I woke up with a knot of nerves twisting in my stomach. Moving from Maryland to Los Angeles felt like stepping onto a different planet. Today was the first day at Northwood High, and the thought of it sent a shiver down my spine. I glanced in the mirror, adjusting the black romper and wedge heels. The Louis Vuitton crossbody felt… exposed. A small comfort against a sea of unfamiliar faces.
We’d moved because of Dad’s job, a necessary uprooting after Mom’s death. Cancer had taken her too quickly, leaving us with a single income and a desperate need to stay afloat. Dad had always prioritized work, and now, that meant L.A. I’d never switched schools before, and the idea of making new friends felt terrifying. I’d always imagined West Coast kids were… colder, less welcoming than those back home.
I sighed, grabbed my keys, and headed for the old Honda Accord. The GPS guided me through the unfamiliar streets towards Northwood High.
The parking lot was already bustling with activity. I headed straight for the main office, hoping to grab my schedule before the chaos swallowed me whole.
“Oh! Miss Thomas! Welcome to Northwood! I’m Mrs. French, the secretary. So nice to meet you,” she greeted me with a warm smile, handing me a neatly printed schedule. “Your first class is math. Second door on the left when you leave here, honey.”
I thanked her, relieved to have a direction. Homeroom had already dismissed by the time I navigated the crowded hallways.
Walking into AP Calculus felt like entering a different world. I’d always excelled at math, a quiet comfort in a sea of uncertainty. I scanned the room, settling on an empty seat in the back corner. Everyone was buzzing quietly, oblivious to my arrival, which suited me just fine.
The bell rang, and Mr. Martin, the math teacher, strode into the room, his eyes scanning the faces until they landed on me.
“Ah! Hello! Cleo Thomas! We have a new student joining us today, all the way from Maryland, right?” I nodded, offering a small smile. “Good to meet you, Cleo!”
He launched into a review of calculus concepts I already knew well, and I found myself zoning out, lost in my own anxieties. Then, the door burst open, and a girl with shocking blue hair strode into the room. Sunglasses obscured her eyes, and her clothes—designer sneakers and Chanel sunglasses—swallowed her frame. The effect was… striking.
She moved with a careless confidence that was both intimidating and strangely alluring. As she approached, I felt my palms sweat. The only open seat was beside me.
“Billie, glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Mr. Martin said briskly. “You know those shorts are pushing the dress code, but I’ll pretend I didn’t notice.”
I glanced down at her shorts—a pair of denim cutoffs ripped with a provocative message scrawled across them. "STOP LOOKING AT MY DICK." The words hit me like a punchline, and I couldn’t help but giggle. She didn't *have* a dick to look at.
Her head snapped toward me, her eyes blazing.
“Fuck you laughing at, new kid?”
My face flushed crimson.
“Uh, nothing,” I stammered. “I just… liked your shorts.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze sweeping over me.
“You good at this math?”
I nodded again, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Good. You’re doing my homework from now on.”
Wait, what?
“I can’t—I’ll get in trouble…”
She shrugged, already scrolling through her phone.
Fuck.