1
I’ve always suffered from this horribly disadvantageous condition—it’s called being directionally challenged. It’s self-diagnosed of course, but I’m almost positive it’s an actual thing, so it’s not really my fault that I’m having trouble navigating this maze known as King City High School.
The warning bell rings and animal-like students scramble from their assembled groups and lockers and head to class. Shit. I’m going to be late and I still have no idea where my first class is. It doesn’t help that I can only walk so fast since I hurt myself a few weeks back, and that injury is still healing.
When I got here this morning, the curt secretary sent me off with no more than a map and dismissive “Good luck.” Starting a new school a month and a half into first semester is hard enough—having my face planted in a map would just scream New girl, eat me alive!, not to mention trash my plan to get through senior year without drawing too much attention to myself. Not that I’d be able to read the map anyway. As I said: directionally challenged.
Pulling out my schedule again, I see that the name printed at the top reads Amelia Collins. It’s a pretty name this time, but it’ll still take some getting used to.
I reread the room number that I’ve already committed to memory, as if reading it again might magically transport me to it. Glancing at my brand new cell phone, I huff out an aggravated breath as I realize I only have five minutes to get to class before I’m late.
“Screw it,” I mutter as I rush aimlessly down the hall while searching my shoulder bag for the school map—I really hate being late.
Not really paying attention to where I’m going, I’m blindsided by a group of giant walking trees slash teenage boys. They’re talking and joking among themselves—walking through the halls as if they own the whole school. Without slowing down, I hug close to one wall, and reach into my bag to grab my map. Instantly, I’m thrown back as I collide with an outcrop of bricks, stopping just short of falling on my butt. Who designs a stupid wall to stick out like that?
My belongings have poured out everywhere, and I grab them hastily before quickly turning around, only to come face to face with something both hard and human, if the colorful curses are any indication. My stuff crashes onto the floor again as the pain in my ribs intensifies.
Great. Just freaking great.
“Are you blind? Can’t you see I was walking here?” a voice growls.
My eyes meet the agitated gray ones of the most breathtakingly gorgeous guy I have ever seen. He’s a member of the walking trees I saw before—tall with broad shoulders, a scowl plastered on his face.
His attitude sucks. He was equally at fault, if not more, since the skyscrapers had to walk in a horizontal line in the hall, but I seriously don’t want to draw any more attention to myself.
“I am so sorry.” I apologize as we bend down to retrieve our belongings.
“Is your brain not able to communicate to your legs where you can and can’t walk? If you didn’t notice, there was someone in front of you, which means you move out of their way,” he shoots back as he stands up with his binder.
A small crowd is gathered around us, clearly interested in seeing the poor girl stupid enough to incur the wrath of this intolerant jerk.
Think first, Amelia. Don’t say something stupid. You’re supposed to keep your head down and get through the year unnoticed.
“Sorry. I’m new and really don’t know where I’m going.” I stand up with my now-collected belongings and push my strawberry blond hair out of my face. “You wouldn’t happen to know where room 341 is, would you?”
“You’re new, not blind. Don’t use excuses to cover up your stupidity. Get out of my sight while I’m still being nice,” he scoffs, and runs a hand through his blond hair.
This is him being nice? Bemused faces of the other walking trees and the larger assembling crowd surround me, and I’m doing the exact opposite of blending in. Not wanting to stand out any more, I contain my anger and don’t even glance at him as I stride by.
“Oh look, she does have some good ideas in that otherwise useless brain of hers,” I hear him say to his friends, like being a jerk is part of his genetic build.
That’s it. I turn and walk back to him, looking straight up and into his gray eyes with my narrowed hazel ones.
“Oh, I guess her brain is a hundred percent useless after all,” he says to his friends.
He bends down to match my full height, three inches taller than usual thanks to my gorgeous tan wedges, and looks me straight in the eyes, talking as though he was speaking to a toddler.
“Do you need me to draw you a map of how to get the fuck out of my face?” he slowly asks, putting emphasis on the curse.
“No, thank you,” I say evenly and calmly. “But I can draw you a map, so when I tell you to go to hell, you’ll know exactly where to go.”
Everyone standing in the now-crowded hall takes an audible inhale and stops breathing as they absorb the scene. By the looks of this stunned blond asshole and his friends, it seems like no one has ever said anything that daring to him before.
He gets up really close to my face and growls, “Now you listen to me, you little—”
“No, you listen to me asshole,” I say calmly. “First of all, get out of my face, your breath stinks from all the crap that spews out of your mouth. Second, your dick belongs to your body, not in your personality,”—I push him out of my personal space—“so I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and realize that you’re not the only person in the damn school. Maybe if you and your walking skyscrapers didn’t bulldoze down the hall in a straight line people wouldn’t have to dive out of your path to avoid destruction. I’m sorry if someone pissed in your Froot Loops this morning, but please do us all a favor and check your issues at the door. Finding a hobby or going to group therapy could really help you with your social problems. So thanks for the friendly welcome to your school, but I’d like to get to class now.”
The hallway is hushed still and quiet. Blondie looks completely stupefied.
His friends are laughing—like, out-of-breath-gasping-for-air cackling. These other mountains are all just as breathtakingly gorgeous as asshole number one. The late bell rings. Great. I’m late for class.
Confident that my point was made and this jerk face was properly put in his place, I spin on my heel so my hair hits him on the shoulder and walk through the parting crowd, leaving him steaming.
“Oh my God, she so told you, Aiden! That was hilarious!” one of his gorgeous friends says through bursts of laughter.
So, the jerk’s name is Aiden. It’s a shame really that such a pretty name and face is wasted on such an ugly personality. So much for going unnoticed; I have a feeling everyone is going to have something to say about me after this. Well, at least I look cute in my skirt and heels.
Now that the entertainment is over, the crowd departs. As I strut down the hallway and turn a corner, I realize that I still have no idea where the hell I’m going. Taking a minute to collect myself, I check to see if maybe there’s someone left who might know where to find my classroom.
Anxious at the best of times, hearing rather large and determined footsteps stomping behind me catches me off guard, and then I’m suddenly turned around and hoisted up and over Aiden’s shoulder. With my face planted firmly against his back, my butt in the air over his shoulder, and my bag hooked through his arm, he takes off down the hallway.