small and squeaky, like a terrified mouse caught in a trap.

“Ah, Mr. Alexander Moore, you’ve finally gained consciousness,” a female voice chimed.

I turned my head and saw a short, chubby woman with jet-black hair twisted into a messy bun, one so sturdy it held several pens jammed inside without budging whenever she moved. Odd. Fascinating. Weirdly admirable.

She wore a white nurse’s uniform, complete with apron, cap, and stethoscope. The warm, friendly smile she flashed me made me offer back one of my awkward ones, the kind I give whenever I’m completely lost.

How did I end up here? Who brought me? When did I even pass out? Those questions spun like hornets in my head, adding to my throbbing headache. I groaned, throwing an arm over my eyes to shield them from the assaulting light. Why did I have to be so annoyingly sensitive to brightness anyway?

“I’m sure it can be overwhelming on your first day at a new school,” the nurse said. “I’ve already told your sister to excuse you from all your classes.”

That made me peek at her from under my arm. “My sister was here?”

She nodded. “Ten minutes ago. She didn’t say much, just looked in on you. I’m sure she was concerned.”

“Yeah… sure,” I muttered under my breath, closing my eyes again with a sigh.

Concerned wasn’t exactly Cynthia’s brand. Our relationship was… distant. We barely exchanged words, couldn’t stand to stay in the same room longer than a minute, and the only time she tolerated me was when we shared a ride to school. (And only because Mom took the other car this morning. If she had a choice, I’d be roadkill.)

Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister. There are old memories where she really did care for me, back when I was too short to ride anything at the carnival. But now? Now she treated me more like a mildly irritating stranger than family.

“You fainted from anxiety,” the nurse continued gently. “But you’re fine. I’ll write you a slip so they won’t mark you absent.”

Before she could write, I reached out and pushed the paper away. “I don’t want to miss class.” My voice finally sounded normal again, which was nice.

She nodded, closed the curtain around me, and left.

I glanced around. The nurse’s office was much larger than expected, rows of beds with crisp ivory sheets, antiseptic mixed with lemon-scented air swirling through the AC vents. My blazer lay neatly on a nearby chair, so I slipped it on and laced up my brown loafers.

The academy’s uniform looked like something out of a fashion magazine; white button-up shirt, cream trousers, cream blazer with a winged lion embroidered on the breast pocket. Girls had two skirt options: pencil or pleated. Cynthia owned both but practically lived in the pencil one.

Sliding the curtain aside, I peeked out. The nurse waved while tending to another student, and I waved back before heading into the empty hallway.

First day and I’d already fainted. Fantastic. Mom would scold me to oblivion if she heard, unless Cynthia tattled first. Would she? …Probably. I grimaced at the thought. Mom didn’t yell or hit, but her guilt trips made you feel like a speck of dust.

With a heavy sigh, I checked my phone. Past noon. No wonder my stomach felt like a hollow drum. I started wandering the hallways, hunting for a vending machine like some desperate raccoon. Thankfully, this school was ridiculously fancy, there had to be at least one.

And there it was, tucked in a far corner. Unfortunately, someone else was already there.

He looked… familiar. Tattoos snaked up his neck, silver studs covered his ear, and a single safety-pin earring dangled like a threat. His jet-black hair was slicked back with enough gel to withstand a hurricane.

“It’d look better if you used less gel,” I blurted before I could stop myself. “Right now it’s… kinda clumpy.”

The man whipped his head toward me, glaring hard enough to make me flinch. Then his expression shifted to mild surprise.

“It’s you,” he said, his voice so deep it made me swallow hard.

“Me?” I stammered. He looked familiar, sure, but I definitely didn’t know him. Right?

“Why aren’t you in class?” he asked casually while pressing buttons on the vending machine absentmindedly.

“I just left the nurse’s office. I don't know if it's a good idea to interrupt a class halfway” I admitted, staring at my shoes with a pout.

“What happened to you?”

“I… fainted, I guess.”

He hummed, studying me with a gaze that felt like X-rays. I squirmed under it. Then his voice dropped, sharp and firm it sent shivers down my spine, “Stay out of Deacon’s way.”

“Deacon?” I echoed, finally looking him in the eye. Up close, he looked like a biker thug forced into formal-wear, still quite handsome.

“The guy you bumped into at the gate this morning.”

“The guys I bumped into. . . Oh!” Realization hit me like a tsunami and I instantly recalled. This was the man who’d called him ‘Deek.’ I instinctively stepped back making him smirk.

“Yeah, that’s more like it. You creeped me out earlier when you acted so casual.” He chuckled and walked toward me, hand reaching out. My brain went full doomsday mode, I actually squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

Instead of a punch, I got a heavy clap on the shoulder that nearly knocked the wind out of me. “Oomph!”

