When a new student first arrived at Legend’s Run High, their entrance didn’t go unnoticed. Though everyone at Legend’s Run High didn’t hang out together, we all knew one another. It was odd to see a strange face.
It was late October, just after the campfire and werewolf-scare outing, and I was taking notes in government class when something caught my attention. Outside our classroom window, I saw an olive green beat-up Jeep pulling into an empty space in the student parking lot. I had to squint but noticed a WWF sticker on the front bumper. The driver-side door opened and a guy got out, wearing a vintage brown leather motorcycle jacket, torn jeans, and black hiking boots. He walked into the school building. A few moments later, the bell rang to change classes.
When I arrived at English class, I found my desk occupied. The guy in the vintage leather jacket was riffling through his backpack and placing a notebook on my desktop. In Mrs. Clark’s class the students weren’t seated in alphabetical order, or any other order for that matter, but rather we elected to take a desk where we wanted. Since school began, I sat in row six, first chair from the window. Abby sat next to me and Ivy next to her. Their boyfriends and Nash sat along the row nearest to the door.
When I noticed the stranger sitting in my seat, I didn’t know what to do. I preferred to sit by my friends, but he was a new student and I wasn’t about to tell him to move—I just didn’t think it was polite. Instead, I chose an empty chair in the back.
Ivy spotted the stranger sitting in my seat and took it upon herself to confront the situation.
“That’s okay—” I tried to say, but my words weren’t heard.
“Excuse me, that desk is already taken,” she said abrasively. Ivy got very territorial when it came to breaking up our clique. But it was okay with me. I could survive a day sitting on my own.
The new guy opened his notebook and looked up at the blond girl hovering over him, scolding him as if she were the teacher. I was hoping Ivy wasn’t going to make a fuss. The new student would probably have moved had she been polite, but it seemed as if it was too late.
I hid behind my textbook. For a moment Ivy wasn’t as confident as she was when she first approached him. I hoped this meant she was going to soften and either apologize or just return to her seat.
Instead, Abby joined her. Even though Ivy and Abby were pretty, their temperaments could sometimes leave even the kindest gentlemen challenging them to a duel rather than tipping their hats. Ivy threw her hair back and straightened her stance.
“This is my friend’s desk,” Ivy said, again in a very unpleasant tone. “She sits here every day.”
The new guy didn’t budge. He paused, weighing his words. “Are you two on the welcoming committee?” he asked. “I didn’t see your pictures in the brochure.”
A few skater students around him snickered. I couldn’t help but giggle, too.
Abby tightened her lips. After all, she was used to competition, and it appeared that she wanted to win this battle.
“I understand you are new . . .” Abby charged, in a strong whisper, “but things work a certain way here, and the sooner you know this the easier it will be for you.”
He sat up and leaned into Ivy. “This is your friend?” he said to her. “You might want to reconsider.”
We all laughed again, even Dylan and Jake, who probably wished they could have said it. Abby and Ivy both folded their arms. It was clear the new student wasn’t going to budge under the pressure of his two bossy classmates.
“No, that is our friend,” they said in unison. Then they both pointed to me.
The new guy turned around. He was completely captivating and model gorgeous. His short hair was dark and wavy, his face as perfectly sculpted as I’d ever seen. He stared straight at me—his eyes a deep, riveting royal blue. We locked gazes and I almost lost my breath. My face flushed red. I was unable to look away, and I didn’t really want to.
I’d never felt such a powerful stare—or witnessed such a handsome student.
He almost broke a smile, and my heart along with it.
The new student turned back, grabbed his notebook and backpack, and rose. He towered over my friends, who were blocking his way. They stepped aside, and he moved to an empty chair in the back of the class without another word.
As Ivy and Abby waved me over, I slunk back to my desk. When Mrs. Clark introduced the new student as Brandon Maddox, I wasn’t about to turn around and make eye contact with him again.
Legend’s Run High School’s lunchroom was a microcosm of Legend’s Run itself. Students stuck to their sides and, like religious sects, were subdivided. The usual gamers, jocks, skaters, and preps each had their own table.
Lunch, for me, was the highlight of the school day. I got to hang out with my friends and talk and eat—two of my favorite things.
When I reached the cafeteria, Ivy pulled Abby and me over to the vending machine.
“I finally have the four-one-one on the new guy,” she began. “I heard he’s a Westsider.”
“Obviously,” Abby said. “Did you see his coat?”
“There was nothing wrong with his coat. I liked it—” I tried. “Besides, you didn’t have to—”
“Do you two want to hear this or not?” Ivy asked.
“Of course we do,” Abby replied.
“He lives with his grandparents,” Ivy began. “I think he’s from Miller’s Glen and was kicked out of his home. He’s a juvie—”
“I heard he’s a runaway,” Abby said, placing a dollar into the machine.
“You did?” Ivy felt challenged that she wasn’t on top of the breaking news story.
“Yes. A runaway,” Abby said. She pushed a cola button and grabbed her diet soda.
“I heard he’s a juvie,” Ivy argued.
“I heard he’s a runaway,” Abby insisted.
“I heard . . .” I started.
“Yes?” they asked curiously.
“I heard that he’s . . .”
“Go on . . .” they pried.
“I heard that he’s a . . . werewolf!”
They both were aghast. “You did not!”
“That can’t be true,” Abby said. “I didn’t hear that.”
“Who told you that?” Ivy pressed.
I snickered. “Hello, are you kidding?”
Then we all broke out in laughter.
As we continued to crack up, I spotted Brandon sitting at a back table in the corner, alone. He was eating a sandwich and reading a book. The tables around him were filled, crowded with students gabbing and letting loose on their lunch break. This might have been my favorite part of the day, but for him, it must have been the most lonesome. My giggling subsided. I felt a huge ache in the pit of my stomach. It must be horribly lonely and difficult to come to a new school with no real friends—especially a school as cliquey as ours. And I felt ashamed that my two friends had been so unwelcoming.
I thought about going over to him and apologizing for my friends’ behavior when two strong arms wrapped around my waist.
Suddenly I was lifted off the ground and swung around. I noticed a familiar class ring.
“Nash! Get off,” I cried.
“What are you staring at?” he questioned, letting me down. “You should be staring at me.”
He spun me so I faced him and he kissed me. Nash was a great kisser; for a brief moment I forgot where I was. But then it dawned on me. I wasn’t in the privacy of a moonlit goodnight kiss, but rather I was in the middle of the lunchroom with two hundred hungry gawkers.
I was never comfortable with Nash’s public displays of affection. It always felt as if he was only being demonstrative to prove his bravado to the student body rather than showing the unbridled passion of an amorous boyfriend.
He released me. I was dizzy—not so much from the kiss but from his spinning me. When my double vision returned to normal, I realized I was staring right across the lunchroom at Brandon. I sensed he’d been watching me the whole time.
There was something riveting about him, unusual, and different. I wasn’t sure why I felt embarrassed in front of Brandon more so than the other students watching us. All I knew was that I did. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, sat down at our table with my back toward the new student, and distracted myself with a low-carb lunch and wonderfully inane conversation.