I've always suffered from this horribly disadvantageous condition—it's called being directionally challenged. It's self-diagnosed of course, but I'm almost positive it's an actual thing, so it's not really my fault that I'm having trouble navigating this maze known as King City High School.
The warning bell rings and animal-like students scramble from their assembled groups and lockers and head to class. Shit. I'm going to be late and I still have no idea where my first class is. It doesn't help that I can only walk so fast since I hurt myself a few weeks back, and that injury is still healing.
When I got here this morning, the curt secretary sent me off with no more than a map and dismissive "Good luck." Starting a new school a month and a half into first semester is hard enough— having my face planted in a map would just scream New girl, eat me alive!, not to mention trash my plan to get through senior year without drawing too much attention to myself. Not that I'd be able to read the map anyway. As I said: directionally challenged.
Pulling out my schedule again, I see that the name printed at the top reads Amelia Collins. It's a pretty name this time, but it'll still take some getting used to.
I reread the room number that I've already committed to memory, as if reading it again might magically transport me to it. Glancing at my brand new cell phone, I huff out an aggravated breath as I realize I only have five minutes to get to class before I'm late.
"Screw it," I mutter as I rush aimlessly down the hall while searching my shoulder bag for the school map—I really hate being late.
Not really paying attention to where I'm going, I'm blindsided by a group of giant walking trees slash teenage boys. They're talking and joking among themselves—walking through the halls as if they own the whole school. Without slowing down, I hug close to one wall, and reach into my bag to grab my map. Instantly, I'm thrown back as I collide with an outcrop of bricks, stopping just short of falling on my butt. Who designs a stupid wall to stick out like that?
My belongings have poured out everywhere, and I grab them hastily before quickly turning around, only to come face to face with something both hard and human, if the colorful curses are any indication. My stuff crashes onto the floor again as the pain in my ribs intensifies.
Great. Just freaking great.
"Are you blind? Can't you see I was walking here?" a voice growls.
My eyes meet the agitated gray ones of the most breathtakingly gorgeous guy I have ever seen. He's a member of the walking trees I saw before—tall with broad shoulders, a scowl plastered on his face.
His attitude sucks. He was equally at fault, if not more, since the skyscrapers had to walk in a horizontal line in the hall, but I seriously don't want to draw any more attention to myself.
"I am so sorry." I apologize as we bend down to retrieve our belongings.
"Is your brain not able to communicate to your legs where you can and can't walk? If you didn't notice, there was someone in front of you, which means you move out of their way," he shoots back as he stands up with his binder.
A small crowd is gathered around us, clearly interested in seeing the poor girl stupid enough to incur the wrath of this intolerant jerk.
Think first, Amelia. Don't say something stupid. You're supposed to keep your head down and get through the year unnoticed.
"Sorry. I'm new and really don't know where I'm going." I stand up with my now-collected belongings and push my strawberry blond hair out of my face. "You wouldn't happen to know where room 341 is, would you?"
"You're new, not blind. Don't use excuses to cover up your stupidity. Get out of my sight while I'm still being nice," he scoffs, and runs a hand through his blond hair.
This is him being nice? Bemused faces of the other walking trees and the larger assembling crowd surround me, and I'm doing the exact opposite of blending in. Not wanting to stand out any more, I contain my anger and don't even glance at him as I stride by.
"Oh look, she does have some good ideas in that otherwise useless brain of hers," I hear him say to his friends, like being a jerk is part of his genetic build.
That's it. I turn and walk back to him, looking straight up and into his gray eyes with my narrowed hazel ones.
"Oh, I guess her brain is a hundred percent useless after all," he says to his friends.
He bends down to match my full height, three inches taller than usual thanks to my gorgeous tan wedges, and looks me straight in the eyes, talking as though he was speaking to a toddler.
"Do you need me to draw you a map of how to get the fuck out of my face?" he slowly asks, putting emphasis on the curse.
"No, thank you," I say evenly and calmly. "But I can draw you a map, so when I tell you to go to hell, you'll know exactly where to go."
