Prologue 2

PROLOGUE 2

Way back

Lucian Leroux

Ugh. Children everywhere.

I eyed the students heading toward the entrance, some from the parking lot, some from the plaza-like park off to the west, some from the street to the east. Everyone was dressed sharper here, and I should be happy with my new school. Part of me was, I guessed. I was closer to home, closer to the hospital in case Dad needed me… And everyone always said private school was better than public, but…I’d really liked my teachers at my old school.

Then again, I wouldn’t have them this year, no matter what. This was high school. I was practically an adult now.

I sighed and trailed toward the entrance too, which was much grander than what I was used to. The whole school was, and I was relieved I hadn’t skipped orientation yesterday. Both Grandma and Nana had advised me to go, and they were usually right.

Removing my backpack, I jogged up the steps to the school and retrieved my map. I’d memorized the code to my locker but not the route to the library or my first class. Smart move, moron. Crap, my eyes were still bugging me. It was taking forever to get used to contacts.

I squinted at the map and⁠—

“Watch out!”

I snapped my head up, about a second before someone crashed into me, and something bounced off my fucking head. What the fuck! I ducked and flinched away, almost knocking someone else over in the process. Christ. I rubbed the side of my head and eyed the guy grinning sheepishly—and holding a damn football.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled.

A damn jock. Only thing missing was a letterman jacket. His buddies lurked in the background, shoving one another around.

“No problem,” I muttered and started walking away. I had—I checked my watch—seven minutes to get to class.

I had four years of this. Unless I could find a way to graduate early, but that was gonna be tough. I guessed it depended on how Dad recovered from this round of chemo. The doctors were hopeful, so… But I had to be prepared for the risk of the cancer coming back yet again, and it was possible I would have to get a job in a year or two.

Eventually, I’d bring it up with him. He’d probably deny it, saying we were doing fine—and I kinda believed him, all while… I mean, money ran out fast when you couldn’t work full time and you had a son who was suddenly in private school. Yeah, Grandma had helped with tuition, and I was sure Dad had saved up plenty before he got sick. After all, he didn’t want us to move to a cheaper area, and our living habits hadn’t changed. Still…with medical bills piling up, how long could this last?

“Hey, wait up!”

I threw a glance over my shoulder. What now? It was the jock again.

He ran over to me, having lost the football somewhere. “Didn’t I see you at orientation yesterday?”

How was I supposed to know?

I shrugged and hiked my backpack higher up on my shoulder. “Maybe…?”

“I think we have chemistry together first quarter,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Lucian,” I replied. “Do you happen to know where the classroom is?” Because we had chemistry right now.

He pointed up the hallway we were already walking, and I glanced around me, then checked the map again. Okay, yes, that had to be it.

“It’s just around the next corner,” he said. “There’s plenty of time.”

Plenty of time? Ah, no. We had five minutes, and we were surrounded by students slamming their lockers. Anything could happen. Had I not just taken a football to the head?

“Do people call you Luke? Loosh?”

I gave him an incredulous look. What the fucking hell?

Loosh?

“My name is Lucian. It isn’t difficult to say,” I stated. “Nicknames are for children. I thought this was high school.”

He just grinned. Crooked-like and carefree, messy hair so dark it was almost black, and eyes annoyingly blue. “Touchy.” He kept walking alongside me, and he brought out a rolled-up plastic folder from the back pocket of his pants.

Shit. Right there on the semi-transparent front of the folder, it read “KC Hayles.”

Well, whatever. Nicknames were childish.

“I’m KC, by the way,” he said flippantly.

I pointed to myself. “Not Loosh.”

He laughed. “Has anyone ever told you you’re strung a little tight?”

Piss off, KC.