This story has some sexual content. Don't read if you don't like. But I hope you do like!! *insert America giving a thumbs-up and a smile*

He was tan.
Not super tan, but sun-kissed like he spent a lot of time outside.
He wasn't tall or short; he was average height.
He wasn't super muscular or weak, he was average.
He was perfect.
His dark brown hair blended perfectly with the rest of his body, except for the piercing green eyes.
He looked at me, and I looked right back at him.

He was tall.
Definitely the upper 5 foots, but maybe even 6 feet.
His body was athletically built, like he played sports often. His shoulders were a little broad, but his waist was small. Not small like a woman's, but like he was fit.
He had dirty blonde hair with an adorable strand of hair that just refused to stay put.
His hands were large, like he played football.
But his eyes.
His light blue eyes that calmed me, they made me feel at rest.
Those eyes.
He was too perfect.
He was beyond me, but like the other boy, he looked straight at me, and I looked back.

Then they were both there.
The blonde one faced the other, and punched the much smaller boy directly in the face, causing the tan one to fall down, holding his nose.
I screamed, but nothing came out.
Where was I?
The blonde one kicked and punched and scratched the other boy.
I cried, I screamed, but my body was still.
After the tan boy stopped moving, the blonde one faced me, covered in blood, taking my hands.
He smiled.
I smiled back.
My inside was fighting my outside.
My brain ached to go help the boy, to get away from the muscular hottie that was holding my hands.
But the body wouldn't allow it, almost if I wasn't supposed to help the dying boy.
What if he was already dead?
I felt my insides getting hot.
I tried, but my body has been taken over by the blonde boy.
He brought my head closer to his blood-splattered face, and his lips pressed against mine softly.
I closed my eyes, trying to push away, but I couldn't, even though I had full control of my body.
He was too strong.
Who were these people?
Who was this murderer, forcing me to kiss him?
I felt like I was going to suffocate.
The more I struggled, the harder he squeezed.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out.
My vision started to fade.
He laid me down, keeping his mouth on mine somehow, getting on top of me.
I cried out.

I shot upwards, sitting up quickly in a cold sweat.
Stupid dream.
I had gotten the same nightmare for weeks now, except this time, this was the first time the boy kissed me.
I shuddered.
The therapist my father got me because I "needed help with leaving my family completely" told me it was all part of the process of moving to a new school, especially a boarding school where I lived on my own.
I had to get to sleep.
My first class was tomorrow.
I punched my pillow, fluffing it, and laying my head down slowly.
My body felt tired, but my brain didn't.
How could my therapist explain having a dream of a murderous boy that kisses me right after murdering another boy?
Bet he didn't have that in his records.
I sighed, trying so desperately to shut my eyes.
Did my rich parents really hate me so much to give me my own personal bank scoping with thousands of dollars in it just so they could send me off the a boarding school called "The Academy for the Exceptionally Gifted"?
More like "The Academy for the Exceptionally Rich".
I laughed silently at my own stupid joke.
I turned onto my other shoulder, pulling my blanket up to my chin.
And before I knew it, it was morning.

I yawned.
I wish I slept more.
Stupid nightmares.
I pulled the purple comforter off my body, swinging my bare feet around to the edge of the bed, letting the tips of my toes touch the cold floor.
I rubbed my eyes.
I hated school.
The only the I liked to do was sports.
And that was only for 50 minutes a day.
I got up slowly, letting my achy legs stretch out.
I yawned again.
My teacher from elementary school told me yawning was contagious. Even reading the word was.
Yawn.
She was right, I guess.
I ran my fingers through my scalp, glancing over at the clock.
(No, this isn't one of those typical "new kid is late for school" stories. Just keep reading.)
I wasn't late, but I had to hurry.
I tiptoed out of my door, and to the bathroom across the hall.
I loved the feeling of having your own brand-new bathroom.
It was clean, completely innocent from the mess that I would undoubtedly create in the next week or so.
I quickly undressed and turned in the shower, hopping in, screaming slightly at the frigid water spraying down on me.
As I shampooed my hair with my fancy "rich, spoiled-kid" shampoo and that kind of stuff, I thought about my dream.
How come it had lasted so long this time?
Why today?
It never came that far.
I remembered the sound of the blonde boy's shoe thudding as it met with the tan kid's stomach.
It made me want to puke.
Finally, after I was done and dried myself off, I put on my stupid school uniform.
It was basically a special t-shirt with the school name on it, for when it was hot, and a sweater with the same color scheme for if it got cold. We had to wear some kind of leggings.
I just went with bland black.
We could wear any shoes, so I just wore a pair of sneakers.
Nothing special.
It's not like I cared.
I grabbed a couple of granola bars from my (very own) kitchen, stuffing them along with a few water bottles in my backpack.
No, I wasn't running away, I just was always hungry.
I slung the pack over my shoulder, and walked out the door.
As I got into the car my wealthy parents so graciously bought me, I pulled my hair into a quick, fairly messy, ponytail.
I started to drive to the unknown.

