You know how it’s the first day back at school and for some reason girls seem to thinks it’s an excuse to have their own mini Fashion Week… or Fashion Day? Well, that’s how it goes at Capshaw Academy. When you live this close to the super wealthy, school isn’t just school, it’s a jungle.
My sister’s had been treated as Capshaw royalty when they’d attended. My dad’s a math professor at Caltech- even though he’s on a research sabbatical- and while that didn’t give much credence to Libby and Anna’s social standings, the fact that our mom was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company did. In a place like Capshaw, money really did influence everything. Strange, then, that it never worked that way with me. It didn’t matter how wealthy my parents were, I wasn’t going to be one of those that could just fit in.
The Capshaw girls drove cars worth more than the average family’s home, and wore labels that no one outside of the Couture world could pronounce. I’m pretty sure half the girls came in to school wearing the Average Joe’s salary around their wrist or their necks. Competition was rife and it would be social suicide to pull up at Capshaw toting either last season’s It bag, or wearing the exact same outfit as someone else.
I just thank my lucky stars that I’m not the type that plays into that stereotype. Despite my mother’s status, and the fact that she’s been in the pages of Vogue, I don’t think I have anything in my closet that cost more than a hundred dollars. Actually, do I have anything that cost more than fifty?
Probably not. Unless you count my Vans sneakers, in which case, I have about two hundred dollars’ worth of footwear stuffed under my bed. Vans were my weakness and was the only time I really rewarded myself with a splurge.
Arriving at Capshaw wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a t-shirt and Vans was the closest to ‘fashionable’ I was ever going to get and that was fine by me. Georgie, however, was a slave to fashion and her first day back at school wouldn’t be complete without showing off her Christmas haul.
She stood at the gates of Capshaw Academy wearing a pair of tailored black pants, a white chiffon top and a red jacket. She accessorized with black block heels and a slouch shoulder purse that had Marc Jacobs written on it. I took a shot in the dark and guessed he was famous for making purses. Georgie’s hair was styled to within an inch of its life and I’m pretty sure she’s used up her monthly make-up quota for just today.
“You look nice,” I tell her exactly what she wants to hear. “Like the purse.”
“Thank you,” Georgie cooed as she caressed the purse like it was precious. When she looked at my outfit, she frowned and glared at my sneakers. “I though you got a new pair for Christmas.”
I ignore her scrunched up nose and keep my mouth shut. It was easier than starting an argument with her about the state of my closet. As well as trying to get me to embrace high school, Georgie’s mission for senior year was to get me to be a clone of herself, and every other girl in our class.
Naturally, the hallway was filled with girls looking like they’d just walked off the runway and guys that looked like they just stepped out from the pages of Abercrombie’s latest catalogue. I’m not sure how it’s possible that all of America’s ridiculously beautiful teenagers ended up in my school, but here they were.
My locker was at the end of the senior hallway, seeing as they were arranged in alphabetical order. I pushed passed a group of girls who were talking animatedly about St Bart’s and the Bahamas, and rushed towards my locker.
In the midst of the crowd I temporarily lost Georgie, and without her by my side I felt vulnerable. I stopped in my tracks and spun to locate her, but in the sea of students, I was adrift. I started to panic a little until I felt someone take a hold of my shoulders and guide me through the crowd towards a group of jocks that I vaguely recognized.
Where had I seen them before?
“Yo, TJ,” a boy from my English class bellowed. What was his name again? Dean Brewer? “Who’s the girl? She’s not your usual type.”
I felt my face flush the color of my hair and I tried to get out of TJ’s grasp, but he was stronger than I was, and taller. He kept a firm grip on me with one hand while he used the other to punch his friend in the bicep. From the groan that escaped Dean Brewer’s lips, I guess that punch had meant to hurt.
“Everyone, this is Cate Westbrook,” TJ introduces me to everyone. "We’re adopting her.”
Well, this was news to me. “You’re what?”
“We’re adopting you,” TJ answers from behind me. “Geo and Grey are gonna spend all their time together now that they’re dating, so we’re taking you under our wing. You’ve lost a best friend, I’ve lost a best friend… makes sense.”
