New Blood at Oakhaven

"Get the fuck out of the car."

The words strike me like a physical blow, sharp and unforgiving. I flinch, dragging my gaze away from the imposing brick facade of Oakhaven High School to look at my mother. She sits behind the steering wheel, taking a long, slow drag of her cigarette. The gray smoke curls between us in the cramped cabin, a toxic fog that mirrors the thick hatred radiating from her narrowed eyes.

My right thumb instinctively finds my left wrist. I press down hard, rubbing the raised, jagged line of the scar hidden beneath the sleeve of my sweater. It is a nervous habit. A desperate grounding mechanism when the world feels like it is tilting off its axis.

"Get the fuck out, Jessa," she snaps again. She doesn't bother to raise her voice. She doesn't have to. The quiet venom laced in her tone does enough damage.

I swallow the heavy knot of emotion lodged in my throat, grab my backpack from the floorboard, and push the passenger door open. I don’t utter a single word in response. No apology. No goodbye. The sheer animosity in my mother's stare has grown unbearable over the last few months, a constant, crushing weight that hollows me out from the inside.

But I can never blame her. How could I? It was my fault. I was the reason the metal twisted and the glass shattered. The fatal car crash that took my father and brother replays in my mind like a broken, bloodstained reel. I killed them. She has every right to look at me like I am a monster. She has every right to harbor this deep, suffocating resentment toward her only surviving child.

I hate myself just as much.

The tires screech against the asphalt as she slams her foot on the gas. She tears away from the curb with the radio blasting, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk, engulfed in a cloud of exhaust. Moving across the country was her sudden, impulsive decision on a random Saturday morning. Our old house was a graveyard of memories, and neither of us could breathe in it anymore.

I didn't fight her on the move. Oakhaven is supposed to be a fresh start. A blank slate.

No one here knows my name. No one knows the blood on my hands. No one knows what I destroyed.

My thumb traces the scar on my wrist again, pressing harder this time until a dull ache pulses through my arm. I force my feet to move, dragging myself toward the heavy double doors of the front office. My only goal is to keep my head down and remain a ghost.

The blast of frigid air conditioning hits me the second I step inside the building. I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to hold myself together, and approach the front desk.

"Hi," I whisper.

The receptionist doesn't look up immediately. She holds up one manicured finger, her eyes glued to her computer screen as her acrylic nails clack against the keyboard. The wall behind her is plastered with cheerful motivational posters. They make my stomach churn, a bitter taste rising on my tongue. I blink rapidly to fight back the sudden, hot prickle of tears threatening to spill.

"What can I help you with, my dear?" she finally asks, offering a practiced, plastic smile.

"I'm a transfer student."

Her demeanor shifts instantly. The fake cheer turns genuine. "Oh! You must be Jessa. Jessa Bradley?"

I offer a stiff nod.

"Wonderful. I have everything ready for you right here." She pulls a thick manila folder from a tray and slides it across the counter. "Your daily schedule, event and sports information, along with the cafeteria price sheet."

"Thank you." I pull the folder toward me, opening it to inspect the grid of classroom numbers and teacher names. My lips twist. I have no idea where anything is.

"There's a campus map in there for you, as well."

I am about to thank her again and ask for directions when the heavy office door swings open behind me.

"Good morning, Rhonda."

The voice is deep, coated in a lazy, arrogant drawl that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. My mouth goes bone-dry. I freeze, keeping my eyes locked on the counter, pretending the wood grain is the most fascinating thing on earth.

Rhonda’s face transforms. Her eyes widen, beaming as she looks past me. "Declan Carmichael. Late again today, I see?"

He steps up right beside me. The heat radiating off his body hits my side, a stark contrast to the freezing office air.

"You know how it is," he says, his tone dripping with smooth, effortless charm. "Our game was intense last night. The team didn’t get home until two in the morning."

I risk a tiny side-glance and catch Rhonda actually blushing. A grown woman, flushing over a high school boy. I press my lips tight, biting back my judgment.

"Oh, I know." Rhonda rests her chin on her hands, leaning closer to him. "I was in the stands last night. You really pulled through for us in the last quarter. You saved us."

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates in Declan's chest. "That’s my signature move, Rhonda."

"Well, hero or not, I still need a word from your father that your tardiness is okay."

