Chapter 1: First Day's Are Always Memorable [01]

"-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.

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