JUSTIN’S POINT OF VIEW

The sun peeked through the curtains as I lay in bed, and I was surrounded by the comforting sounds of the morning, such as my mother's rustling in the kitchen, my dad's daily routine, and the hum of the coffee maker.

"Dad! Mom!" I hurried down the stairs from my room, my rucksack swinging awkwardly behind me. As I rushed into the kitchen, I could smell the aroma of breakfast.

Before my dad could notice, I grabbed a piece of toast off his plate when I saw him at the table. "Good morning, sleepyhead!" he said, laughing as I bit into it, sending crumbs flying all over the place. As my mother worked to make a hearty breakfast, her excitement filled the room.

The sounds of my family and the toast melting in my mouth warmed me. It was another hectic morning in our busy household, and I was ready to make the most of the day.

"Hey!" That was mine, you little thief," he grumbled, but a smile was tugging at his mouth.

"Good morning," I murmured around a piece of toast as I adjusted the silver frames of my glasses.

"Good morning, love," Mum said as she folded the blue tea towel neatly next to the kettle and dried her hands on it. "Are you ready for your first day?"

Yes, I said as I slowly chewed while pulling the sleeves of my large grey hoodie over my wrists.

Dad examined me. "Will you ever dress like a man? It wouldn't hurt to add a little colour.

I rolled my eyes. "My outfit is totally appropriate."

I wore oversized grey joggers. I had on a black sweatshirt. There, I was comfortable. My armour. Not a lot of noise or showiness. Just me.

"He'll change when he starts dating," said Mum, with a sly smile.

As the heat started to creep into my face, I groaned and said, "Mum." She continued.

"You're nineteen, Justin. Not even one date? She sighed loudly.

"That's because he'd probably scare them off," Dad said, laughing. "You seem to be saying, 'Don't mess with me.'"

Not amused, I said, "Ha. Ha."

"Okay, I'm off," I said, placing my rucksack on top and heading for the door. "Justin." Mum's voice carried an anxious tone. She sounded anxious. I circled the area once more.

As they both stared at me, as if I were a ticking time bomb they hoped would not detonate, she put a hand on Dad's shoulder.

"Agree to keep your head down this time, okay?" she said in a whisper.

Dad added more firmly, "We don't want another… incident."

"You know it wasn't my fault," I reminded them. "That jerk was bound to do it."

Still. "Promise us you'll try," Mum pleaded.

I sighed. "I don't promise things I can't keep. But I'll try. For you.

Though they didn't push it, their hopeful faces slightly waned. They were too familiar with me.

The problem is that I don't seek out trouble. Trouble always seems to find me.

I've always been the only child in my family, and my name is Justin Crawford. Having spent a significant amount of my childhood immersed in technology, video games, and books, one could easily label me as a nerd. But I'm not exactly the frail, awkward person that most people think of. Instead, I perceive myself as alert and perceptive, possessing a keen eye for detail that allows me to deeply comprehend individuals and circumstances. I'm a self-assured person who doesn't hesitate to defend others or myself when called upon. My friends appreciate my candor, and I frequently pick up on details that others might overlook. Whether it's a witty comeback or a well-timed joke, I'm always ready to keep things interesting.

After the fight at my previous school went horribly wrong—let's call it messy—I had little choice but to transfer to Deighton Park High Sixth Form College, even though I didn't really intend to. It all started when a privileged jerk thought he could scare a girl behind the bike sheds. I couldn't just stand by and tell him that not everyone would put up with his nonsense, so I stepped in and rearranged his face. I'm hoping he's all right now. But really? I have no remorse at all.

If the wrought iron gates and stone towers didn't shout "rich kids only," the students' manner of moving through the corridors certainly did. Even the uniforms at Deighton Park High were crisp and well-maintained. As soon as I got out of the car, I appeared to be an intruder.

Perhaps I was.

As I walked past students with flawless hair and pressed blazers, my boots reverberated down the marble hallway. No one spoke, but their gazes were fixed on me. As if I were an alien to their ecosystem. I felt like a bug in a glass of sparkling water.