Declan leans over the counter. He is close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. I catch sight of his sandy brown hair, thick and slightly messy. "Oh, come on, Rhonda. He just left for the city this morning. He'll be there for a few days. You know what a busy man he is. I would hate to bother him for such a trivial thing."

Rhonda sighs, shaking her head. She is fighting a smile, clearly powerless against the magnetic pull in his voice. "Fine. You win. I’ll write you a pass, but only if you show Jessa around today. She's a new transfer student."

Panic spikes in my chest. My eyes go wide. I shake my head frantically, trying to communicate to Rhonda that I am fine navigating this maze alone. I don’t want a tour guide. I don’t want any attention drawn to me. Based on the sheer confidence rolling off this guy in waves and the way he talks, Declan Carmichael is the exact center of attention at Oakhaven High.

But my silent plea is ignored. It’s too late.

He turns to me, giving me all of his attention.

My breath hitches. For the first time, I take him in, drinking in those perfect amber eyes. They are warm and deep, calculating in a way that makes you feel like you are the only person he sees. Strands of sandy hair fall perfectly over his forehead, brushing the tops of his dark eyebrows. When his lips curve upward into a deep smile, two dimples pierce his cheeks. He is god-awfully handsome. It actually hurts to look at him.

"Well, hello there," he murmurs.

"Hi," I manage to force out in a pathetic whisper.

He cocks his head to the side, smirking at me. Heat floods my cheeks. The flustered panic rushing through my veins clashes with the heavy guilt I carried in from the car. The teasing look on his face is too much for me to handle.

The office phone suddenly rings, shattering the tension.

Rhonda groans. "I have to take this. But be nice to her, Declan. For me, please?" She gives him a blatant wink. My jaw drops in shock. Rhonda wedges the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Oakhaven High School..."

Declan ignores the call, keeping his amber eyes pinned to mine. "Jessa, huh?" He raises a single brow.

"Uh, yeah." I tighten my death grip on the straps of my backpack.

"Welcome to Oakhaven, new blood."

I frown, offended by the nickname. "I'm not a freshman."

His smirk deepens. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, biting down on the flesh. Those perfect, straight teeth press so hard the skin turns white. It is a deliberate, distracting motion. "You eighteen?"

My frown deepens at the invasive question. I shoot a desperate look at Rhonda, pleading for her help, but she is busy talking on the phone. I look back at Declan. "Um, why?"

He tilts his head to the opposite side, lifting a casual shoulder. "Just wanna know."

I give a jerky, hesitant nod.

His gaze drops. He takes his time, his eyes studying me. They track down my neck, lingering blatantly on my chest before traveling slowly down to my legs. The visual sweep is a physical heat that burns right through my clothes. My stomach twists into a tight knot. I press my thighs together, awkwardly shifting my weight, desperate to ground myself under his heavy scrutiny. My thumb finds my wrist again, rubbing the scar frantically.

His eyes dart to the movement. He notices the nervous habit instantly.

He doesn't say anything about it. He just smirks again.

Before I can process what is happening, he steps right into my personal space. The overwhelming scent of his cologne wafts over me. I have to physically command my lungs to stop myself from breathing it in with a long inhale.

He wraps a heavy arm around my shoulder, his grip firm and possessive, pushing me toward the interior door that leads to the main campus.

"I'll show you the ropes, Jessa."

My heart hammers against my ribs. As we walk, his arm shifts. I gasp silently when the back of his hand brushes deliberately over my breast. The touch is brief, electric, and unmistakable. It shocks me to my core.

I don't say a word. I am too stunned, frozen in this bizarre, terrifying new reality. I don’t even flinch or move away when his hand shifts and he does it a second time, the firm friction dragging over my breast again.

"English for first period? Fun."

I blink, snapping out of my daze. I look over. He has conveniently snatched the manila folder right out of my hands. I have to lift my head to see his face; he is almost an entire foot taller than me. He reads off my schedule, scanning the paper with narrowed eyes.

He lowers the paper and looks down at me. That teasing, arrogant smirk returns, accompanied by a slow, deliberate wink.

"Looks like half of your classes are with me."

Fuck.

He pulls me a fraction closer, his side pressed flush against mine as we step out into the crowded corridor.

"I’ll make sure you feel right at home here."

*Fuck.*