“Allie Heywood?”

            I raised my head from my table, blinking at an unfamiliar young man with shaggy black hair staring at me. It wasn’t an unusual sight. All morning people had been gaping at me. Paul had failed to notify me that almost all the students in the senior class had been together since freshman year, so adding me to the mix was like adding a Tyrannosaurs rex to a zoo. “Yes?”

            “This was delivered to the main office for you,” the stranger informed me, holding out a white envelope.

            Taking it from him, I frowned, turning it over in my hand. Who would be delivering something for me? The only person I knew around here was Paul, and he was at work. “Huh.”

            “What?” Aspen asked, turning her head to look at me. “You got mail?”

            We were currently in our third period painting class, but since it was only the first day our teacher, a rather young looking man named Clayton West, had only assigned us the task of creating giant folders to hold our projects in throughout the year. Instead of desks, there were four-person tables, so luckily there was a little more workspace to make them at. At mine, there was Aspen, her two friends Jake and Oliver, and myself.

             The two boys sitting with us were ridiculously cute. Oliver had naturally black hair that curled at the ends a little, and a pretty set of dark green eyes. Jake was the opposite. His hair was dirty blonde matched with a pair of hazel colored eyes. Both boys were slender and muscular, this being attributed to the fact they were on the school’s soccer team. While Jake participated in the saxophone section, Oliver entered the guitar one.

            “I don’t know what it is,” I responded, sliding my finger under the flap. The first thing that met my sight was a twenty-dollar bill.

            “Jack pot!” Oliver cried, leaning forward to steal my envelope from me.

            Aspen slapped his hand away. “Leave it alone, Oli!”

            “Boo,” he complained, mocking a pout.

            Taking out the money, I found a sticky-note in it as well.

Here’s some lunch money— Paul.

            “Who’s Paul?” Aspen inquired.

            “My guardian,” I told her, frowning at the twenty. The point of me saying I had money was so he wouldn’t give me his. Now I felt bad.

            “Guardian?” Jake echoed. “You don’t live with your parents?”

            “Jake! Mind your own business!” Aspen chastised him.

            I smiled, waving her down. “It’s fine. No, I don’t live with my parents. I live with their friend’s son because he lives closer to this school than they do.”

            “Is he cute?”

            “Ah… I guess?”

            Aspen giggled. “I’d like to meet him then.”

            I smiled. “Sure. You can come over some time. Well, I’d have to ask him, but I’m sure he’d be okay with it.”

            “Okay!” Oliver said excitedly. “Party at the new girl’s house—”

            Jake elbowed him in the side. “Don’t spread rumors, Oli.”

            “Yeah, no parties,” I added with a grin. “His house is worth more than a hundred times my life.”

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