Page 5 of Forged By Shadows

“So, yeah. Thanks for the tour and breakfast, I guess, but I’m going to get to class.” I reach into my bag to find my timetable. A weird, high pitched whine causes me to stop.

“Noooo, you can’t leave now!” Garrett frowns over his shoulder. “We’re about to get to the best bit.” The pair of them turn fully, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their gray tracksuits hide none of the muscle lingering underneath, their hands pushed into pockets. Their eyes are on opposite ends of the color scale, shining hazel and deathly darkened. Garrett smirks while Axel watches me with caution. An angel and a demon, tempting me to stray from what I should be doing. From where I should be.

“Seriously, I’m good. I have to go.” Gripping my bag’s strap like an anchor, I rush back into the building, hoping the door closed before they saw me stumble. What the hell was I thinking - complicity going along with their tour? Now I’m late and lost, only knowing of the best alcoves to be fucked against a wall without anyone nearby realizing.

I waste so much time trying to center myself with the map. Up to now, I’ve only ever been homeschooled in a singular room. My longest commute was from the study to the ballroom-turned-dance studio. When I make it to English Lit, the door is ajar. I raise my hand to knock, but the talking inside has already gone silent. Dozens of students spot me through the glass, their assessment already beginning.

On an exhale, I push the door open and nod to the professor. Mrs. Patrick, as the plaque on the door states, signals for me to take the lone seat in the back row without any embarrassing introductions. I’m thankful for that at least, knowing whispers and stares can’t be passed behind my back. My blonde hair falls forward, creating a curtain around me as I fumble through my bag with shaky hands. My breathing is hitched, becoming stuck in my chest. I block out those who peer back when my highlighters slip and scatter across the floor.

I still, staring at the wood on the desk. It’s smaller than the dining table I’m used to. A simple square, not big enough to fit both my textbook and notepad on, never mind my water bottle and pencil case. Isn’t that what college students have at all times? I can’t risk looking around and see, my cheeks on fire and nails embedded into my thighs. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.

A hand appears before me. Tanned, long fingers unfurl their grip from my highlighters, revealing a small square of paper. ‘Hi.’ The two letters stare up at me beside a smiley face. I can’t help but respond with a tilt of my own lips. Tucking my hair aside, I twist to reply and nearly choke on a gasp. That tanned skin melts away from the crystal clear blue eyes glimmering at me. His face is as flawless as the cut of his jaw, the outline of his Adam’s apple. Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

Clamping my mouth shut, not trusting myself not to squeak and interrupt Mrs. Patrick's lesson for a third time, I lean over the scrap of paper. ‘Hey,’ I write back, and slide it onto his desk. He chuckles quietly while I focus on clamping my thighs together. Right, no - focus. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing. Although every time I look up at the whiteboard, I’m instantly reminded I’m in a room full of people and my head begins to swim. Instead, I use the curtain of my hair to block everything out, only listening to the stern voice relay the pros of allegory and taking notes.

When the bell goes, I jump a few inches out of my skin. Hands instantly grab my arms, giving a reassuring squeeze until I’m settled back in my seat. Those blue eyes seek out mine, silently soothing me as the rest of the class pack up and promptly leave.

“It’s okay, you’re doing just fine.” His whisper has more reassuring weight than he could possibly know. I melt, my chest finally unfurling. I visibly sag, my breath rushing out in one.

“You think? I’m certain everyone can tell I don’t belong here.”

“Really? Maybe my radar is off.” My smile is genuine, mirroring his. Everything about this guy is warm and soothing. “Attending Waversea means you’re either disgustingly rich or incredibly smart.”

“Which category do you fall into?” I ask. His blue eyes and blond afro contrast with his tanned skin, such an exotic mix that I can’t stop staring at. Fuck, I’m staring. Slowly standing, his hands linger until I’m steady. That smile doesn’t leave his handsome face as he drops another note on my desk and strides away. I can’t help but watch the snug fit of his jeans, the easy swagger of his stride. Is this what college really is? Impending panic attacks and raging hormones?

