Chapter 5

The air in the classroom buzzed with a low hum of anticipation, the usual pre-lesson chatter replaced by a nervous energy that crackled between us. Sarah, her eyes wide and mischievous, leaned in close.

"What that guy name?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

I turned, searching the room. "What guy?" I feigned confusion, though my heart hammered against my ribs.

"The handsome dude from earlier. The one who stopped us from entering the class," she persisted, her gaze darting around the room.

"I don't know. I think his name is Oliver," I replied, trying to sound indifferent. "Why?"

Sarah's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Nahhh. I'm just curious."

"Sarah," I warned, my voice a low growl. She burst into laughter, her eyes twinkling.

"Sorry, sorry," she chuckled, shooting apologetic glances at the startled students.

"Did you realize you're being loud?" I hissed, my cheeks burning.

"My bad," she muttered, her smile fading into a sheepish grin.

"Nats," she whispered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial level, "Seriously?"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the heat rising to my face betrayed me. "Don't worry, I don't have any interest in your man," I mumbled, my voice barely audible.

"Oh, your face says otherwise," she teased, her eyes gleaming with amusement. I felt my cheeks burn even hotter.

Our home room teacher, Mrs. Gable entered the room, her gaze sweeping over the class with an air of authority. "Natasha Royce," she called, her voice sharp. I raised my hand, my stomach churning.

"Meet the counsellor in the counselling room," she instructed, her voice leaving no room for argument.

"If I may ask, ma'am," I began, my voice trembling slightly, "why am I wanted in the counselling room?"

Mrs. Gable adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses, her gaze fixed on me. "Nick Cole," she announced, her voice flat. "You are also wanted in the counselling room."

Sarah's eyes widened. "I think the matter at hand has escalated," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I really shouldn't have hit him," I confessed, my voice laced with regret.

"No, you did the right thing, Nats," Sarah reassured me, her hand resting lightly on my arm. "Guys like that won't stop bullying until they're taught a lesson."

But her words did little to soothe my anxiety. "I don't want my cover to blow up like this," I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

Before Sarah could respond, a voice cut through the air. "What secret don't you want to blow up?" Nick sneered, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"It's none of your business, asshole," Sarah retorted, her voice dripping with venom.

"Whoa, a crazy bitch just like her friend," Nick scoffed, turning to face Sarah. "Are you going to hit me too? Come on, try it." He even had the audacity to offer his cheek, a mocking gesture that made my blood boil.

Sarah's knuckles whitened as she clenched her fists. I quickly placed a hand on her arm, a silent warning. I knew Sarah. She was no stranger to a good fight, having spent countless hours perfecting her boxing technique in recent months.

"No, Sarah," I cautioned, my voice firm.

She hissed, her eyes narrowed dangerously. It was clear that holding back was a monumental effort for her.

"The counselor must be waiting," Nick said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

"You were asked to come, not to stand around chatting," Sarah snapped, her voice laced with disdain.

"Why? We were asked to come together, weren't we?" he retorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You were asked to come, not together," Sarah clarified, her voice dripping with icy contempt.

"Sarah, don't worry. I've got this," I said, trying to project an air of confidence that I didn't entirely feel.

"I don't like him," she muttered, her gaze fixed on Nick with a mixture of disgust and amusement.

"Same here," I admitted, "I feel like hitting his ugly face again."

Sarah chuckled, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Don't hesitate," she encouraged, her eyes gleaming with a predatory glint.

"I won't," I promised, a dangerous smile playing on my lips.

"Just you know," Nick said, his voice laced with a chilling warning, "the counselor will be on my side."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"

"This school," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "is practically owned by the Seven."

"The Seven?" I echoed, feigning ignorance.

"Oliver's friends," he explained, a hint of pride in his voice. "They run this place. The rules don't apply to us."

"So, Oliver is your leader?" I asked, my voice laced with feigned innocence.

His face contorted in anger. "He's not our leader. He's just…a friend."

"But he seems to control you guys more than your parents," I observed, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with fury. "Just shut up, okay?" he growled, turning away and storming towards the counseling room.

Entering Emerald Green School had been a conscious decision. My father, ever the pragmatist, had insisted on enrolling me in one of the top ten schools in the country. But I had subtly guided his choice, ensuring that Emerald Green, with its renowned academic reputation and its notorious alumni, was the ultimate destination.

I knew my father would want to invest heavily in the school, to ensure my comfort and security. But I had subtly dissuaded him, knowing that his influence would undoubtedly draw unwanted attention to me. I wanted to remain anonymous, to blend in with the crowd, to experience the thrill of ordinary teenage life.

The counselor's office was a small, sterile room, devoid of any personal touches. The woman behind the desk, a stern-faced woman with a severe expression, barely acknowledged my greeting.

"You hit him," she stated, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Yes," I replied, my voice firm.

"Why?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering.

I was taken aback by her directness. I had expected a barrage of questions, accusations, perhaps even a lecture. But instead, she was simply asking for an explanation.

"He harassed me," I said, my voice steady.

Nick, sitting opposite me, scoffed. "I was just playing with her," he protested, his voice dripping with feigned innocence.

"How do you define 'playing'?" the counselor inquired, her voice calm yet firm.

Nick hesitated, his bravado faltering. "I was…messing around with her," he stammered, his gaze shifting nervously.

The counselor remained silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on Nick. Then, to my surprise, she said, "This should not happen again. You may go."

I was stunned. I had braced myself for a reprimand, for a suspension, perhaps even a meeting with my parents. But she had simply dismissed him.

"Natasha," she called out as I was about to leave.

I turned, surprised by her sudden change in tone. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You did the right thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

A slow smile spread across my face. Perhaps this school wouldn't be as bad as I had initially feared.

I love it when everyone supports me.