By the time I opened my eyes, he was already walking away, footsteps fading down the hall. My heart was pounding so loud it echoed in my ears.

I groaned, dragging my hands through my hair. “Great. First day, and I’m already a target.”

Better find my class before I met any more of Deacon’s friends, or Deacon himself. I’d rather eat glass.

I began making my way, looking for a wall with a map, it didn't take long for me to locate my history classroom, and hustled there. Only thirty minutes late on a two hour class, I could live with that.

Swinging the door open as gentle as possible, I plastered on my best apologetic smile when the teacher perked up with a raised brow. “Hello, I’m Alexander Moore. Sorry for being late, I just came from the nurse’s office.”

The teacher, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, just nodded and pointed me to the back. Crisis averted. I gave the teacher a grateful smile and slipped into the last empty seat. I was just getting comfortable when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Curious, I turned and suddenly I felt my blood run cold.

Sitting behind me, wearing a wicked smirk, was Deacon himself.

He winked.

Perfect. Just perfect. So much for staying out of his way.

“So, what do you wanna get for lunch?”

Jackson asked as we wove through the hallway crowd, sticking close so we wouldn’t lose each other in the sea of students spilling out from classrooms.

It had been two weeks since I started at this school. I’d met a handful of people, but only one counted as a close friend; the one currently dragging me toward the cafeteria.

Jackson Marley, Arts major. We shared a few classes, sat next to each other once, started talking, discovered some shared interests, and that was that. He wasn’t exactly popular, aside from the arts club knowing who he was. I’d been debating joining the club myself when I first got the offer from Jack.

“He’s still better off than me. At least he’s not a walking target of that guy” I muttered under my breath.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head quickly, waving it off.

Jackson just shrugged and tugged on my blazer sleeve until we reached the cafeteria doors. Inside wasn’t too crowded, most students were already seated or queued up at the counter.

We grabbed our trays and found ourselves twenty-something people back in line. My stomach immediately protested. Skipping breakfast after waking up late over a forgotten alarm, and then waiting for the bus because Cynthia took one car and parent's took the other, itwas clearly coming back to haunt me.

“You know,” Jackson said casually, cutting my train of thoughts “you and Cynthia really don’t look alike.”

“Look closer.” I deadpanned, tired of the same statement I got since day one. I turned my head away just as it was finally our turn to order. I scooped up mashed potatoes with mixed veggies, two slightly burnt slices of buttered toast, and spaghetti carbonara.

Jackson, on the other hand, piled his plate with cafeteria junk: limp fries, two slices of greasy pepperoni pizza, some chicken nuggets, and ironically, a single slice of apple, as if that balanced it out.

My health conscious self cringed.

“You know, you could try eating healthier,” I pointed out as we sat at a table already half-occupied by his art club friends.

“It’ll be a miracle if he does,” Jade Hauxley said, smirking. She was a striking redhead from the literature department with a knack for painting massive canvases, Jade wasted no time poking at Jackson’s diet before we even took our seat.

Jackson slammed his tray down dramatically and started arguing with her about how she's just jealous that no matter how much he ate, he barely gained weight, of course Jade didn't take that kindly. I just shook my head and slipped into the seat next to Matthew.

Matthew Smith, the art club’s vice president. Jackson had told me he used to be a star basketball player, one of the school’s best, until an injury on his knee forced him to quit. He’d joined the art club afterward, got voted for president, but declined, he still couldn't get away from responsibility as he was put on VP role to which he didn't seem to mind.

Matthew gave me a quick glance, eyes flicking from my tray to my face, before looking straight ahead again.

“Hey,” I greeted.

“Hey.” And that was it. Every time we sat together, that was all he ever said. At first I thought he didn’t like me, but I’ve realized he’s just a man of few words, quite literally.

Lunch was peaceful, as usual. Honestly, I’d expected to end up eating alone in some corner near the trash bins after my disastrous first day. Sure, I was already Deacon’s personal shoulder-check target in the hallways, and he’d taken to tossing crumpled paper at me during history, but I could handle that. It wasn’t serious bullying. Just… consistent irritation.

Still, it wasn’t something I was used to. I’d grown up pampered, even with Mom’s strict rules and razor-sharp words, I’d always been loved. Dad was busy but warm when he was around. At my old school, I’d been social, even outgoing. I’d never had to deal with actual hostility.

“Deacon’s a third year, right?” I asked Matthew, munching my burnt toast with a bit of dismay.

He hummed in confirmation, sipping banana milk, eyes wandering.

“Then why’s he in my history class?”

“Because he’s a dum-dum,” Jade answered before Matthew could, already done with her banter.

Jackson swallowed a mouthful of fries and added, “He failed history, won’t take tutors, doesn’t care about grades. His family donates big money here, so the principal just let him retake the class.”

