I pound on the bathroom door for the hundredth time. "Alec! Get out!"
My insides clench uncomfortably as I clamp my hands to my crotch. I need to pee, and I need to pee now. But, of course, stupid Alec has decided to lock himself in the bathroom doing what I presume most teenage boys like to do.
Eww! My subconscious groans. That is beyond gross.
I am still in my sleeping gown, hair unkempt, breath stale and reeking, and, to top it all of, I am most likely going to be late for class. It won't be so bad for Alec if he is late, considering he is new, but not me. Abruptly, I remember I have History first period with Mr. Sell. Or, as his reputation has deemed him, Mr. Hell. Mr. Sell is the kind of guy who gives students a month's worth detention for chewing gum in lesson.
With renewed panic, I pound on the bathroom door even harder. "Hurry up!"
Finally, Alec opens up, and a cloud of water vapour travels out with him. He wears nothing but a towel draped round his waist. The annoyed expression I have on freezes upon my face, alongside any coherent thought I've been having. For a lean guy, he is muscled, completely equipped with a six pack and pecks. His lustrous hair, damp, clings to his forehead. I noticed there is a tattoo right over his heart. It looks like three petals embedded over a circle. For some reason, the design seems familiar.
"See something you like?" Alec asks amusedly. His eyes trace my transfixed gaze, which is still on his tattoo. Abruptly, he sidesteps so fast around me he is almost a blur. The flawless motion catches me off guard; l I just manage to catch myself from tripping forward. When I look back at Alec, I notice how tense his face has become. He gives me a curt nod, as if I've done something to anger him, and marches back to his room.
Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, my subconscious remarks.
"What a weirdo," I mutter.
After brushing my hair and a quick shower, I rush to the kitchen, grabbing a piece of toast on my way out the back door—that is until mom stops me in my tracks.
"Someone's eager," she comments. "Where's Alec?"
I shrug, body still positioned to leave.
Richard comes into the kitchen then, wearing a sharp suit. He looks as vintage-suave as ever. He walks over to mom, who is also suited in a blouse and pencil skirt, and snakes a hand round her waist, proceeding to offer me a smile. They resemble the perfect business couple.
"Buon giorno, Kara," Richard greets. "I was wondering if you could, ah, do me a favour."
My subconscious folds her arms across her chest in suspicion. "What is it?"
"Well, it's just, Alejandro isn't the most, ah, responsible apple in the orchard. I was just hoping you could keep an eye on him?" He ends hopefully.
N O SPELLS NO WAY! My subconscious argues. But I only sigh resignedly and say, "Sure I can, Richard."
He beams thankfully. "Grazie."
*
Last year, on my sixteenth birthday, mom bought me a car. It is a second hand green Honda which, I admit, is a little run down. But it gets me reliably from point A to B. Emma likes to tease me about it being an OAP vehicle and named it Brenda. I know Brenda isn't the world's prettiest ride, but when Alec steps out of the house and gives her the dirtiest look he can possibly muster, my imaginary hackles rise.
"I am not riding in that," he says, still appraising Brenda as if there is a bad smell under his nose.
"Then walk," I snap from the driver's seat. I stick the key into the ignition and the engine roars tamely to life. Without looking in his direction, I notice Alec stare at Brenda in disgust for another moment or two, before shrugging to himself and strolling casually towards her. He gets into the passenger seat, and I can't help but glance at him. He wears a simple white t-shirt and black jeans, with a pair of sunglasses folded into his breast pocket. And to tie off the whole look, an imaginary rucksack to store his imaginary textbooks.
I already know what type of student Alec will be. The handsome, broody, pretentious philosopher who reckons that everyone is beneath their feet.
I'm being awfully judgemental, I think in a moment of rationality. I don't even know the guy properly.
"Whatever," I mutter inaudibly, reversing out of the spot and onto the road.
"So," Alec begins absentmindedly. He reaches over and switches on my radio. Realizing it is defective, as most of Brenda's facilities are; he pulls back his arm and gazes uninterestedly out of the window. San Francisco whizzes by, a thick streak of colour and life. "What's the school like?"
My reply is cautious. "It's pretty regular. You've got your groups. The populars. The nerds. The wallflowers. The goths, etcetera."
Alec turns to look at me. His dark azure eyes sparkle in the sunlight which streams in through the window. "Which do you fit under?"