I laugh, and for a split second I’m scared that it was actually me that made that sound. Then I realized that it had been me and now everyone was staring at me. I know Georgie had told me to be more visible in school and to put myself out there, but I don’t think placing myself in the middle of Alpha Male City was the way to go.
“Thanks for the offer,” I start to say as I back away. “But, I think I’m-” I caught sight of Adam leaning against my locker farther down the hallway and I groan internally. I turn back to TJ and his friends and force a smile. “Yeah, adopting me sounds like fun.”
And by ‘fun,’ I meant ‘Hell.’ Seriously, to get me through the days with these boys I’d have to take a truck load of anti-anxiety tablets. I could feel my chest restricting as I chatted with my new group of friends, but I tried not to let them see just how awkward I could be. I fell back on my fool-proof plan when I met new people where I let them do all the talking and I kept my answers short and sweet.
It was going pretty ok, until the warning bell rang and I still hadn’t gone to my locker. I went up on my tiptoes to see if Adam was at my locker, but thankfully he’d gone. I breathed a sigh of relief and it felt like the weight of the world was finally off my shoulders. Or maybe that had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t under TJ’s death grip. Either way, I felt myself relax a little more.
I took out my afternoon books and placed them in my locker, keeping only my English and Math binders with me. I could get my third and fourth period books at break, but then I remember how persistent Adam was, and how predictable I was. He’d know that I’d have to come back here at break and knowing him, Adam would be waiting.
I took all my morning books with me and headed towards English. Class went by slowly and I only tuned in and out as Mr. Simons talked about gothic romance in British Literature. I took notes every now and then, but I mainly scribbled some drawings and played tic-tac-toe by myself.
Math was better, but that was only because I was challenged enough by the work Mr. Ennis gave us and was able to keep myself occupied. My dad had gotten me into math pretty early, and being a professor himself, he’d taught me AP Calc way back in junior high. This was my very own bird course, because I could fly through it and pass easily.
I was finishing the last question on the extra work sheet Mr. Ennis handed me when the bell for break rang. In that extremely nerdy way, I placed the work sheet at the back of my binder, where I had everything arranged in chronological order. I hated not being able to find anything, so keeping my work set out via date was my way of being organized.
I got up from my seat and walked straight in to something solid. I knew it couldn’t be a brick wall because I sat in the middle of the class and there was nothing around that I could bump into, but whatever I just hit, it totally felt like a brick wall.
I stumble backwards in a daze and find myself staring at a black t-shirt pulled over a v-shaped torso. I felt my head turn sideways as I continued to stare, but seriously, how does anyone have that body shape? And was there an ounce of fat on that stomach?
“Are you ok, Cate?” I heard a silky voice say my name. I think I muttered something, but for the life of me, I didn’t know what I said. It was just sounds to me, but whoever was talking to me thought it was funny and warranted a laugh. “I asked if you were ok.”
“Huh?” I frowned and finally looked up to the face of the boy. “Oh, God.”
Christos Theoris.
“How hard did you hit your head on my chest?” Christos asked, amusement filling his voice as he spoke.
“Really hard,” I offer with the shake of my head. “What are you made of?”
I don’t know what possessed me, because what I did next was really un-me, but I reached out and jabbed a finger into his stomach. I’m a hundred per cent sure I injured myself more than I injured him.
“Mainly oxygen,” Christos smirks playfully. “A little carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen, and other stuff too.”
I roll my eyes at his answer, but I’m glad he didn’t make fun of my question. I liked it when people didn’t take me too seriously because it gave me the opportunity to relax into conversation. There was nothing worse than feeling anxious and then having people make fun of you on top of it.
“Haha,” I smile freely up at him. “But I meant, what are you made of? Because you’re pretty solid.”
To emphasize my point, I poke his stomach again. This time, instead of letting me, Christos snapped out his hand and held mine softly. He traced his thumb across my knuckles and gazed directly into my eyes.
