They lean back, scrolling through the multitude of photos they just snapped. “Do you think it works? Maybe we should take it again?”
Tristan blows out a breath through pursed lips. He’s fallen for this before, thinking these are the people he needs to integrate with. It wasted days when they could’ve been moving onto the next school.
These guys are the Fringe Group. The Wannabes, the Second-in-Line. The Popular Clique would never question their selfies. Even if they hated it they know you don’t show that sort of insecurity right on the front steps of the school.
The Popular Clique knows you look like you’re having fun. Always.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Tristan leans against a concrete column. If he’s found the Fringe group, then it’s only a matter of time. The next part is inevitable.
It happens only a second later. The glance, the cute little wave. The frantic patting down of hair.
They’re here.
The group is smaller than he’s seen in other schools, but then again, Mirror Point High is one of the smaller places they’ve been to. Generally, Zarius and Tess prefer to hit the bigger schools. More butts for your buck as Zarius likes to say. Tess doesn’t bother to correct him anymore—“bang, Zarius, we’re not buying backsides!”— because they get the gist. More teens to check out in one location.
But desperate times mean desperate measures.
Three of them—two boys, one girl—are waiting at the end of the pavement beside the parking lot. A girl sashays towards them, pressing the button of a remote over her shoulder as a silver Mercedes flashes its indicator lights behind her.
A blonde girl.
Holy pitch. The blonde girl.
She joins the others, rolling her eyes and laughing at something they said. “I know. I never would’ve got the smell of poor out if she’d hit.”
They walk past him, secure in their knowledge they’re lords of this kingdom. Tristan’s heart is hammering. It’s the girl from his vision. Less bruised, far more conscious, but definitely the same girl.
The thought flashes through his mind before he can stop it. Could she be a Zodiac Heir?
Could she be the Gemini Twin?
Shaking his head and telling himself to get a grip, Tristan picks up his books. Just because the girl was in a vision doesn’t make her one of them.
But it does mean he needs to find out more about her. Especially if her life could be at stake.
Good thing he’s done this a gazillion times before.
Falling behind them, Tristan flicks up his collar.
One of the guys, tall with shoulders almost the width of the stairs, throws a small red ball up into the air and catches it again. “Coach reckons I can go from defense to offense next game.”
The other girl, sleek black hair and caramel skin, scoffs out a laugh. “You said that last week.”
The blonde girl is absorbed in her cell, not even noticing when one of the Fringe girls waves. She’s frowning as she chews on a fake nail that perfectly matches her pink skirt.
The big guy throws the ball against the wall, above the head of one of the Outcasts as he tries to slink through the door. The Outcast flinches but doesn’t bother to turn around or look. The guy catches it, grinning. “Yeah, well, he saw me when I got that fast break.”
Tristan comes up beside him as they enter the school. “You were trying to get an unsettled clear? That ain’t easy.”
The guy turns around, frowning when he doesn’t recognize Tristan. “Ah, you play lacrosse?”
“Nah, just prefer it to football.”
The dude’s eyebrows hike up like they usually do. It’s always one of the two—football or lacrosse. You figure out the school sport, find the jock, and you’re in.
They’re outside the lockers and the guy slows to a stop. The others crowd around him, except for the blonde. She’s still glued to her cell.
The big guy grins. “People think football’s rough.”
Tristan rolls his eyes. “I’ve never seen a guy knocked for a loop in football like I have in lacrosse.” If this were a different school Tristan would be swapping the sports around. “Although it’s not all brawn. You need brains, and a mean throwing arm.”
“Damn straight you do.” The guy flicks the ball above the lockers, angling it so it comes straight at Tristan.
Even if he wasn’t expecting it, Tristan’s reflexes have been honed from years of training with Zarius. Considering Skins can go invisible, a lot of it’s been done with a blindfold.
You can tell a lot from the sound of rubber hitting brick, from the schlurp of the ball collapsing in on itself, the crack as it recoils.
Tristan doesn’t need to look to catch the ball as it comes straight at his head. His hand darts up and the ball lands in his palm with a slap.
The smart ones test you. That’s good.
The smart ones have all the info.
The big guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa!”
He says it loud enough that several others turn around to see what’s going on. Tristan grins at each curious face, not minding the attention. The more people he can smile at, the more people will be happy to talk to him.
What’s more, it gets the blonde’s attention.
She looks up from her phone, an irritated frown marring her smooth skin, glancing around to see what the fuss is. Her eyes skim Tristan, registering he’s no one she knows, and she goes to look away. As a general rule, the Popular Clique doesn't give the common student the time of day.
But then she stops. Her eyes dart back to Tristan.
His grin expands as he gives her a short, jaunty wave.
Her eyes widen, vivid blue seeming to dominate her face, but she quickly recovers. She scans Tristan from head to toe, a slight challenge in the assessing tilt of her chin. Being easy on the eye has its advantages…
Tristan waits, deciding he likes her already. She’s got qualities a guy would like and she knows it. When her eyes return to his, he nods. “Hey, I’m Tristan.”
He leaves a question mark at the end. Knowing the blonde girl’s name is the first step.
Her pink lips tip up. “Cassandra. First day, huh?”
“Sure is. Was hoping someone could translate this for me.” He holds up a slip of paper with his schedule. From what he can tell, he has English first. It’s finding someone to sit with that’s the goal.
She steps in close, her eyes twinkling. Plucking it from his hands, she puckers her lips as she scans it. “Advanced English first.” She looks up and Tristan registers her perfume—floral yet spicy. “With me.”
He arches a brow. “Now that’s lucky.”
Before Cassandra can answer, a solid thwump hits Tristan between the shoulder blades. “The name’s Zayn. And our team is always looking for reserves…”
Bingo. Tristan is now in.
He absorbs the slap, knowing it was supposed to put him off balance. “Depends. What do people do for kicks around here?”
Zayn slams his locker shut. “Play lacrosse, obviously.”
The dark-haired girl rolls her eyes. “Watch Netflix while your parents think you’re studying. My name’s Suki, by the way.”
Cassandra leans in a little closer. “Go down to the local fro-yo cafe—Creamy Dreams.”
“Cool name,” Tristan states with an arched brow. He turns to Zayn, holding his hands up in apology. “Sorry man, fro-yo will win out every time.”