Just as I suspected, school wasn't the same here. In my hometown, everyone knew each other and talked to each other whether it was a simple greeting or a full conversation. However, here, people hated each other and made their own little cliques. It was like various schools and neighborhoods pulled into one.

I walked into second period—thankfully a class I had with Cheyenne—and looked around for the teacher. I awkwardly stood at the front of the classroom, not knowing where to go, until the teacher walked in after the bell.

"If you don't have a hard copy of your second draft for your 'Man in the Water' practice article, you're wrong," she immediately said. Some students groaned and slouched in their seats, including Cheyenne, and then the teacher looked to me. "Angela Warden?"

"Yes ma'am," I answered.

"I'm Mrs. Hayes, welcome to Journalism," she smiled. I smiled back and she gave me two sheets of papers stapled together. The title read "Man in the Water" and the sheet behind it had lines to write on with a source at the bottom.

I took the seat by Cheyenne as the class started to mutter their separate conversations to each other while the good kids actually got up to turn in their practice article.

"Mr. Vega," Mrs. Hayes called. I looked around to guess who that was and a guy stood up from the far corner of the room, surrounded by girls.

"Ma'am?" he asked, his half-smirk hanging off of his undeniably attractive face surrounded by locks of messy-yet-styled dark hair with brown highlights that seemed to be fading.

"Time for your interview," Mrs. Hayes answered. Interview? Surely she meant an oral presentation. By his dark clothes, I assumed he would defy the teacher's authority to call him to the front of the class, but he happily obliged and stood right in front. When I saw his dark eyes connect to mine, I immediately felt heat in my cheeks and looked down to read the article. "What is 'Man in the Water' about?"

Well that'll save me some reading time.

"It's about men on a crashed plane that keep handing life savers to other passengers instead of taking them for themselves. However the Man in the Water was one of the heroic men that didn't survive the freezing cold water, but still lives in memories of survivors," he answered, his perfectly pitched voice nonchalant as I continued to act as if I was reading.

I bet he was one of those guys you saw on TV and movies; the stud, athletic, smart, ladies man that pries on innocent girls' lives just to get in their pants—like he knows he will because he's built himself to be perfect and charm girls in every way...

"That's Dastan Vega," Cheyenne whispered to me, slightly leaning in my seat. She'd been introducing me to new people before schools started—like a beautiful social butterfly—and of course Dastan Vega wouldn't go unnoticed. "He's kind of the 'it' boy around here."

I looked over to him, the questions and answers of his consequential interview being a murmur in the background, yet his eyes shifted to mine and I looked back to Cheyenne.

"So what?" I asked. So what if he was popular or something? Did that give him special privileges? No. Clearly not, because he wouldn't be standing in front of the class having an interrogation in place of his tardy practice article, if that was the case.

"You didn't have someone popular at your old school?" she asked, confused.

"Other than my brother? Yeah, I guess so," I answered.

"Well..." she prompted.

"Well what?" I asked.

"Did anything happen with him, or did he get away with stuff, or get a lot of girls or—"

"He got bucked off a bull and was in a coma for four months," I joked. I thought I heard someone snicker at my lie, but I looked around slightly and saw no one looking at us because they were so engaged with Dastan Vega. Cheyenne, however, stared at me with shock and horror written across her face. "I'm kidding."

"That's not funny," she pouted.

"It is if you saw your face," I noted. She stuck her tongue out at me and I grinned to myself. I faced forward in my seat, finally ready to watch Mr. Vega conclude his interview, and once again, his eyes connected with mine briefly. I was captivated in them long enough to drown out the fact that everyone else was looking at me as well.

"Angela," the teacher called as if it wasn't the first time.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Do you have a question for Mr. Vega about the article or his writing?" she asked.

I only had to think for maybe half a second. "Would you do it?" I asked him.

"Do what?" he asked. It was just us two, now. Me and him: a conversation in front of everyone that had narrowed down to the two of us. His eyes had detached me from the rest of the world.

"Sacrifice your well-being for others," I clarified. It's as if my words were foreign to him because he repeatedly blinked and looked as if that was unheard of. He shook his head once with his lips slightly parted and then placed them together for his ever-so-confident answer that I was sure would win over the hearts of all the girls in the room—if they weren't won over before.

"No," he surprised me.

"Why's that?" Mrs. Hayes asked.

"Because he's selfish," I found myself to mutter so low that I couldn't even hear it.

"It's not because I'm selfish, but because it's in human nature to save ourselves first—no matter what, and then save others around us. It's a survival instinct that's not easily over-riden," he spoke calmly, looking at me so hard as if he'd heard my comment. It was a glare of pure hatred in my mind and I had a feeling he hated a lot of people.

"Not true," I commented. "My brother saved people a few years ago in a fire."

"Well whoop-de-doo," someone in class commented. I'd glare, but I didn't know who said it.

"Well that's stupid," Dastan subjected.

"What's stupid is a selfish teenage boy saying my brother being a hero is stupid all because he's risking his life for others—" I didn't know what came over me. Honestly, I wasn't ever this stubborn or persistent for my point, but this Dastan guy seemed to raise the anger from inside of me that I never knew I had.

"Hero? Like the Proliator?" a girl piped up. And let the conversations begin.

"Oh please," I commented. As the topic somehow shifted to the topic of The Proliator, I just sat with my arms crossed in my desk, pouting about everything that had just happened. 

