When my alarm sounds the next morning, I'm wide awake. Each sigh and groan of the halls through the night made my nerves feel shot. Also, Constance's sleep talking.

I shift and wince at the hard mattress biting into my back, making me yearn for my soft bed at the Jenning's house. If they weren't complete pieces of shit who threw me out, I'd say I miss them, too. I can almost hear Eileen's nasally voice shrieking at me through my door to wake up and then Harold's softer voice, "Come on, love. Time to get up," coming soon after.

My eyes ache. I have run out of my supply of Valium and the doctor on-site isn't available until four p.m. today.

Sighing, I turn my alarm off and rub at my aching eyes. Constance groans, covering her face with her pillow.

"Five more minutes," she mumbles.

I ignore her, not caring if she wakes or not. After showering and dressing quickly, I try to cover the dark circles under my eyes. There will be a lot of attention on me today, being the new kid, and I'd rather not look like the walking dead.

When I'm back in the room, Constance is awake, rubbing her face.

"Is there anywhere I can get a coffee?" Coffee will make me feel normal, and not like I've been left to rot in a school of delinquent teens no one knows what to do with.

"Yes," she replies with a yawn. "Give me ten minutes."

Constance is a different person after a shower. She is lively, coming back into the room with a bounce in her step. The white polo shirt looks brilliant on her, contrasting with her black skin in an eye-catching way. I feel plain standing beside her, wishing I'd tanned more when it was summer. She has an eccentric but cute style about her and I eye her fluffy boots and colourful scrunchy, trying to think whether I had anything that cute or fun in my dismal collection of clothes.

The halls are quiet and deserted, except for a few patrolling guards who look at us like we've just run out of a supermarket with chocolates in our pockets. I follow Constance down the stairs and hear the buzz of conversation. Everyone is grouped in clusters, and there is a long line for coffee.

Heads swivel our way as we walk. Necks crane and lips move, everyone wanting to get a look at the new girl. I wish I could wear my black hoodie and cover my face from their eyes.

A dark-skinned boy stands in our path and snakes his arms around Constance, lifting her feet from the ground. She squeals as he spins her. They lock lips rather passionately and I feel uncomfortable and unsure where to look. I walk around them and make a beeline for the coffee cart, when fingers enclose around mine. I yank my hand away automatically and tug at my sleeve of the shirt I'm wearing underneath the school polo, pulling it down so far that it swallows my hand underneath the fabric.

"Addy—can I call you that? This is Harlow!" She points at the guy she was just swapping spit with.

Harlow's dark eyes travel up my body in a way that makes me step back and fold my arms across my chest.

"Harlow, this is Addison, my roommate," she continues when I say nothing.

"Good," he smirks, revealing two rows of cigarette-stained teeth. I can tell, because my mother's looked the same. "We need something new around here."

Harlow has a spider caught in a web tattooed on the left side of his neck. Two of the legs of the spider border on his jawline, the rest of the tattoo disappears underneath the collar of his shirt. You can tell it's a home-job tattoo, but the artist is talented.

We order our coffees and head to first period. I try to make a mental note of where all my classes are, but it leaves me with a headache. And I forgot my map.

We beat the teacher to class. Constance sits on a table, drawing Harlow to her. I notice then that he has his nails painted black, as does she.

"You both have matching nail polish," I state.

"He let me paint them." She grins. "And his toes."

"It looks cool when I play the guitar," he justifies.

"Sure."

Harlow's attention switches from me to someone new who's entered the room. A grin lights up his face and he holds his hand out to do the one-arm-hug-thing that boys do.

"My man!" he greets.

"S'up," the boy replies.

Fuck me.

Tall. Blue eyes. Brown hair. Jaw line. Sleeved arm. He couldn't be more my type if someone had handcrafted him just for me.

His eyes meet mine and I feel my stomach do a strange jolt. His eyebrow quirks and I realise I have been openly staring, rudely.

"Addison," Constance introduces me. She waves a hand to Blue Eyes. "Wren."