I didn't keep my head low, but I did keep my eyes down. I managed to blend in with the crowd without attracting any attention. It didn't work.

Behind me, a smug and sing-song voice called out, "Hey, new guy!"

I didn't slow down.

I heard another voice, but this time it was a male one. "He has the energy of a transfer student. Do you believe he will live for a week?"

They chuckled.

I bit down the instinct to snap back. There was no point in initiating a conflict before I had even located my locker. Furthermore, it wasn't as though I had never experienced this before. I encountered the same worn-out hierarchy, a new school, and a new system.

Deighton Park, however, had a different feeling. It felt as if it wanted to devour me more quickly than the others.

"The auditorium is where the first assembly is held." As I passed, a bored girl wearing a prefect's sash murmured without raising her head from her phone.

I followed the line of bodies towards the hall and nodded, though I wasn't sure if she saw.

The interior had arched ceilings, velvet seats, and chandeliers that were probably pricier than those in my former flat, giving the place the appearance of an opera house. Students filed in by social rank, from what I could tell: top-tier kids taking the front rows, the rest of us filling in behind.

I picked a seat close to the rear.

I saw her at that point.

Fletcher, MacKenzie.

Seated near the front, she exuded an effortless, untouchable glow. Her hair was in perfect waves, uniformly fitted as if it were custom-tailored, and she was laughing softly, surrounded by two girls who were standing guard. guard. She exuded confidence. managed. As if nothing here had surprised her.

Her eyes strayed through the rows and came to rest on me.

Our gazes met.

Too long by one second.

Then, as if I weren't worth looking at, she turned back to her friends. But I couldn't get her dismissive look out of my head. She wasn't merely interested. She was planning.

I found my locker after the headmaster rambled on about tradition, excellence, and other typical propaganda. Instead, I discovered the number on a brass plate, partially concealed between two men who were already engaged in a heated discussion.

One of them muttered, "I heard the new girl threw a book at a teacher last year."

"Nope. She's most likely just another charity case for a scholarship. Like—” “He saw me.” —like him.

I muttered, "Charming," and began to spin my lock.

The child blinked. “You talk?”

“Only when provoked.”

His friend laughed under his breath. They left.

I shoved my bag in and shut the locker harder than I needed to.

Lunch was worse.

The dining room had the appearance of a fine dining establishment. Students were divided into groups based on unspoken rules: athletes at one table, fashionistas at another, drama kids, influencers, and legacy families. To fit in, I walked over to the food counter and picked up a tray.

A voice next to me said, "You're new."

I pivoted.

A girl with thick glasses, untidy curls, and a serious expression raised an eyebrow. As if it were a weapon, she carried a notebook under her arm.

"Priya Colton is the name. I do statistics. I'm in the Observers Club. I assume you're Justin?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"I believed so. Newcomers are easy to spot.”

"You always introduce yourself like a private investigator?"

She bit into an apple and remarked, "Only when I'm interested. Be mindful of your back. Here, social politics happen quickly. You will either be someone's project or their pawn."

She left before I could inquire what category she believed I fit into.

Fantastic.

I searched for a vacant seat. I located one. Sat there and ate alone.

Until I saw him.

Savage Luthor.

With his entourage of Malcolm, Wolfe, Hiro, and that girl again, Kenzie, he entered the school as if he owned it. She was now smiling and tossing her hair over one shoulder at his side.

She laughed when he whispered something in her ear.

Then she raised her head. and noticed me. Once more.

There was a slight change in her expression.

I had no idea what her game was. However, I had a feeling that we would cross paths again.

I quickly finished my lunch and made my way to the library. Away from all this performance, somewhere quiet.

I did, however, catch a glimpse of another outsider as I passed the courtyard windows. The girl had silver-rimmed glasses, her jet-black hair pulled up in a high ponytail, and she exuded a don't-mess-with-me attitude.

She walked as though she was prepared to battle the entire world if it got in her way.

Ellison Maegan.

I would, but I didn't yet know her name. She didn't seem to care that the school wasn't prepared for her.

A fresh storm was approaching Deighton Park.

And perhaps I wouldn't be the only outsider for once.