Everyone standing in the now-crowded hall takes an audible inhale and stops breathing as they absorb the scene. By the looks of this stunned blond asshole and his friends, it seems like no one has ever said anything that daring to him before.
He gets up really close to my face and growls, "Now you listen to me, you little—"
"No, you listen to me asshole," I say calmly. "First of all, get out of my face, your breath stinks from all the crap that spews out of your mouth. Second, your dick belongs to your body, not in your personality,"—I push him out of my personal space— "so I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and realize that you're not the only person in the damn school. Maybe if you and your walking skyscrapers didn't bulldoze down the hall in a straight line people wouldn't have to dive out of your path to avoid destruction. I'm sorry if someone pissed in your Froot Loops this morning, but please do us all a favor and check your issues at the door. Finding a hobby or going to group therapy could really help you with your social problems. So thanks for the friendly welcome to your school, but I'd like to get to class now."
The hallway is hushed still and quiet. Blondie looks completely stupefied.
His friends are laughing—like, out-of-breath-gasping-for-air cackling. These other mountains are all just as breathtakingly gorgeous as asshole number one. The late bell rings. Great. I'm late for class.
Confident that my point was made and this jerk face was properly put in his place, I spin on my heel so my hair hits him on the shoulder and walk through the parting crowd, leaving him steaming.
"Oh my God, she so told you, Aiden! That was hilarious!" one of his gorgeous friends says through bursts of laughter.
So, the jerk's name is Aiden. It's a shame really that such a pretty name and face is wasted on such an ugly personality. So much for going unnoticed; I have a feeling everyone is going to have something to say about me after this. Well, at least I look cute in my skirt and heels.
Now that the entertainment is over, the crowd departs. As I strut down the hallway and turn a corner, I realize that I still have no idea where the hell I'm going. Taking a minute to collect myself, I check to see if maybe there's someone left who might know where to find my classroom.
Anxious at the best of times, hearing rather large and determined footsteps stomping behind me catches me off guard, and then I'm suddenly turned around and hoisted up and over Aiden's shoulder. With my face planted firmly against his back, my butt in the air over his shoulder, and my bag hooked through his arm, he takes off down the hallway.
"What the hell are you doing? Put me down right now!" I yell. Aiden's stride doesn't slow, and he chuckles beneath me, the bastard. I strain my neck to see the bemused faces of two of the three gorgeous tree friends who were with him in the hall.
"Can't you two talk some sense into him?!"
"Sorry, babe," the one with short brown hair and chocolate-colored eyes yells back at me with a grin of thorough amusement. "Skyscrapers aren't much for talking."
I can't help but see that Aiden really does have a very nice back. His muscles are noticeable under his tight, but not too tight, plain black T-shirt. We round a corner and I'm met by the curious gazes of some people still in the halls—they clearly have no desire to help me either.
Pain shoots through the left side of my chest. Shit. Running into the wall, followed by the very muscular Aiden hoisting me up, coupled with this uncomfortable position is not good. The pain spreads. I have to get down before I make things worse.
"Listen, bud. I'm sorry about what I said before," I lie. "But kidnapping people is not the way to deal with your problems."
He adjusts my body, causing a burst of pain in my ribs. Without even slowing his pace, he runs up a flight of stairs. Man, this guy is like the Energizer Bunny, not even tiring once. I'm having trouble breathing. "Please," I gasp. "Put me down and we can talk this out."
He ignores me and continues his unwavering stride.
"Can you just let me go gentl—"
Aiden abruptly stops moving and deposits me on the floor.
I look up at him, the wind knocked out of me. The left side of my ribs are on fire—yup, I hurt them again.
"Room 341," he says, dropping my bag beside me and turning to leave the now-deserted hallway.
Dazed, I try to get up but pain shoots up my left side, forcing me back down to the floor. This isn't going to end well. Determined not to lie on this gross floor a second longer, I try again, but the pain spreads through my chest. Sprawled on the floor, I'm incapable of moving. Damn it. Looks like this isn't going to be my first day after all.
