Tiago
The air is different.
Here, at Saint Monica's, I feel like I can actually breathe. Not just desperately take small gulps of air, unable to swallow the large lump in my throat.
I can breathe.
Nobody looks at me here. By the last few weeks of junior year, I was going crazy, feeling all those eyes on meâpiercing my skin, searching for the reason they craved so badly.
A reason to hate or to cherish.
But here, there are no eyes. Only the beat of music in my ears mocking the loudness of the hallways in the morning and the mystery of the lock on my brand-new locker, assigned to me just minutes ago.
I make another attempt, turning the dial, aligning it with the combination they gave me in the office. But something is definitely offâthe code doesn't work, no matter how many times I try or how carefully I check the paper.
Just as I'm about to head back to the office, a strong, forceful push to my back catches me off guard, making me lose my balance and slam into the locker.
Don't tell me they do the "bully the new guy" thing here, because if they do, I'm transferring again.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?"
I pull off my headphones and turn around to face the owner of the husky, electrifying voice. The girl is already glaring at me, arms crossed over her chest. I suck in a sharp breath, completely thrown. I have no idea who this girl is or why she's coming at me so aggressively.
"I bet that's why you got your ass kicked out."
All the air leaves my chest again, so invasive it makes me lean back against the locker, dazed. Her expression shifts from angry to sarcastic, indulgent, like it's all just a joke.
"What?" I force the word out, weak and uncertain. Her lips quirk in a playful grin.
"You're a crook, Big Boy."
I shouldn't, but I feel an odd sense of relief lifting the weight on my chest as she stops talking. Only then I really see herâthose wild, greedy, narrowed hazel eyes, making such a hot combo with her silky copper hair.
"Excuse me?" I stretch my lips into a forced smile. I'm not sure if I'm asking how she knows about me being kicked out or why a sudden nickname sounds downright explicit.
I push myself off the locker, trying to regain some confidence. The girl doesn't answer. Instead, she moves to the lock, turning the dial with practiced ease, not even glancing at the numbers. A loud click confirms what I've just realized. The reason the code wasn't working is simple.
It's not my locker. It's hers.
The tropical scent coming from inside matches hers, and I can't stop myself from breathing it in. Too deeply.
Lowering my eyes, I glance at the paper from the office.
215C.
I look back at the locker.
215D.
"Who the hell uses letters for lockers?" The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and now I feel like a bigger idiot I've made of myself a moment ago.
The girl laughs, loud and husky. "Yeah, this school is pretty fucked up." She wrinkles her nose, a surprisingly cute gesture for someone who knows a thousand ways to curse.
She nods toward another row of lockers. Sure enough, mine is right there, just across from hers. The freaking 215C.
"Oh," I exhale, feeling my face burn. "Thank you. But... how do you know...?"
How do you know I was kicked out? I want to ask, but the words get stuck in my throat as I catch the flash of a piercing ball on her tongue when she slides it across her lips.
That's when it hits me.
She's pretty. Dangerously, erratically pretty.
She's the type of girl who gives her parents constant headaches and cries over her biker boyfriend, who's at least ten years older, while sniffing lines with her fake friends.
Not my type, though.
"So, did I guess right, Santiago?"
Her voice pulls me back. She's standing close, too close, her locker still open beside her. Her eyes burn into me, making me feel stripped bare.
"Tiago," I correct her, also avoiding the question.
Her lips stretch in a wider, wicked smile. "Tiago," she repeats, dragging out my name like she's tasting it. By now, I've spent enough years in Georgia, yet her thick Southern accent makes it buzz in my head.
"How do you know my name?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can think.
She shuts her locker and steps closer. I instinctively lean back, but she doesn't move away. Now I have to tilt my head down just to hold her gaze. Although she needs to keep her head raised in order to be able to keep eye contact, she looks like a predator hunting her prey down.
"Mr. Dawson and I made an agreement," she says, her voice as casual as if she were talking about the weather.
Wait. She's the amazing tutor Mr. Dawson hyped me up about?
"And it looks like I'll score extra if I act like I care, so..."
"So," I force a smile, trying to mask the cocktail of embarrassment and stress swirling inside me. "That's why you're here?"
"I'm here because you're a crook," she says with a smirk that makes my blood pressure spike. "And a rogue."
I feel the lump in my throat again, but this time it's different. I can't decide if it's better or worse because her eyes are crawling into my skin, seeing everything.
"I'm sorry I tried to assault your locker..."
"Yannik," she says, cutting me off and finally introducing herself.
Yannik. It suits her.
Her mouth quirks into a lopsided grin. Her hazel eyes stay locked on mine, but I swear she glances lower for just a second before her gaze turns playfully cold again.
This girl has the eyes of someone who could easily make my life hell.
I'm still staring at her face when I notice a hand sliding around her waist.
When I finally look away, I see the guy who just walked up to her. He's extremely tall, taller than me by a few inches, objectively handsome and he's holding her like she's his property.
"Not suspended yet?" he asks, laughing.
"You're the second person to remind me, Cormac," she growls, rolling her eyes.
But she doesn't push his hand away.
Cormac's smile disappears when he notices me. His tone turns sharp. "Who are you?"
Before I can answer, Yannik jumps in.
"It's Tiago. He tried to assault my locker."
Oh, boy, this girl...
"What?" Cormac looks at her in disbelief. His hand slides off Yannik's waist, grazing her wide, curvy hips on the way down.
She bursts out laughing, finally stepping away from both me and him. But it doesn't bring me any relief. "I'm kidding. Come on, I want to get to class before TJ takes the best seat."
She spares me a brief glance before turning away, her eyes shimmering with mischief. "See you, Tiago."
I don't think Yannik notices the way her boyfriend glares at me, as if he just caught me doing something inappropriate to her. But once Cormac finally turns to follow her, the weight of his judgment lingers, leaving me feeling exposed and dirty.
Like I've been dragged into something wrong. Something I don't have the energy to deal with.
And the thought of being stuck with this girlâbecause my History teacher decided she'd be my tutorâis so invasive it nearly pushes every other worry out of my head.
Nearly, because nothing can completely erase the dread of the football tryouts.
The tryouts my life depends on.
***
Hey! Thank you for getting this far! If you notice any issues with puntuation, syntax or word choice, I'd be grateful if you let me know. See you in the next chapter!