One should only read a novel titled Stepbrother Inked on their phone or Kindle if they don’t want said real-life stepbrother to see it. Maybe, also, one should not throw said book at said stepbrother.
The words hot mess come to mind when I consider going off on an internal diatribe against myself.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath, taking my book along with him as he sweeps down the hall. I grit my teeth, but there’s no point in going after him and drawing attention to the novel of my choice. To be fair, I wasn’t lying when I told Danyella that I’m not fetishizing his role as my stepbrother. I was just … curious.
“Wow. Please spend the night at my place on Friday. We have a lot to unpack.” Danyella pats me on the arm and then leaves me to my next class: Beginning Japanese.
I’m surrounded by freshman which isn’t surprising, but which is also remarkably embarrassing, especially considering my only knowledge of the language comes from manga, anime, and video games. I can pretty easily say, I’m embarrassed, I’m home, and goddamn it in Japanese, but not much else.
Fortunately, my teacher—which just so happens to be Ms. Miyamoto—is kind enough to pretend like I’m not a total failure as she offers me extra guidance through my first lesson. I keep myself going with the mantra of one more hour to go, just one more hour.
Mr. Volli (took me three tries to pronounce—it’s voh-lee), the instructor of my next class, Software Tools: App Development, seems nice enough. He lets me sit in a spot in the back and use my phone to look up any terms I don’t understand (meaning: all of them). Interestingly, my first day at the school is his as well; he’s taking over for the previous instructor who got into some sort of hiking accident (told you these Pac Northwesterners were obsessed with hiking). When Mr. Volli talks about coding, I decide that he has a pleasant, comforting voice, even if I don’t understand a damn word that he’s saying.
I am so behind.
So fucking behind.
There is no way in hell that I’m going to pass my classes here, not without help of some kind.
After class, Lumen finds me again and introduces me to a group of her friends. It’s highly likely that I won’t remember any of their names: there are a lot of them. They do, however, take my phone and pass it around, ensuring that everyone has plugged their number into my contacts.
Parrish overhears on his way past and gives me a look that seems impossible to interpret.
“Desperate, much?” he murmurs as I scowl at him. It’s like, every time we share a moment that seems to mean something, he goes out of his way to make sure that it doesn’t.
“Don’t be jealous just because I like girls better,” I tell him which isn’t necessarily true, but which gets me the reaction that I wanted. Parrish frowns hard and knocks me with his shoulder as he passes, eliciting whispers and gossip from the surrounding students.
“He likes to be the center of attention, just ignore him,” Lumen tells me with a shrug, but her eyes follow Parrish’s back as he heads down the hall anyway. With a sigh, she smooths her palms down the front of her uniform, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. She pulls the look off so well, in a way that I’m envious of, like the uniform was made specifically to complement her style. Personally, I’m suffering from imposter syndrome like nobody’s business.
I don’t understand the curriculum, and I’m not used to such a bloodthirsty and gossip hungry populace.
Already, I feel overwhelmed.
“So, are you coming?” Lumen asks, and I blink a few times as I try to reorient myself.
“Coming?” I repeat as Parrish pauses nearby and opens a locker, removing a bag of gym clothes and a gaming laptop that makes my own look like an ancient relic. “Coming where?”
Lumen just laughs at me.
“Danyella’s on Friday?” she repeats, raising two blond brows in question. “She said she invited you.”
Oh.
I didn’t realize it was like, a sleepover or something?
“We go way back,” she continues, like on top of everything else, she can read my mind. I wouldn’t doubt it. On top of being gorgeous, she’s apparently battling it out with Danyella for one of the top academic spots in the school. I should ask one of them to tutor me.
“We’re still grounded, remember?” Parrish calls out from down the hall. I let my gaze fall past Lumen to land on him. He’s posed like a model, one shoulder leaning against the now-closed locker, legs crossed at the ankles. He looks like a cat: bored, apathetic, but with this slight edge of annoyance that you could blink and miss. It’s all in the little tells: the way he slits his eyes, the way his hand plays with his tie, the slight tapping of his foot against the floor. “I thought we were going to spend our isolation … together.”