I pull my gaze from him and tug irritably at my sleeve. The last thing I need right now is to fall for a delinquent. Especially one that looks like he has just stepped off a runway.

"Still on for tonight?" Harlow asks Wren.

"Yeah."

"Can Addy come?" Constance claps her hands together and I glance at her, not quite liking the new nickname.

"No," says Wren at the same time Harlow replies, "Of course!"

I snap my head to Wren, who is looking at me coolly.

Our teacher arrives then, and everyone moves to a table. I scramble, trying to find a vacant one and don't know whether I should be happy or annoyed that the only spare seat is beside Wren.

"Nope," he says flatly when I pull the chair beside him out.

"What?"

"Not here."

I pause, looking around the room. "This is the only seat."

"Sit on the floor."

I make a displeased sound and sit down, anyway. "I'm not sitting on the fucking floor."

He looks at me, his upper lip curling slightly, but says nothing further. I scowl, yanking my pen out a little harder than necessary. Wren stares at the wall the entire class. The teacher asks him three times to take notes and the fourth request is for him to leave. I watch quietly as he shrugs his bag over one shoulder and walks out. No one looks surprised at this.

The class is a lot less advanced than what I'm used to, and my mind wanders for the majority of the lesson. I barely hear the bell when it rings and only notice it's the end of class because everyone stands.

A shoulder barges into mine, and my bag falls, my pens spilling onto the floor. I look to see a girl who flicks her long ponytail, and it hits me in the face as she walks.

"Fuck you, too," I say, gathering my things.

"Don't mind her," Constance says to me with an eye roll. "That's Brea. Wren's ex. Any girl that literally stands within five metres of him feels her wrath."

Of course. "Sounds toxic."

"You have no idea."

Every class makes me want to bang my head against the wall. The only positive thing that came from today was my prescription for Valium, which I cashed in at the on-site pharmacy. I almost kissed the packet when it was placed in my hands. My eyes sting with exhaustion and my body begs for rest.

Before retiring to my room, I find a secluded area and pull out a cigarette. Constance let me borrow some and I didn't even have to beg. Is she always this nice? I don't like owing anyone though, and since Harold gave me some cash before I was kicked out, I left some money under her pillow even though she said not to worry about it.

I groan in frustration when I realise the lighter I've borrowed is out of gas. Someone sighs near me and I look up to see Wren. When did he get here? His lighter is white but has been graffitied with skulls. He raises the lighter to the end of my cigarette. I inhale deeply.

"Thanks," I say when I breathe out.

"Where'd you get them?" he asks, gesturing to the packet in my hand. "You're a newbie, right?"

"Constance."

He nods, taking a drag and digging his free hand deep into his pocket. "Are you coming?"

"To what?"

"Harlow's party."

I lift an eyebrow as I take a deep drag of my cigarette. "You mean your party?"

He shakes his head. "Never my party."

"No," I reply.

"Why not?"

I shrug, looking to my feet, my scuffed shoes looking like they should have been replaced a year ago. "Tired. And unwelcome."

"By who?"

"You."

He blows out a big breath of smoke and looks at me. My eyes are glued to his sharp jawline and jaw muscle that clenches with each inhale.

"Why does it matter what I think?"

I purse my lips. "Doesn't, I suppose."

"What's with the—" he gestures to my neck. "The turtle neck, thing."

My fingers trace the top underneath my school polo. I clear my throat. "Cold."

"Not really."

"Cold enough."

"Don't buy it."

I lean against the brick wall. I shouldn't be surprised someone has guessed I'm covered for a reason. Everyone here would have some background, a history, a reason they're here.

Not everyone had their story plastered on page one.

He drops the cigarette and stamps it out, before throwing it in the nearby bin.

"See you tonight."

"Unlikely."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "I doubt that."

He slips out the door, and I watch as it close after him. I finish my cigarette and look to the door again. Those eyes. That jaw. The tattoos. I groan softly.

Pulling out my phone, I text Constance.

Addison: I'm in. What's the room number?

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My heart hurts. Hayley and Colin 2.0. THE MEMORIES!