Xanthe Rivera. A troubled senior at his high school. When Xanthe gets himself in trouble after a stunt pulled with his friends, the principal gives him an ultimatum.
Ainsley Evans. A thirteen year old orphan who is badly bullied at school. Ainsley's...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
a. evans
The freakishly tall boy glared down at me and scowled.
I made a face in disappointment. It's not like he gives off a super friendly vibe but I didn't want to judge a book by its cover. So far though, this guy is looking like a big ole grump.
"Do you want to get to know each other?" I offer him. I figured he probably wasn't going to start this conversation on his own so I would have to suck it up and use what little social skills I have.
If it was even possible his glare grew harsher and his fists clenched tighter.
Well then.
"Ok." I say, slightly embarrassed and very uncomfortable. With that I turned on my heels and basically ran off to get my backpack. This was a mistake.
I was slipping my arm through the strap of my backpack when I heard thumping footsteps approach me and I nearly jumped out of my skin when a figure slumped down in the seat beside me.
"What's your favourite colour?" He asks me begrudgingly. My head snaps over and I see Xanthe sitting in the chair. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his hood was pulled up over his head so I could barely see his face.
At his question my a smile beamed from my face and dropped my bag to the ground to sit next to him.
"Yellow!" I say, looking down at my converse, a sudden burst of confidence striking my body. Yellow.
He looks down to where my eyes were looking at my shoes and his frown deepens. "Of course." He says as his eyes basically roll back into his head. My confidence wavers for a second before it deflates like a balloon at his next comment.
"What's your favourite colour?" I ask him back.
"I don't have one." He says abruptly.
I nearly flinch at his tone when he glares over at me, basically seething. How on earth did he decide he wanted to be a volunteer if he hates people so much? And does he ever stop harshly staring into your soul?
"Why?" I ask him, my hand basically shooting up to cover my mouth as soon as the words escaped me. Stupid. I wouldn't be surprised if a dagger came shooting out of his eye and pierced my heart.
"Because I don't." He says, putting on more of a neutral expression. Wasn't expecting that. Definitely thought I'd have my head chewed off and spit across the room.
"Birthday?" I ask him instead. He can't say he doesn't have a birthday. I'm a genius.
"August 23rd." He says swiftly, sounding a little uninterested in this conversation. I was too, but unfortunately for the both of us, we can't just leave. Sighing deeply I sunk into my chair, wishing I was anywhere else right now.
