" Miles asked, having noticed and grown tired of me looking behind us every five seconds, terrified a certain boy would jump out. No matter how hard I tried to calm myself, to keep my hand from shaking, I just couldn't.

"It's nothing."

"That's a lie."

"Honestly, it's nothing too bad..." at the sight of his raised eyebrow and crossed arms, I continued, "I just may have thrownadrinkatsomeboy."

"You didn't!" He exclaimed in surprise. I had no idea how he managed to figure out what I'd even said. "Did he deserve it?"

"Yeah, I guess." Truth be told, I couldn't really remember all that much about it.

Had he deserved it?

All I did recall was brown spreading across and through his shirt, sticking so perfectly to his refined body underne— That was a big, fat fuck no. I would not, could not, go down that road, ever.

"Why are you being so weird?" He asked, noticing how I wasn't laughing like he was. He paused, "Who did you do it to, anyway?"

We had continued walking, him taking sneaky bites of his snickers bar, whilst I tried not to gnaw on my nail.

"Archer Redwood?"

He deep throated the chocolate bar.

"W-what?" He choked, after having to cough several times. "Shit. Babe, you're done for."

"Yes, yes I know, but I don't really want to talk about it or think about it, alright?"

"Alrighty," he said, mumbling something about having a death wish. I couldn't exactly disagree with it, but it wasn't something I was particularly willing to admit. "Come on, we better get ready."

I glanced at the grandfather clock next to me and agreed.

***

Despite having given myself the time to get ready, I was currently not, and so was rushing around my room, throwing open the gold detailed cupboards and drawers a little too violently. I couldn't find any of the other shirts I'd been provided, and so was entirely reliant on Autumn having the miraculous ability to clean a wine stain, or the people she gave my shirt to, in under twenty four hours.

I started thinking of excuses that wouldn't get me thrown out in a sack, quite literally.

I looked towards the clock in my room. With a resigned and slightly (very) panicked sigh, I knew I had no other option, but to ask Robert.

He had been nice enough, bringing me whatever I needed and willing to do what I asked, whether that be finding Miles or even getting my timetable. Even so, I felt awkward. It felt so pretentious to 'summon' him.

I pulled the cord by my bed.

He knocked on the door a few moments later, decked in his formal get up, as usual. The black suit fit snugly, flattering his slightly plump figure. His cheeks were a little pink, but otherwise, he appeared unruffled.

"What can I do for you, Madam?"

I'd given up on getting him to drop the 'madam' and could feel the minutes ticking by, so just said: "Did you take all my school shirts to get cleaned or..?"

Autumn came up behind him then, hair falling in loose curls down her back and in school uniform herself.

"Oh, Jolie, I am so glad I caught you!" She stepped in front of Robert, nodding at him. He stepped back and walked away. "Cornelius took it to the cleaners. The stain's not entirely gone, but I suppose it'll have to do."

"T-thank you," I said, shocked at the speed in which she'd returned it. I turned it over in my hands, noticing that the stain was no longer visible at all. I wondered what product they used... possibly Vanish.

Christ, I thought. I sound like my mother.

***

Miles met me outside my room when I was done, tapping his non existent watch, impatiently. He wore the completely wrong size uniform still, but had rolled up the sleeves and trousers in such a way that made it seem kinda... fashionable? What even?

In my own bag, I only had a few pens and a notepad— it was pretty limp— whereas Miles's looked strained.

"What the fuck is in there?" I asked, having noticed him struggling down the stairs. His grip on the railing was making his dark skin go pale as he almost lost his balance, teetering to one side.

We were almost with the rest of the group at this point, having been told to meet at the bottom of the stairs to be shown the way to our first lesson. As usual, we were ignored. People had got used to us, never even making eye contact any more. I didn't know how I felt about it.

That was, until, Miles lost his footing as he was jostled to the side by a particular blonde. He managed not to fall himself, but the same could not be said for his bag... and the entirety of its contents.

Paintbrushes, pens, pencils, paper and everything in between began spilling down the marble steps.

Immediately, Miles was hurrying after his art supplies, grabbing them randomly so that they were no longer in an organised jumble. He struggled to hold all of it in his arms.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I asked Harry, stepping down to his level as he smirked proudly. A few boys stood behind him, tittering to each other .

Pompous arseholes.

"It was an accident," he said, feigning innocence, his hands raised. No one was deceived by his performance as amusement bounded about in his green eyes.

"No," I said. "You were an accident. That—" I pointed to the stairs, still littered with Miles' things. "— was a dickish move."

He stepped back, affronted. "Listen here, bitch."

He started towards me, his shock now replaced with fearsome anger.

"Sod off, Harry," a girl with layers upon layers of tightly plaited, dark hair cut in, stepping up to him with her shoulders squared. The make up emphasising her dark features glowed golden in the light, replicating the rings adorning her long fingers.

"Aw, Melanie," he cooed. "You think you have power because of your mummy dearest?"

"What... like you do?" she retorted, confidently. "Tell me again: which position was daddy dearest fucking his secretary in? Missionary... or doggy?"

He looked stricken. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about! No fucking clue!"

"I bet your mum had no fucking clue, either. How humiliating."

He tipped his chin upwards slightly more, his blonde hair falling backwards. "I don't have to listen to this."

She tilted her head to the side, batting her lashes slowly. "Jealous that daddy gets more action than you do?"

"That is quite enough!" Ms Everton said, storming towards us.

I hadn't noticed, but as they argued it seemed that people had begun to congregate at the bottom of the stairs, not bothering to sheathe their curiosity.

The girl beside me waved her hand. "Show's over."

They turned away, but were clearly muttering about what they had just witnessed amongst themselves. Eyes travelled and settled on Harry, indulging themselves in watching as a deep red rose on his neck and spread across his cheeks. I couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or anger.

Another girl, her hair in tight coils, was helping Miles, holding his bag open as he repositioned his things in it.

"Thank you," I said to the girl, not seeming all that triumphant at owning Harry. She didn't really show much emotion at all, to be honest. "Jolie Dubois," I said, putting my hand out.

Had her face not been so impassive before, I may not have noticed the flicker of her cleanly cut eyebrows. Really, I wanted to excuse it as a twitch, but I'd received the same reaction every time I'd introduced myself for it to be just that. I shook it off, however, as she recovered promptly.

She slotted her hand into my own. "Melanie Kingsley."

"Kingsley?" I questioned. "As in..?" I looked towards the door with the headmistresses name etched into a gold plaque. When I turned back, her expression had changed entirely. She was now completely closed off, stoney and cold.

She turned away from me half a second later without a word, stepped towards the girl helping Miles, and pulled her away from us. Ms Everton, her hand raised as she prepared to tell her off, was completely ignored.

"Okay then."