As I walked out of class, balancing my books in my hands, I suddenly collided with someone, sending everything flying across the hallway.
"I'm so sorry!" I blurted, dropping to my knees to gather the scattered papers. "I didn't see you there."
When I looked up to apologize again, my breath caught in my throat. It was him. The handsome guy with the striking blue eyes from English class. I found myself momentarily lost in those eyes, drawn in like they held some kind of magnetic pull.
"Watch where you're going, you bitch!" he snapped, his voice sharp and cutting, shattering the brief moment. "If you wanted to be close to me, you could've just said so instead of throwing yourself at me."
His words hit like a slap. Before I could even process his insult, he roughly pulled away from my grasp. My heart raced—not from attraction anymore, but from sheer anger. What the hell? Who did he think he was? Throwing myself at him? I hadn't even seen him!
"Excuse me!" I spat back, my voice louder than I intended. "I didn't throw myself at you! Why in the hell would I do that—to 'you' of all people? With that ugly face?"
I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, my anger fueling every word. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of surprise cross his perfect features. Who would've thought someone so handsome could be this mean?
He looked like he was about to fire back, but before he could, his friend called out from the end of the hallway. He hesitated, glancing between me and his friend. With an icy smirk, he leaned in just slightly, his voice low and threatening. "We're not done. No one calls me ugly and gets away with it."
And just like that, he turned and walked away, apparently deciding his friend's call was more important. My heart was still pounding, but now it wasn't just from anger—it was from the tension in the air that told me this wasn't the last time I'd be dealing with him.
I bent down to collect my scattered books, trying to calm the anger still pulsing through me. As I reached for a notebook, I noticed someone crouching beside me.
"Don't worry, he's always a jackass. You'll get used to him," a soft, friendly voice said.
I looked up to see a warm, sweet smile. The girl in front of me was stunning—her skin flawless, her eyes kind, and her smile effortlessly comforting. She radiated an energy that immediately put me at ease.
"I'm Tracy Jones," she introduced herself, her voice full of warmth.
"I'm Justine," I replied, returning her smile.
Her face brightened with excitement. "You must be the new student in our English class!"
"Yeah, that's me," I nodded, grateful for her kindness after the humiliating encounter. My thoughts wandered back to the guy I had bumped into earlier, and before I could stop myself, I asked, "Who is that guy I ran into earlier?"
Tracy's smile faltered, the light in her eyes dimming as soon as I mentioned him. I could tell instantly that this guy wasn't just some random classmate. There was something deeper there, something complicated.
"Let's go somewhere more comfortable to talk," she said quickly, her tone shifting as she stood up and reached for my hand. Before I could protest, she gently pulled me along, leading me down the hallway.
My curiosity deepened. Who the hell was this guy, and why did his name seem to carry so much weight?
Here's a refined version of the scene, enhancing the dialogue and atmosphere for more tension and emotional depth.
We slipped into an empty classroom, and Tracy quickly pulled me into a seat. She glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby, then leaned in as if preparing to share a dangerous secret.
"That's Nicolas Cortez," she said, giving me a look that suggested I should instantly recognize the name.
I shook my head, clueless. "I don't get it."
She sighed, a mix of disbelief and sympathy in her eyes. "His family is the richest in the country. They own this school, Justine. If you get on his bad side, he can have you kicked out. No one talks back to him—not even the teachers."
My stomach dropped. "Oops," I muttered, feeling the weight of the situation crash down on me. "It's already too late for that. I might as well pack my things and go right now."
Tracy's eyes widened in shock and confusion. "What do you mean? What did you do?"
"Well," I hesitated, rubbing the back of my neck nervously, "I might've snapped at him earlier when I bumped into him. He said I practically threw myself at him, like I was desperate or something." My voice hardened. "He was such a jackass."
Tracy's expression softened with understanding, but her worry was palpable. "I know, he 'is' a jackass. The fact that no one can stand up to him only makes it worse. He's so arrogant. But seriously, Justine, you should avoid getting on his bad side. He can make your life here... miserable."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with sympathy, like she thought I'd already sealed my fate.
If I got kicked out of school before the day even ended, it would be devastating. My parents would be so disappointed, and my dreams—everything I had worked for—would be shattered before they even had a chance to begin. Panic started to bubble inside me. What kind of misfortune had befallen me on my very first day?
I wished I could turn back time, just to erase that one careless moment in the hallway. But there was no going back. This morning, my biggest fear was figuring out how to fit in. Now, my fear was far greater—how to even stay in the school.
We headed to our next class, and I silently hoped—crossing my fingers—that I wouldn't run into Nick for the rest of the day. The tension from earlier still lingered, and the last thing I needed was another confrontation.
Thankfully, I found a seat next to TJ. Her presence was like a soothing balm after all the chaos. She was friendly and welcoming, treating me like an old friend rather than the new girl, which I appreciated more than I could express. It made the unfamiliar surroundings a little more bearable.
But even with TJ's kindness, a part of me couldn't help but worry. The excitement of being in this prestigious school was mixed with doubt. Would I ever really fit in here? With kids like Nicolas walking around like they owned the world, would I always feel like an outsider?