You Can't Hate Me

1

Alia's POV

Oh God, I'm going to be late. I can't be late on the first day of yet another school.

This is the eighth school I'm going to be attending since I was born. My dad's a professional explorer, meaning my mom and I have to move around with him to convenient his work. It also benefits mom anyway, 'cause she's a photographer for a wildlife magazine.

I know, I have weird parents. Who even has a dad for an explorer nowadays?

I've been moving all my life, which means I've fallen into the same routine for every school I go to: get better than average grades, don't get attached to anyone, stay out of trouble, and move away.

Easy peasy.

I run through the school gates, barely stopping by the office to sign my name before snatching my schedule from the secretary and running down the corridor, having no idea where my homeroom is.

I skid down hallways and crash around corners. My homeroom number is 401, which means it's on the fourth floor, but where the hell are the staircases?

The warning bell sounds and I groan, wandering around the school like a lost puppy. The corridors are already deserted, and only the murmurs from classrooms can be heard. I won't have found the staircase if clumsy old me hadn't tripped against the janitor's closet and sprawled onto the ground, giving me the chance to see around the hidden corner.

By the time I actually find my homeroom, I'm ten minutes late.

Wow, good job, Alia.

I catch my breath before knocking on the door and entering the classroom.

Homeroom teachers of all homeroom teachers, I probably got the coolest one, because she only briefly nods at me and gestures toward an empty seat next to the window. No lectures, no slips. Not even a glare.

I sit down as the homeroom teacher roll calls us.

"Dylan James?"

"Here!"

"Ella Mardrial?"

"Here."

"Kasey Dollson."

"Right here, miss!"

I wrinkle my nose at her shrilly voice, I already don't like this Kasey Doll-something. I also realize my homeroom teacher isn't roll calling us in alphabetical order. Not that it bothers me.

"Sarilyn Emble!"

"Here!" the girl beside me yells so loudly I can barely hold back a wince. Sarilyn notices. "Sorry, I'm loud." She tucks her pale blond hair behind her ear, smiling apologetically. Her wide, hazel brown eyes makes her look innocent in that "I'm hot but innocent" way. Also, I've never actually heard of her name before.

"Alia Roger."

"Here," I say, trying not to blush as the whole class turns to stare at me. I don't like attention, okay?

As soon as the homeroom period ends, I slip the school map between the pages of my Science textbook and try to look like I know where I'm going while furtively peeking at the apparently useless map. I'm rubbish at reading maps, so, yeah.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I stiffen in surprise before turning around to find Sarilyn smiling at me. "Need any help?"

I hesitate. "Uh, yeah, actually. I can't find my locker."

"What's your number?"

"208."

Sarilyn grins. "I'll take you there. Your locker's right next to mine."