I reach a red light and slow down. My fingers tap rhythmically on Brenda's steering wheel as I think. "Probably the wallflowers."
Alec nods understandingly. "I personally think I would fit in brilliantly with the handsome, broody, pretentious philosophers." And then he throws me a radiant grin.
My heart skips a beat. "How did you—"
Alec only points ahead. "Green."
I step on the pedal again and keep quiet. Did he just read my thoughts? I am so absorbed in the surprise that I only barely remember to slow down once we reach the school.
"Manley High," Alec reads off the massive billboard behind the school building. "Home of the San Francisco Cougars."
I find my parking spot and switch off the ignition. "It's out football team," I explain, undoing my seatbelt. We both get out of Brenda from either side. I study Alec's expression as he takes in the busy affair which is campus.
From the parking lot to the far edges of campus, students mill in groups, mostly all in light clothes due to the fortunate good weather. They sit on the roofs of their cars or lean on trees, laughing and exchanging stories of the weekend. The jocks, all muscular and wearing the Cougar Jerseys which so grant them their popularity, hub around the picnic area of campus which consists of a few wooden tables and benches. Whilst they throw a ball to and fro each other, shouting taunts and acting far too revved up for a Monday morning, the cheerleaders lie skimpily on the tables, flicking their hair and giggling squeakily. I hate them all, mostly because of their leader—Santana Quebec, the annoyingly attractive Native American senior who also doubles as head cheerleader. She is, for all intents and purposes, queen bitch of Manley High. Santana possess the innate ability to tear to shreds anyone who she happens to meet. In fact, half the girls at our school suffer anxiety problems due to encounters with Santana. The other half are too busy wishing they were her, partly because of her looks, and mostly because she's dating attractive quarterback, George Aisles. To be honest, I think George is hot in a blond, wholesome, pretty-boy sort of way, which in no way appeals to me. But apparently, girls find it cute.
"Who is she," Alec murmurs, gazing appreciatively at Santana.
I grab my ratty rucksack from Brenda's boot and lock her with a press of my car keys. I give him a wry look. "She is taken, and way out of your league."
Alec snorts once disbelievingly. "Right." He puts on his sunglasses and smiles. "Watch and learn," he says, before proceeding to walk across campus.
It's as if Alec is a magnet, and everybody's eyes are made of metal; they are drawn almost irresistibly to his gorgeous profile as a moth is to a flame. He walks—no, struts—like a model does down a catwalk. The atmosphere plunges as everybody inhales sharply all at the same time. The goths, the nerds, guys, girls; even the populars stare in awe. I note Santana and George stare particularly hard. A girl who looks remarkably like Santana but darker and with rattier hair walks down the staircase outside the school building at the same time Alec walks up them. She notices Alec halfway down, gapes in complete mesmerisation and, consequently, loses her footing and tumbles down the stairs. The captivation Alec has cast over the students of Manley High breaks when he disappears inside the building, and they all laugh at the clumsy girl. Thankfully, she is unhurt and jumps perkily to her feet. She looks around, spots me, and rushes over.
"Did yousee him!" Emma gushes. She is almost bouncing on the spot. "I've never seen a guy that hot before! Come to think of it, I've never seen that guy period."
I roll my eyes and link my arm instinctually around hers. "He's not that good-looking."
Emma gives me a blank look. "Yeah. Neither is Robert Patterson or Orlando Bloom."
I have to laugh at her disgruntled tone and tow her inside the school building and towards our lockers. Once we're at them, grabbing our History textbooks, my subconscious says, why haven't you told her Alec is Richard's son?
"Have you seen Richard and his kid then?" Emma asks with interest.
I transfer the textbook into my rucksack and swing the locker door close. "Yes."
Emma closes her own locker and links her arm across mine again. We walk to first Period. "And?"
"Nothing much, really. Richard's the same. And his son, Alec. He's....well." An idiot. Italian. Michelangelo's David.
"He's starting today, right?" Emma says.
I sigh. "Right. You'll meet him soon enough."
I realize I do not want Alec to meet Emma, for some strange reason. Probably because she'll develop some irrational crush on him; as, I am sure, most of the female population of Manley High are currently doing; and Alec will bask unrequitedly in the appreciation.
We stop ride outside of class and Emma squints at me. She seems to sense the discomfort on my face and gives me a sympathetic look. "It can't be that bad."
I shake my head. "It isn't. Not really. It's just—"
I trail off as I register the scene behind Emma.