“That hurts,” he pouted down at me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember Georgie telling me that Christos is six-two, but I would disagree because from my five-four vantage point, he was a lot taller. I scoff at his accusation, eliciting another laugh from him. “Ok, so maybe it didn’t hurt.”
“Then why say it did?” I challenge him.
He shrugs. “Wanted to talk to you for a little longer before you rushed out of here.”
I blush and dip my head downwards, forgetting that I had worn my hair up today and that I couldn’t hide the blush that was quickly creeping onto my cheeks. I closed my eyes tightly and prayed for the ground to swallow me up, but when I opened my eyes the only thing I saw was Christos smiling at me goofily.
“You know it’s just occurred to me that I haven’t properly introduced myself,” he says as he stands up straighter, boosting his height by at least two more inches. I craned my neck just to be able to see the seriousness on his face as he held out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Christos Theoris. Or Chris, if you want.”
“Cate,” I reply, taking his hand. I couldn’t help but notice just how tiny I looked compared to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Chris.”
“You too,” he beams at me.
*~*~*
I’m pretty sure the term sarcastic was coined for Catherine Saunders because she seemed to embody it perfectly. Never before in my life have I met someone who could be that sarcastic that often in that short of time. But in the fifteen minutes that she’s been sat at my lunch table, Catherine literally hasn’t stopped with the sarcasm. I’m pretty sure it runs in her blood.
The only person who seemed to be enjoying her company was Brewer.
And here I thought that Catherine could have been a match for Brewer and take him down a few levels.
“I take it Saunders is not the right Catherine?” Spiller asks from by my side. Since Grey had been MIA with Georgie all morning, Colton had become my sounding board in all things Catherine related. “Back to the drawing board?”
I nod. “Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck wearily. I look around our lunch table and frown when I see that it’s just the guys. “Where’s our foundling?”
Spiller points to a table in the back corner of the cafeteria and I follow his finger to see Cate sitting on her own. She’s pulled her hair down since this morning and was using her flame locks as a curtain to hide away from the world, but I could still see her.
Open on the desk in front of her was a text book, and in her right hand a pencil that was furiously writing something in a note book. She stopped writing, frowned down at her work, erased the last bit and started again with a sly smile on her face.
“Are you going over to get her?” Spiller asked, nudging me in the shoulder. “I know we just adopted her but maybe a gradual introduction to-” Brewer laughed manically from my side “-this would be better.”
I get up from the table and make my way over to where Cate is sat. She doesn’t look up from her book, so when I sit opposite her, she shoots her head up to look at me and jumps. She places her hand over her chest and mumbles something to herself, but I barely catch it.
“TJ,” she says my name breathlessly. “Don’t ever do that to me again. I almost died of a heart attack. What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t have lunch with us,” I motion with my head to where my friends sit at the table in the center of the cafeteria. “Trying to get away from us already?”
She shrugs and turns back to her work. I lean over the table to see what she’s working on, but as soon as I see all the calculations, I groan. Math had never been my strong suit and I barely got above a B in any of my tests. Just looking at any math work gave me a headache.
I watch as Cate deftly answers each question on the page, turns over to the next set of problems. She works her way through those too, but stops when she feels my gaze on her. She looks up at me from under her lashes and stares back at me.
“You’re eyes are really blue,” I muse.
“Excuse me?” She laughs nervously. “Are you flirting with me?”
“No!” I snort, but seeing Cate’s unimpressed stare, I knew that I had some damage control to undertake. I clear my throat and lower my tone. “I mean, no. I wasn’t flirting with you, just stating a fact.”
In my defense, Cate does have extremely blue eyes.
“You never answered my question, by the way,” I point out to Cate. “Fleeing from us before getting to know us?”
Cate bites her lip, sets down her pencil and folds her arms across her chest protectively. Her shoulders fold in on themselves and I can see her eyeing the cafeteria anxiously, taking in the faces of those around us.
I follow her gaze to where Jenna Griffiths sits. Jenna was Capshaw’s it-girl and one of my many past conquests. Her mother was a self-made millionaire, and while there were kids here from wealthier families, Jenna was Queen Bee.