“For three years?”

“Mhm,” all three replied at once.

I sighed. Deacon wasn’t ruining my life or anything really, but still… annoying was annoying. Jackson must’ve sensed my mood dip because he slid closer, threw an arm around my shoulders, and patted my back.

“Cheer up, Lex. If Deacon’s being a pain, tell Mr. Jason. He doesn’t like him either, perhaps he’ll move your seat.”

“And let someone else take my place as Deacon’s chew toy? No thanks.”

Jackson rolled his eyes and held his hands up in surrender.

Feeling stuffed, even with food left on my tray, I stood to clear it away. A bit of carbonara and one bitten piece of toast remained, but I was done.

“Wait— take mine too— ” Jackson grabbed the edge of my blazer suddenly.

The suddenness of the pull threw me off balance, I was always a little clumsy when startled, to top it off my foot suddenly caught on a stool leg and the tray decided to have wings as it flew off my hand.

I let out an embarrassing squeak as gravity betrayed me, but before my face could slam into the table edge and possibly crack my skull, Matthew moved with lighting speed. Former athlete reflexes. He caught me by the waist, holding me steady. Relief flooded through me, and I almost smiled but—.

“WHAT THE FUCK !?”

My stomach dropped. I knew that voice too well. I prayed I was wrong though.

“YOU DAMN SHORT STACK!”

Nope. Not wrong. The silly nickname gave it away.

I opened my eyes to see Deacon standing there, absolutely drenched in leftover carbonara. The sauce was smeared across his blazer, dripping onto his shoes, noodles clinging to his shoulder, and the sad piece of toast sliding off his cheek with a pathetic plop.

His eyes went pure murder when they landed on me. His gang stared in shock, one trying to smother laughter. Across the room, Cynthia sat with her clique of popular girls, calmly eating her lunch, shaking her head and continued like everything's fine, like she’d never seen me before in her life.

Thanks, Sis.

Matthew’s grip tightened on me as Deacon stomped toward us, fist cocked and ready. Matthew braced to block him, muscles coiled, but I panicked. Matthew already sacrificed his basketball career once, he didn’t need his face smashed because of me.

I tried to push him out of the way but the guy wouldn’t budge, of course. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact—.

A shrill whistle split the air.

Everyone froze.

At the cafeteria entrance stood Maximus Pierce, student council president, whistle between his lips, glare sharp enough to cut steel.

“Rule number seven of the student handbook,” his voice boomed, steady and commanding. Definitely a no-nonsense type of guy “No physical fights on school grounds. Punishable by four hours’ detention. Cause injury, and it’s expulsion.”

My heart skipped a beat. Okay, maybe two. Maximus radiated authority, and not just because he was stupidly good-looking for me.

Deacon snarled, eyes going back and forth between the entrance and me but soon dropped his fist and walked away, fuming. Maximus intercepted him on his way out at the door, gripping his hand and leaning in to whisper something. Whatever it was, it left Deacon seething more as he stormed off with his gang in tow.

Matthew’s hold softened as he steadied me upright. “You okay, Lex?” he asked quietly, genuine worry in his voice, for the first time ever.

I just nodded, still rattled, face flushed and slightly trembling.

Maximus strode into the cafeteria. Girls squealed and sighed all around, some even fanning themselves. I swear someone fainted in the corner. When he got near our table his eyes instantly landed on me; cool, sharp, and assessing.

“Name?” he asked, voice strict.

“A-Alexander Moore,” I stammered, mentally kicking myself at how lame I sounded.

Maximus was quiet for a moment upon hearing my name, he let his eyes roam the cafeteria, looking for someone till it landed on Cynthia then his eyes returned to me “Come see me in the student council office.” His gaze swept over me once, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down my spine.

“Now,” he ordered before walking away, leaving the cafeteria buzzing like a shaken soda can. A flock of girls immediately abandoned their trays to chase after the campus heartthrob as if he’d dropped a trail of designer cologne.

The rest of us stayed frozen. Jade, Jackson, and Matthew all stared at me; worried, tense, as if I’d just been sentenced to public execution. I forced a sheepish grin, slinging my bag over my shoulder with a shrug.

“See you guys later?” I said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near dead man walking.

Jade sniffled and nodded, still too stunned to form words. Jackson’s guilt was written all over his face; I shook my head and gave him a reassuring pat. None of this was his fault anyway.

Matthew offered to come with me, but I waved him off. The fact that he’d even volunteered to be my human meatshield earlier was already more than I deserved. No way was I dragging him deeper into my stupidity.

As I walked away from our table, I caught one last look at their faces— they looked like they were watching me march into a firing squad. My stomach knotted. Deep down, a creeping fear gnawed at me.

I just hoped whatever came next wouldn’t drag my parents into this mess.