Opposite the door is a large desk with several secretaries working away on their computers or talking on the phone. Seats are lining the left wall and at the far end is a door with a plaque on it stating it is the Headmaster's office.
“May I help you?” a woman behind the desk asks, directing my attention back to the secretaries hard at work.
“Yeah, hi, I’m Sophie Prescott, I’m new.”
“Ok, let me check our system and get your schedule for you.”
She taps away on her computer for several moments before frowning and turning her gaze back to me. “There is no Sophie Prescott in our system. Is it possible you were enrolled under a different name?”
I mentally roll my eyes as realisation dawns on me, “Try Sophie Montgomery”.
Typing in the new surname, “Ah yes, Sophie Montgomery. Your father enrolled you last week. We don’t usually allow late admissions, but given your circumstances, and a generous donation made by your father, exceptions were made. I am sorry for your loss, I can’t imagine what you and your father are going through right now - to lose a wife and a mother. Send your father my regards”.
“Emm, yeah thanks, will do.”
What is this woman going on about? She made it sound like Robert pretended to the school that his wife died, as though we had all been one big happy family before now.
I just know something more is going on with my father. I’ve spent my whole life learning to see through my mothers’ manipulations and lies; to read someone’s emotions with a single look. My father is a cold, manipulative narcissist who is hiding who he really is. I need to find out why, especially since whatever he’s up to has something to do with me.
“This is your welcome pack.” The secretary says, interrupting my thoughts and handing over a folder of documents. “There is a copy of your schedule along with your locker number and a map. Here is your lunch card which can be used in the lunchroom and at any of our coffee bars on campus. Your father has already put money on it and you will be notified when it runs low. The only thing that needs finalising are your extra-curricular activities. Your father didn’t tell us what your hobbies were.”
“I was thinking I would give track a try.”
“Okay, there are a few spaces left. Don’t you want to do anything else? Most of our students get involved in two or three activities outside of the classroom. Last year all of the students in our graduating year went on to Ivy League schools, and in order to achieve that you need to have a varied and diverse college application. It’s never too early to start preparing for your future.”
Is this woman for real? I’m seventeen years old, just lost my mum and I’ve been dumped in not only a new country but a whole new social class of people that I never ever expected to find myself amongst.
University has never been an option to me. I’m not even sure if it’s something I want to do. While universities at home are a fraction of the price of American colleges, I couldn’t afford to only work part time for three or four years. A school education would be sufficient enough to get me a decently paid full-time job that would enable me to look after myself without scrounging for every penny.
So, no, I’ve never entertained the notion of receiving a higher education, never mind going Ivy League. Is this how every child in Crescentwood is raised, to focus everything on getting into an Ivy League school? If so, we are not going to see eye to eye on much.
“Eh, yeah with everything going on at home right now, I think it’s best not to take on too much.” It’s not a total lie, she just doesn’t know that when I refer to ‘everything going on at home’, I’m not just referring to dealing with my mums’ death.
“Ok that’s understandable, hopefully, you will consider adding more to your schedule next semester. For now, you better get going, you don’t want to be late to homeroom”.
Thanking her, I leave the office and head in search of my locker before the bell rings. The halls are busier now with kids milling around getting stuff from their lockers and catching up with friends before the school day starts.
Fishing my locker number out of my welcome pack, I start the hunt for locker number 245. It takes a solid ten minutes of wandering around until I find the correct locker. All the while, looks, and whispers follow me around the hallways - I’m guessing there aren't many new kids that start in the middle of the semester here - but no one offers me any help or even a friendly smile. What a warm welcome.
Having finally found the right locker, I discover my next problem when I can’t get it opened. I'm banging on it and pulling on the handle when a body drops onto the locker door beside mine, causing me to jump.
Looking over, I see a gorgeous, tanned skin, blonde hair, blue eyed Adonis leaning against the locker with his arms crossed, showing off his large biceps and broad chest. What seventeen-year-old looks like this? I have to remember to close my mouth so I don't drool. The Adonis must know what’s going on in my head though, as a cocky smirk slowly spreads across his face, and, damn doesn’t that raise goosebumps over my arms and send heat through my veins.
“Vandalising school property already?" He asks in this mesmerizing, deep voice. Coming back to reality, I realise he has spoken to me.
"What?” I mumble distractedly, my brain taking its sweet time kicking into gear in the presence of this gorgeous specimen. “No, of course not, my locker is banjaxed.”
He gets this adorable wrinkle between his eyebrows as he looks at me in confusion, "It's what?"
"It's banjaxed, broken. It won’t open for me”.
"Well, why didn't you just say that? Here, let me give it a go," he offers, reaching out to grab hold of the handle. With a solid yank, the door pops open as though it was never stuck in the first place.
"Wow, thanks!” I exclaim knowing I would have been here all day trying to open the locker myself.
He gives me a smug look that would make anyone else look full of themselves, but makes this guy look hot as fuck. “I’m Barrett, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Sophie,” I respond, smiling seductively at him. They just don’t make guys like this back home. I’m no blushing wallflower and I sure as shit would climb him like a tree right now if we weren’t in public.
Leaning in closer to me, I can smell his aftershave, which smells like the open water and seaweed and makes me feel lightheaded, or maybe that’s just the increased rate of my heartbeat at his heady scent and nearness.
He leans in so he is whispering in my ear and I’ve all but stopped breathing at this point. Damn, my panties are soaked and it’s not even ten a.m. yet.
"Yes, Sophie Montgomery,” he whispers knowingly, “We know all about you Montgomerys,” sneering over the name Montgomery. “You better watch your back around here.”
With that cryptic statement, he strolls off down the hallway with his hands tucked in his trouser pockets as though he didn't just confuse the life out of me.
I quickly snap my jaw shut as a blush of embarrassment and anger crawls up my cheeks. What the hell was all that about? Does he know all about the Montgomerys? Well maybe he can enlighten me because I know nothing about Robert or his family.
They might make the boys here hot as fuck, but they sure as hell could do with a personality transplant. The bell rings, breaking me out of my thoughts. Crap, now I'm going to be late.