I've hurt my ribs three times now, which is less than ideal. Reaching into my bag beside me, I fish around for my phone and pull it out. My mom ignores my first call. Typical. The second time she answers on the third ring. "Hello? Haile—I mean Amelia?"
"Hey. I think I hurt my ribs again. I'm going to drive myself to the hospital. I'm only letting you know so you don't freak out and think the worst when the school calls saying I didn't show up for class even though I was here today," I say from my position on the floor.
She sighs as if she's wondering how I managed to screw up on my first day of school. "How did that happen? You need to be more careful. He's still out there and this isn't ove—"
"I know. It doesn't matter. I'm just letting you know." Even talking hurts. "I'll call you when I get the—" My voice cuts off when the pain becomes too much.
"Amelia? You can't drive yourself." I try to ignore the hint of annoyance creeping into her tone. "I'll come pick you up from school—I'll be there soon. In the meantime, try not to draw even more attention to yourself."
"Okay, I'll meet you in the parking lot."
Hanging up the phone, I shove it back into my bag. Staring up at the ceiling, I think of the most logical way of getting up.
"Okay, Amelia. You have three broken and two bruised ribs healing—you got through it the first time, you can do it again." I psych myself up.
Bending my legs at the knees, I pull off my heels and shove them into my bag. Before I can change my mind, I quickly roll from my right side onto my stomach, careful to avoid making my left side touch anything.
With my arm through the strap of my shoulder bag so I can avoid having to bend down and get it later, I place my arms near my head in push-up position and use my knees at the same time. Getting my feet underneath me, I stand up carefully and lean against the lockers.
"Great, you're up. Now you have to find the damn exit from this maze-school," I say to myself.
I'm trying to get my bearings when my eyes lock with a pair of familiar chocolate-brown ones. Shit. How long has he been here? Aiden's brown-haired friend who remembered my skyscraper line is standing beside an open locker, staring at me. The dirty blond-haired member of the walking trees is beside him, eyes wide and unblinking. Swallowing my pride and refusing to show weakness, I break my gaze and walk in the opposite direction.
"The exit's the other way." A hesitant voice calls from behind me—it's the dirty blond.
Damn broken internal compass.
"How much did you see?" I ask as I make my way toward them.
"Well, pretty much everything since Aiden turned and left you," he answers hesitantly.
Great, so all of it.
"And it didn't occur to either of you to help the girl lying on the floor in pain?"
That snaps them out of their stupor. The brown-eyed one quickly closes his locker, and they rush toward me.
"I don't need your help now!" I exclaim, wincing from the pain and causing them to freeze in their tracks.
"Are you sure you don't need our help?" asks the brown-haired one with a smirk.
Cocky bastard, way to kick a girl while she's down. It didn't help that they both look like male models, and now I look like I was dragged through a restaurant's dumpster. I'm about to tell him where to go, but my breathing starts to get worse, and I realize I still didn't even know how to get to the parking lot to meet my mom.
I take a deep breath. "Can you point the way to the parking lot, please?"
"We'll help you there," says the blond.
"Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Nah," he says. "We're in this class with you. It's the most boring thing ever, and this is much more interesting."
"Glad my misery can break up the dull monotony of your day," I say dryly.
"Damn, I didn't mean it like that," he says sheepishly, moving to my left to put my arm over his shoulder as the brunet does the same on my right side.
"Ow!" I exclaim to blondie as the pain pulses through my side. "That's the side that hurts, just leave it."
"Shit, sorry," he says as we make our way down the hall painfully slowly, blondie in front and my right arm around the brown-haired model, who is helping me walk.
"Screw this," the guy my arm is slung over mutters. He stops walking and scoops me up bridal style into his tanned, muscled arms, and starts walking again.
"Noah, get her bag and open the doors for us," he says, clearly tired of our slow descent.
Grateful for not being on my feet anymore, I hold my tongue uncharacteristically, too tired and in too much pain to argue. We get to a pair of heavy-looking doors that lead outside to the parking lot. Noah holds them open as we walk through, and I shield my eyes from the sudden blinding sunlight as I look for my mom.
"You can put me down now; my mother should be here soon." He sets me on my feet but keeps an arm around me, making no move to leave. "You don't have to wait with me."
