𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐊𝐨𝐥 & 𝐊𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐁𝐎𝐘

My gaze follows them down the narrow hallway, waiting for her to look back. She does. Our eyes meet, and I hear her heart above all others, quickening the longer we stare. She looks away and I shut my locker, pulling out the schedule the school receptionist gave me.

I know, I know. Why would I volunteer my precious time to be spent in a school? Well, I am not quite sure, actually. I just did it. Maybe it's because of the never-ending food source. Or the fact that there are parties almost every day. Or an infinite supply of women to make out with. It could be any of those. I just can't figure out the exact reasoning. Elijah says I'm remarkably impulsive. So much so he believes it's an ability rather than a weakness.

Once the first period is over, I have physics and history. After lunch, it's math. Then foods and art. I crumble the paper and stuff it in my jean pocket.

"Hi, you must be the new kid."

I look behind me at a girl with long curly black hair and hazel eyes. Beams of sunlight reflect through the windows onto her, making her sepia skin glow. 

"And this must be a small town," I reply.

She laughs. "Yeah, I assume I'm not the first to ask you. Word gets around fast."

"I can see that."

"I'm Anika. And you are?"

"Kol. Nice to meet you," I greet.

She starts walking and asks what my first period is.

"English. You?"

"Same. What room?"

"142."

Her face lights up. "Luckily for you, I'm also going there. C'mon, I'll show you the way."

I give her an easy nod and listen as she describes the school. She explains who to watch out for and who is a twat and what not. I really can't care less.

When we walk into the classroom, I spot the instructor at the front of the room, appearing as if he was mid-lecture. I clear my throat and stroll to an empty seat beside Anika.

"You're late," says the instructor.

Anika blows a big pink bubble and smacks her chewing gum.

"My deepest apologies, sir. You see, I was lost; Anika volunteered to help me find the way to class," I say. I give him a cheeky grin and Anika follows suit.

"Ah... Don't let it happen again. You must be Kol. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Mr. Peterson."

"Lovely meeting you, sir."

"That's quite the accent you have going on there. Which part of England are you from?"

I purse my lips. "Well, I'm not from England. I'm really Norwegian," I say. I do not fail to miss the swoons echoing throughout the class.

"Hm, interesting."

He carries on with his lesson about transcendentalism and its connection to Catcher in the Rye. I doodle on my desk. I read Catcher in the Rye over a dozen times. Hell, I was probably one of the main reasons for that book being published. I was Jerome Saliginer's best mate– I practically wrote the thing.

After what feels like centuries, the class is over, and physics goes by rather quickly. Before I know it, the bell rings for History.

Anika tells me she has Spanish, and she leads me to room 312 before going to her class. I take a seat in the back of the room, stretching out my legs onto the empty chair in front of me. The fluorescent lights beam into my eyes, and I rub my temples, lessening the intensifying headache.

This will be a piece of cake. I've lived through every single event this instructor will teach. I know it all by heart.

People gradually file into the classroom. Ms. Marion, as written on the whiteboard in blue marker, has yet to come in. I plug in my earbuds and shut my eyes. I need a break from these bloody lights. Mayonaise plays, and I clasp my hands behind my head, slowly drifting to sleep.

I don't know how many minutes later, but I suddenly feel my legs being prodded by something sharp. My eyes snap open. Bloody Hell, it's her. I pull out an earbud and my insides buzz as I bite down a smile. "Fancy seeing you here."

She swallows and glances around the room before falling back to the pencil that has been prodding my outstretched legs. "Um, I need to sit down."

I move my legs from the chair and watch as she quickly sits down. She smooths down her clothes. She's wearing ripped jeans and a deep brown sweater that's far too big on her; pairing them with the same black converse she wore when I walked her home.

The clacking of heels enters the room and I avert my attention to a middle-aged blonde woman with flushed cheeks and a hurried walk. I suspect this is Ms. Marion.

"Good morning!" she exclaims. No one pays any mind to her and continues with their conversations. "Sorry, I'm late. My alarm didn't go off and Ralph couldn't find his tie and you know..." she trails off. I notice her blue blouse is buttoned up wrong and I tilt my head. It seems the only person to truly care what Ms. Marion is going on about is the girl who sits in front of me. "Anyways, we're going to continue where we left off from last class." Again, no one stops talking over the poor woman. Ms. Marion swings her body around to face the whiteboard, causing her long boho skirt to ruffle.

She reminds me of a hippie with nicely cared for hair.

"Establishinggg..." She writes on the board with her blue marker. "...the Georgia...Colony."

Ms. Marion finally realizes everyone is talking over her and crosses her arms and uncrosses them and crosses them and then uncrosses them again. She walks to her desk and picks up a rusted handbell, swaying her hand back and forth to ring it. This action immediately silences the students.

She gives us a tight smile. "As I was saying...Take out your notebooks." She gestures to the board. "This took place between the years 1732 and 1750." Ms. Marion slowly zigzags between the rows of desks as she speaks.  "Does anyone remember the name of the person who suggested settling in Georgia?"

Easy question. James Oglethorpe was a fine chap, very compassionate and well-spoken. We used to go out for Porters on Sundays while discussing his brilliant ideas. Nonetheless, no one answers her.

"Marie, do you know?" she says.

A girl with auburn shoulder-length hair speaks. "No, I don't."

"Okay. Danny?"

A boy who sits across the room from me shakes his head.

"Natalie, how about you?"

"Sorry, Ms. Marion. I wasn't here last class."

"It seems like none of you were." Her eyes flicker to me. "Ah, you must be the new boy I heard about. Kol, was it? Do you know who suggested settling in Georgia?"

"James Oglethorpe, Miss."

She gives me an approving nod. "Yes, James Oglethorpe. Born in 1696, he was known for being the Champion of the Oppressed. He banned slavery in Georgia for sixteen years and freed many prisoners from poor conditions. Unfortunately, he died in 1785 from pneumonia..."

My ears tune her out as I lean forward and whisper into the girl's ear, "That's wrong."

Goosebumps form on her neck. "It's wrong? Which part?"

"Nothing but his death. He died from suicide," I reply.

"How do you know?"

"I just do. I know everything."

She scoffs and ignores me for the rest of the period.

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OH MY GOD THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR 1K READS AHHHH ILY GUYS SO MUCH!!!! <333

this chapter was so hard to write it took me forever. i didn't know how to keep it moving :/

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