So when the ending bell rang, I immediately stood up and attempted to find my next class—math. However, I was stopped when an arm created a bar in front of my face. I looked over to see Dastan and nearly jumped back.

"Excuse me," I said, humbling back to my normal self. I didn't mean to piss him off and create a target on my back; it just happened. I had a feeling that things didn't "just happen" when it came to Dastan...or rather's Dastan's reputation. 

"Angela Warden," he addressed. Why was he saying it like that and giving me the look as if he was going to eat me?

"Vega, let's go," a beautiful, Asian girl from our class called, her hand going to his closest belt loop. Dastan held up a hand to silence her as his eyes stayed locked to mine.

"Go on without me," he said.

"But Chad is—"

"Hey," a new boy greeted. I looked back to see a brown-haired boy with a defined jaw and more of an adorable side than aggression...of course with more-than-a-dash addition of being attractive. He even smiled to me. "I'm Chad. I'm guessing you're new here?"

"Yeah. I'm—"

"Go away," Dastan commanded, now shifting his gaze to Chad. He glanced to the girl. "Take Mickie with you."

"But we're supposed to—"

"Let's go," Chad muttered, grabbing Mickie's wrist to tow her away. Great. It was back to me and Dastan. I looked around for someone, anyone to save me from this boy that looked to kill, but even Cheyenne choked on air before scurrying away.

"Precalculus," he stated.

"What?" I asked, confused. I noticed that he held my schedule that used to be in my hand. I didn't even realize he had swiped it.

"You have Precalculus next period," he reminded.

"Oh, look, I guess I do. Thanks," I said, snatching the schedule and tried to walk off, only to realize that Dastan was quicker than me.

"Why did you do that back there?" he asked me. Did he just assume I knew what he was talking about every time he asked me something?

"Do what?" I asked, finally getting around him (including bumping into other students), but I could tell he was still following me because certain students continued to look at our situation.

"Call me out for being selfish." He said it as if it was unbelievable.

"Because you obviously were" I stated. He grabbed my hand and spun me around quicker than I could ever think to stop the rotation. His eyes glowed with golden rims that I hadn't seen before. 

"Where did you come from that makes you think that you can—"

"Call it as I see it?" I questioned. I jerked my hand away from his and was angered at his touch. "Where the hell did you come from thinking that you can grab girls whenever you want?"

"That's not the topic, Warden," he hissed. I paused because no one had ever called me by my last name. That was my brother's title. "The topic is whatever nerve you have coming into my school and embarrassing me in front of—"

"Stop," I interrupted. He obliged, incredulous at his mouth closing for him when his brain probably told him to talk over me. "One, this is not your school. Two, you embarrassed yourself by not doing your homework in the first place. And three, I'm pretty sure you still have all of your girlfriends still looking after your perfect self like flies to manure."

He seemed confused at my metaphor that I had tried my hardest not to say—curse the country accent—but that didn't change his facial expression. He still glared fiercely at me, so I scoffed and walked away.

"Wait a minute—" he stalled. I intended to keep walking, noticing the numbers on the rooms grew closer to my third period, but I ran into a hard chest. Damn it.

"I'm sorry," I apologized up to the medium blonde-haired boy with clear blue eyes and spiked up hair.

"It's fine," he dismissed. I heard sort of a growl come from behind and I didn't need to turn to recognize Dastan. The blonde boy looked over me, to Dastan, and frowned. "Vega, are you harassing her?"

It wasn't in a friendly tone. It was an honest accusation as if the two boys weren't friends at all.

"No."

"Yes," I countered.

"Oh please," Dastan commented.

"Wait are you Angela?" the blonde guy asked.

"Yeah..."

"Great," Dastan sighed. The boy touched my waist and turned me away from Dastan.

"Cheyenne told me about you," he informed. "I'm Nik."

"Oh yeah. I think Cheyenne mentioned you," I lied. I mean, she could've rambled about him once, but then again, I tuned out most of her rants.

"She didn't," he shook his head with dull eyes, noting my lie.

"Correct, you are," I humored. I saw a slight dimple arise from his right cheek, as if he was hiding a smile.

"That's cute," he commented. I could say the same about you.

"W-what is?" I asked.

"Your accent," he said.

"Thanks," I blushed. He stopped walking and I got to math, wondering how he knew my schedule. I started nodding. "Cheyenne?"

"She texted me whatever classes we have in common," he replied.

"This being one of them..." I hoped.

"Of course," he smiled. At first, he smiled back, but then his slight frown had me worried. What was it? "However, he is also in this class."

I turned back to see who he was pointing to and of course it had to be Dastan Vega. Great.

"But don't worry. He doesn't stay long," Nik informed.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Shit," I heard Dastan cuss. He looked to the teacher that said nothing. "I forgot that I needed to go take a test for another class right now."

That's all he needed in order for him to receive a pass for the testing center. It's like his word was something the teacher's trusted and obeyed. It's like...his menacing, evil side that was shown to students—no. Just me—was washed away with some authority-respecting goody-two-shoes.

"Does he really have a test?" I asked Nik, taking a seat next to him. He shrugged.

"Probably, but I'm pretty sure that's not where he's going," Nik muttered. Nonchalantly, I started to look around in the class, taking a break from polynomials, and I saw Dastan leaving through the parking lot. No one even tried to stop him, which I'm sure was hard because the security officer even gave me hell for stepping foot on his ever-so-elite campus. Where was he going? And why so early as third period?