Jenna’s attention fell on me and she waved seductively before she turned a scowl on to Cate. From all the stories I’d heard about Jenna, she could be a nasty piece of work and would probably trample over her own grandmother to get what she wanted. Since New Year’s Eve, I’ve been what she’s wanted, but she doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not interested. If I were, I wouldn’t have run out on her last summer.
“Kill me,” I groan as I turn back to Cate.
“Um… legally, that’s frowned upon,” Cate states without a trace of humor in her voice.
“You wouldn’t even do it for a friend?” I practically beg her.
“We’re friends?” Cate asks nervously. When I nod, I watch as her face loses all color. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Before I get the chance to put forward my case and make her see that I’m actually a good friend to have, Cate picks up her books, grabs the empty sandwich bag and casually walks out of the cafeteria like we weren’t just having a conversation.
I’ve never had a girl run from me like that before. All I was offering was friendship; it wasn’t like I was professing my love for her and asking her to spend eternity with me. I mean, she’s not even my type. In fact, she’s the total opposite of what my type is.
As much as I hated to say it, aesthetically, Jenna Griffin was my type. Blonde, blue eyes, average height, athletic… the only downside to Jenna was her personality. And the fact that she wasn’t Catherine.
Which got me thinking- what would Catherine look like?
I’ve been picturing her as blonde haired, blue eyed and sporty, but what if she isn’t? Look at Catherine Saunders. She had the right name, but not the right looks. What if Catherine isn’t anything how I’ve imagined her to be?
Would it make a difference?
I spent the afternoon pondering the question. It occupied my thoughts when I should have been concentrating in Bio, and I don’t think I paid any attention in French. I knew for a fact that I wasn’t on top form in gym class because I actually let Brewer beat me at dodgeball, and I never lose at dodgeball.
“What’s eating you?” Spiller finally asked the question that had been on everyone’s mind since lunch time.
We were hanging out in the parking lot, waiting for Grey to reappear, and all my friends were looking at me for an answer. I was usually a talkative person, but when something was bugging me, it ate me up inside and I shut down. It didn’t happen often which meant that when I did shut down, everyone noticed.
“Just thinking about Catherine,” I admit, rubbing my eyes as I say her name. “I just need to clear my head and start afresh, that’s all.”
“Need help with that?” Zachary offers but he already knows my answer. “Call if you do, bro.”
Nodding appreciatively, I say goodbye to my friends and head towards my car. I get within three feet of it when I spot my step-mom making her way over towards me. Amanda Allen is Capshaw’s Art Department Chair and was one of the few members of faculty that the students actually liked. She was pretty chilled out and never got involved in your business as long as you followed her rules, of which there were few.
Amanda never talked to me while we were at school, just like she never bugged her own son, Elliott, who was a sophomore here. Watching her approach me, I knew that it was something important.
“Theo,” she shoots me that smile that tells me she needs a favor. I laugh but don’t try to stop her. I actually like Amanda and she’s good for my dad, so I owe her a few favors. “Sweetie, can you come help me tidy the art room?”
“Don’t you have your own art students for that kind of stuff?” I ask as I throw my arm over her shoulder and start walking us towards her building.
“When was the last time you saw a tortured artist that could move a cupboard that weighs half their body mass?” Amanda asks, knowing that flattery would get her everywhere with me.
The art building sat apart from the others. It was one of the oldest buildings on campus, and finding your way around was like making your way through a maze. There were so many different hallways and dead ends that the school finally put up a floor plan of the building on every corner with a red sticker arrow stating ‘YOU ARE HERE’ on it.
I didn’t come here often but I knew my way to Amanda’s room easily. It was a large studio room with work benches running along the side, a small podium tucked into a corner and a stack of easels in another corner. Paint splattered the floor and the walls, but no effort had been made to clean any of it up. It kind of added to the charm of the room.
At the rear, a black door led into a storage room but I’d never been in there. It was off limits and it was one of Amanda’s rules that you don’t go in there without explicit permission. That rule led to a lot of rumors at Capshaw, with many wondering how many skeletons Amanda was hiding out here.