"We can't leave you standing here alone, right?" Noah says, taking a seat on the concrete steps and looking at his friend, who nods in agreement.
"Aren't you guys going to get in trouble for ditching school?" I ask curiously.
"Nah. I'm Mason, by the way." He smiles and helps me sit down on the step. "And you've met Noah. You are?"
"Amelia," I reply.
The ache in my chest hasn't let up, and although I don't want to admit it, I'm kind of glad they're keeping me company.
"You know," Noah starts hesitantly, glancing at me with pale-green eyes, "Aiden's really not a bad guy. He didn't know he'd hurt you."
"If he knew you were healing from broken ribs already, he wouldn't have picked you up. It's just guys fooling around, you know? He'd never intentionally hurt anyone, especially not someone smaller than him."
I really wish they hadn't heard me talking to myself in the hall.
"He seemed perfectly fine tearing an innocent girl to shreds verbally. And from what I can tell, it seems like it's not the first time," I reply.
"He doesn't do it often—he's easily aggravated and having a rough time right now. Plus, he was in a really bad mood this morning, so naturally he snapped at the first thing that gave him a reason—you," Noah says, as if this is a perfectly acceptable excuse.
"Besides, you handled yourself amazingly. Watching you tell him off was by far the best thing I've ever seen." Mason smiles.
"Really?" I ask cautiously.
"Seriously. The drawing him a map to hell? Priceless! And did you see his face when you told him how to fix his problems?" Noah laughs.
"My personal favorite part was when she told him where his dick belongs." Mason winks at me.
"You guys aren't mad at me for what I said?"
"What? The comment about how we're walking skyscrapers that bulldoze down the halls and destroy everything in our path?" Noah asks with a cute smirk.
"Something like that," I murmur.
"Nah, it was funny, plus totally worth seeing someone other than us rip on Aiden. Especially a teensy little girl like you," Mason replies with a chuckle.
"I was getting sick of listening to his bullshit," I say.
"He isn't a bad guy, really." Noah chuckles. "And he'd feel horrible if he knew he's the reason you're going to the hospital right now."
"It's not his fault, I'm not mad at him. Annoyed by his attitude, sure, but I get that he didn't mean to hurt me," I confess. "If my ribs were normal, I would've just gotten up, gone to class, and called him a slew of bad words the next time I saw him in the hall.
"Plus, I'd rather this stay between us," I tell the two gorgeous boys beside me. "No one needs to know about my injuries, okay?"
The boys share a look, and Noah studies me. "How did you break, what was it, three ribs? And bruise another three?"
"Broke three, bruised two," I say, purposely not answering his question.
"Right, so how'd it happen? The classic singing in the shower and then slipping?" Mason jokes.
Memories of that dreadful night make me shiver, and I think about the dead, brown eyes that still haunt me—he's the reason I had to move states, again.
"No, honestly, I'm just accident-prone," I say, trying to get them to drop it.
"That must have been a pretty bad klutz moment," Noah chuckles.
My mom pulls up in front of us, sparing me from having to respond. The disapproving look on her face makes me immediately tense. Crap, I should've fought harder to make these boys go to class. I'm going to get a lecture from my mother now. All five foot four of her gets out of the car, and she lifts her sunglasses to the top of her head, pushing back her shoulder-length brown hair as she glares at Mason and Noah. "Thanks for helping her, boys, but I can take it from here. Get back to class."
They look at each other hesitantly, but I reassure them that I'm fine, and thank them for keeping me company.
"Really, Amelia?" my mom says as she tears out of the school parking lot, her fingers tight on the steering wheel.
"It's not what it looks like."
"It better not be. Do you really want to move again?"
I grind my teeth to stop myself from shouting at her. I know. I know all of this. I don't need her to remind me.
"No."
"Then remember what you promised. No boyfriends. No social media. No teams or clubs. You're allowed to go to the gym and practice your jujitsu. I can't stop you from making friends, but you need to be responsible."
We're silent for the rest of the ride to the hospital. I know what needs to be done. I have to keep my head down, at all costs.