“Miss Hughes,” my name is snapped once we’re alone. I collect my books and join Mrs. Patrick at the front of the room. “Class starts promptly at nine. I’ll ignore it this time, but two lates in one week will be reported to the Dean.” I nod, biting my lip.

“I’m sorry, I got...” Distracted? Kidnapped? “Lost.” The middle aged woman with cropped, light hair and a cane regards me for a moment. She nods as if to dismiss me, but her voice carries as I reach the door.

“You won’t be given any free passes in my class, Miss Hughes. Regardless of your family ties.” My mouth drops open, my palm on the threshold. Despite the flames I feel taking root in my cheeks, my back straightens.

“I wouldn’t dream of relying on such a thing,” I state, my nostrils flaring. Perhaps I appear hostile, but Mrs. Patrick seems to be at ease with my stance. It’s best we clear up now that I will work for my degree and have no intentions of skating by on reputation. No doubt that’s what Wyatt is doing, wherever he is. Entering the hallway, I realize it’s awfully quiet again and rush to my next lesson. The one I’ve been most looking forward to. Performing arts. The only problem is, that block is all the way across campus.

By the time I drop onto my bed that evening, forgetting the mattress has no bounce, I’m calculating ways to change my identity and start a new life in a new state.

“Good first day?” Kay asks from her bed. She doesn’t bother to put her phone aside and actually look at the defeat in my features.

“I was late to every class, subjected to multiple warnings from my professors, whispered about by most, stared at by everyone, almost had four panic attacks and ate my lunch in the toilet. What do you think?” Grabbing my covers, I roll myself towards the wall and give into the emotion clawing at my throat. I control it for the most part. The tears fall silently, the spasming of my chest subsides with exhaustion. I miss Meg, I miss my home. Still fully clothed, I relent to the darkness slipping in while clutched in my hand is that crumpled note I’ve kept with me since English Lit.

‘I’m Dax.’

Chapter Three

“Miss Hughes,” Mrs. Patrick regards me with surprise as she enters her classroom. She glances at her watch to confirm that I am, in fact, early. I’ve been here for almost an hour, since it’s where I opted to eat breakfast. Waking at the crack of dawn with Kay wasn’t easy, but I’m determined today will be a better day. That, and I didn’t want to risk waiting around for another morning break in by Garrett. I’d showered, dressed and given myself an entire pep talk before the sun had come up. I’ve been through worse than this; I’m just not used to being so visible.

The room begins to fill as I’m turning to a fresh, clean page in my notebook. I write the date in scrawly cursive, dotting the i’s with hearts and underlining with a pink highlighter as a body settles in beside me. I can’t withhold my small smile as I tug at the hem of my denim skirt. Turning to my neighbor, I’m horrified by the large perm and garishly bright lipstick smiling at me like a deranged poodle.

“You’re Avery, right?” the girl chews on a wad of gum. The desk on my other side scrapes as it’s dragged closer.

“Wow, are you naturally blonde? Your hair is so smooth,” another female comments while stroking my straight locks. I flinch away from her. Through the students nearby, I scan for Dax. He enters the room, raising a brow at my new friends and grins, settling in the front row. I register too late all of the desks nearby have been etched closer, caging me in.

“You smell nice, what are you wearing?” A girl with French braids bends back and actually sniffs me.

“Um, I…don’t we have to keep the same seats?” I ask quietly. Their combined laughter has me shrinking in my seat.

“Oh, she’s so cute. This isn’t elementary school,” the Poodle gently smacks my arm. My chest feels tight. I focus on the back of Dax’s head, willing him to turn around. Then I can plead with my eyes for him to save me from the five girls all twisted in their seats, openly ogling at me. In the shitshow that was yesterday, Dax was the only part I didn’t entirely detest. I always have radiated towards those who seem steady, dependable.

“If we’re ready, I’d like to begin,” Mrs. Patrick says in our direction. The girls turn back and nod, while the one who keeps touching me brushes her knuckles over my face.

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