“I’ve cleared it,” Amanda says as she points as a large wooden cupboard that sat flush against the back wall of her studio. “I want it moved over to there,” she points to another section of the room before turning her smirk on me. “If you think you’re strong enough.”
“Please,” I balk at her. “This thing weighs less than a feather.”
In reality, the cupboard weighed the same as a baby elephant. I’m glad Amanda had gone into one of the other rooms to clean while I got set on moving the furniture, because I wasn’t ready to eat my words. Surely this damned thing was weighed down with lead.
“Are you ok?” A shy voice behind me asked, making me jump in surprise. I slowly turned to see Cate looking at me a little perplexed. “Actually, scrap that question. Are you stalking me?”
I laugh to cover up the fact that my heart is beating like a train steaming down the track. “Why would I be stalking you?” I ask eventually.
“I don’t know,” Cate says as she places a black portfolio and a camera on one of the side tables. She leans against the bench and carefully looks at me. “Well, there’s that time you came to save me from Adam. And the other time you came to save me from Adam. You want to adopt me. You want me to sit with you for lunch. Now you’re invading my haven. You’re always there TJ, so I have to ask myself whether you’re stalking me or not?”
I blink at her.
“No, I am not stalking you, Cate,” I finally say, before realizing a little too late that she’s just teasing me. She laughs at the expression I wear and once the humiliation dies down, I laugh too. “That was funny. Haha. Thanks.”
“No, that was easy,” she winks at me mischievously. This version of Cate was kind of cute and a total one-eighty on the girl that I saw timidly hide from the world at lunch. “But, what are you doing here?”
“Trying to move this damned thing,” I kick the cupboard I’m trying to shift. “Not having much luck though.”
“Really?” Cate raises her eyebrow at me. “You know it has wheels underneath, right? All you have to do is reach around the back and kick off the safety lock.”
I nod at her slowly. “Not falling for it.”
With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Cate approaches me, pushes me aside, crouches down and starts fumbling at the bottom of the cupboard. After an audible click, she pushes the furniture with minimal strength and slowly wheels it to the spot where Amanda had asked me to move it to. Once Cate has secured the safety lock, she stands up, wiped her dusty palms on her blue jeans and smiles triumphantly.
“Yeah, that was hard,” she wiped her forehead teasingly.
“Not funny,” I grumble as I turn away from her. My eyes fall on the portfolio Cate had set aside on the bench and I couldn’t help myself as I opened it. Looking at the first black and white photograph, I stand up straighter. “Your work is impressive.”
Before I knew what was going on, Cate had snatched the portfolio away from me, pressing it to her chest. She moved forward quickly and picked up her camera, slinging it around her neck and shooting me a glare.
“Don’t touch my things,” she warned me.
“Chill, Cate,” I say defensively. I hold up my hands to her so she can see that I didn’t mean any offence. “I won’t touch it again, I promise. But, for the record, that photo was really good.”
Carefully, Cate let her guard down. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I nod to her, hoping that this awkwardness would disappear. “So, you’re a photographer?”
“Trying to be,” she blushes. “I’m not good at it though. It’s just a hobby.”
“Well, I’m not sure if my opinion counts for much, but I think you’re better than good,” I smile to her. Somewhere in the back of my mind a warning bell rings but I ignore it. “That wasn’t me flirting with you again, by the way. That was me being a friend.”
Cate laugh freely. “So, we’re friends now, huh?”
“Yes,” I say decisively. “Suck it up, Westbrook, because we are definitely friends now. But as my friend, you cannot tell our other friends about the cupboard incident.”
“What cupboard incident?” She says innocently.
“Exactly,” I nod, glad that she’s following. My cell beeps with a long awaited message from Grey asking me to go hang out at his house. I look up at Cate and wink at her. “See you tomorrow, friend.”
I was half way down the hallway when I heard her voice following me. “What cupboard incident?”
*~*~*
For some reason, this chapter was pretty easy to write and I managed to get way over my 3000 word target!
More Arrow for me!
Sarah, xx