Chapter Two – The New Boy
The Monday after another sleepless night felt heavier than most. I hadn't really slept at all—just tossed and turned, drifting in and out of restless dreams where I kept chasing shadows that never turned into my father. By the time the alarm clock screamed, my body ached like I'd run a marathon in my sleep.
Still, I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on the navy blazer of Saint William's High, and went through the motions. Tie, books, hair pulled back in a careless ponytail. Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back: hollow eyes, pale skin, lips that rarely remembered how to smile.
The mansion was quiet as always. Mom had already left for her spa; she rarely saw me off to school anymore. Just the clinking of the maid tidying up and the hum of silence pressing into my ears. I picked at toast, abandoned it, and slipped outside to wait for the black car that dropped me at school every morning.
Saint William's High looked pristine as always when I arrived, its red-brick buildings rising proudly under the September sun. Perfectly trimmed hedges, polished hallways, students in uniforms moving in swarms like honeybees. For everyone else, it was just another Monday. For me, it was another day pretending I belonged.
The whispers followed me as soon as I stepped through the doors. They always did.
"That's her—Laurence Daisy."
"The one whose dad… you know."
"Bet she knows more than she's saying."
I forced myself not to flinch. If I gave them nothing, maybe the rumors would die someday.
I headed straight for Literature class—my safe corner of the day. Books had always been my escape. Between their pages, I could almost forget the weight of my father's absence. Almost.
Sliding into my usual seat by the window, I let the sunlight spill across my desk. Outside, the football team was warming up, laughter and shouts carrying faintly through the glass. For a brief moment, I thought I might survive this day unnoticed.
Then the classroom door creaked open.
Mrs. Harris walked in, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Behind her, a boy followed, tall and lean, carrying himself like he owned the hallway he'd just walked through. His dark hair fell across his forehead, his eyes sharp and searching as though the world amused him.
"Class," Mrs. Harris announced, "we have a new student joining us. Adrian Cole. Please make him feel welcome."
I felt the shift instantly. The girls in the front row straightened, whispers sparking like static. A new boy was rare at Saint William's, especially one who looked like he'd stepped out of some glossy teen drama.
But Adrian didn't smile nervously, or stumble through an introduction. Instead, his gaze swept across the room—calm, measured, like he was cataloging faces. And then it stopped. On me.
It lasted barely a second, but I felt it like a spotlight. I stiffened, dropping my eyes to my desk, praying Mrs. Harris wouldn't—
"Mr. Cole," she said brightly, "take the seat beside Miss Laurence."
Of course.
He crossed the room with unhurried strides, slid into the chair next to mine, and leaned back like he'd been sitting there all his life. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and fresh paper. When he turned his head, a crooked half-smile curved his lips.
"So you're Laurence Daisy," he murmured, just low enough for me to hear.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing," he said, flipping open his notebook. "Just… heard about you."
My stomach dropped. Heard what? The missing father, the broken family, the whispers of scandal? The pity or the mockery—take your pick. My chest tightened, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Mrs. Harris launched into Shakespeare, her voice a steady drone. Normally, I loved losing myself in the rhythm of words, but I couldn't stop noticing Adrian out of the corner of my eye. He wasn't taking notes. He was sketching in his notebook—quick, confident strokes of a pen, like he was capturing something just out of sight.
"Miss Laurence?" Mrs. Harris's voice cut through my thoughts. "What would you say is Macbeth's greatest flaw?"
All eyes turned toward me. My throat felt dry, but I answered, "Ambition. Blind ambition that destroys everything he loves."
"Interesting," Mrs. Harris said. "Adrian? Do you agree?"
I turned, startled. His pen stilled. He lifted his gaze, slow and deliberate, until his dark eyes locked onto mine.
"Not exactly," he said. "I think his flaw isn't ambition—it's weakness. He let others control him. If he were stronger, he'd never have fallen."
Murmurs rippled across the class. Mrs. Harris smiled, delighted.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "What do you think, Daisy? Ambition, or weakness?"
The way he said my name—like a challenge, like he knew it would make me bristle—ignited something in me. I narrowed my eyes.
"Ambition," I said firmly. "Because he chose it. Weakness would have been an excuse."
For a moment, neither of us looked away. The air between us thickened, sharp with something I couldn't name.
Mrs. Harris clapped her hands. "Excellent! Our new student has found his rival already."
The class chuckled. Heat flared in my cheeks, but Adrian only smirked, as if he'd won something.
The rest of the period dragged in a haze. Every time I tried to focus on Shakespeare, I caught him glancing my way, pen tapping against his notebook, that maddening half-smile tugging at his mouth.
When the bell finally rang, the room exploded into chatter. I shoved my books into my bag, desperate to escape. But Adrian didn't move. He packed slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world.
"You're not what I expected," he said, breaking the silence.
I froze halfway out of my chair. "What were you expecting?"
He tilted his head, studying me with eyes that felt far too observant. "Someone quieter."
The words hit harder than they should have. He knew. He saw through me.
Before I could respond, he slung his bag over his shoulder and sauntered out, leaving me rattled.
At lunch, I sat with Claire and Mia, my only two friends who hadn't abandoned me after Dad vanished. They chattered about the new boy like he was the second coming of prom royalty.
"He's cute," Mia giggled. "And bold. Did you see him arguing with Mrs. Harris? Who does that on the first day?"
"Laurence did," Claire teased, nudging me.
I rolled my eyes. "It wasn't an argument. It was a debate."
"A debate dripping with chemistry," Mia sang.
I stabbed my salad, refusing to meet their knowing smiles. Chemistry? No. Just irritation. Just a boy who thought he could read me like a book.
And yet… I couldn't shake the heat of his gaze.
By the time last period ended, I thought I'd made it through the day. But fate—or maybe Mrs. Harris's cruel sense of humor—had other plans.
"Laurence, Adrian," she called as the class packed up, "I'm assigning partners for the semester project. You two will work together."
My stomach plummeted. Adrian's smirk widened.
"Looks like we're stuck with each other," he said.
I wanted to groan. Instead, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and said, "Fine. Just don't slow me down."
For some reason, that only made him grin wider.
That night, lying in my too-big bed, I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess. I told myself I hated Adrian Cole—his arrogance, his smirk, the way he'd pinned me with those sharp, unflinching eyes.
But deep down, beneath the anger, was something else. A spark.
And sparks, I knew, could burn.