The school was only a few minutes away. I could've walked, but of course, I wasn't familiar with the roads yet.
The school was huge.
Apparently, it was this world-renowned international high school, that only the smartest, (not me), best athletes, (eh..), or the richest, (bingo), went.
There were kids from Japan, China, Japan....
There were probably more of course.
I pulled into the large parking lot, avoiding the teenagers that were scattered everywhere.
They looked like ants.
After parking in the special spot that my parents bought me, (probably to make me feel better about them not caring about me), and getting out, I walked across the large field.
There were cliques, posses, and a few stragglers.
I saw the jock group right away; they were picking on a kid.
A kid.
I got closer.
That was the boy in my dream.
Was it?
No.
He was a little shorter, and he didn't have that distinct cowlick.
He also wasn't as muscular from my view.
I started to walk away, and then stopped.
Should I ruin my rep with the popular kids, or should I be a bystander?
I thought about it.
It was too early to be "that chick that stood up for that nerd".
I decided against it.
I felt ashamed, but.. I was just a selfish person.
I went inside the school.
It looked even bigger inside.
I looked at my wristwatch.
Ten minutes until my first class, Spanish, started.
I already knew where my locker was, because my dad had his secretary email me directions..
Rich people problems.
Thankfully, it was right near the main entrance.
I opened it up with my fancy digital lock that I just had to have, and started putting all of my stuff in it.
"Well, hello there." I looked up to see a boy with blonde, not light or dark, just blonde, hair with striking green eyes.
He had really big eyebrows.
Huge.
I laughed a tiny bit. "H-hi." I chuckled.
"Yes, I know, the eyebrows." He said like he was used to it. He had a thick British accent, which made it even funnier.
What this kid doing?
I shut my locker, and it made a loud sound.
He sighed. "Yes, I'm from England as well." He smiled a tiny bit, reaching his hand out for me to shake it. "Arthur. Kirkland."
Of course his name was Arthur. "Yeah, yeah, I've met a lot of British people, since a lot of them are rich." I shook his hand. "Lydia." I paused like he did between his first and last name. "Sanborn."
He pulled away his hand and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something.
"Oh-nope.." I put my finger up. "Yes, my father does own the Sanborn car brand. That's why I'm here. I'm rich."
I knew that was a little rude, but I wasn't much for manners.
His face was a little shocked.
Mine would be too.
"Sorry. I'm rude." I laughed at myself.
He didn't laugh. "Well," he breathed out awkwardly and blinked. "I was here, because I'm kinda the person that welcomes the newbies here, so, welcome I guess.." He held his hands up.
I had time to look him over.
He was pretty skinny.
He wasn't tall, or short.
Just thin.
He was wearing the typical school uniform, but on his fancy sweatshirt, there was a star stitched in.
"What's that?" I pointed to the small gold star on the left side of his chest.
"Oh," he smirked proudly, "this means that I'm important, and that you should be polite to the important," he emphasized the word 'important,', "people." He put his chin up.
"Alright, thanks, bye." I walked past him, my shoulder bumping his a bit.
"Um- eh.. Um.." He started to walk next to me. "Don't you need help getting to your classes? I usually escort the new kids to them on their first day."
I continued to walk down the hall, looking forward. "Well, then, go escort sone other newbie, Cuz I have this under control." I stopped at room 247, my Spanish room. "Ah- here we are. Thanks for all the help, though." I faked smiled.
"Um-" he furrowed his gigantic brows. He probably wasn't used to being called off like that. "Alright, so, I guess, if you need me, you can find me.."
"Thanks." I turned, and went into the room. God, people like that just annoyed the crap out of me.
"Hola." The teacher said. "You can go sit over there. We have assigned seats. Everyone should be strolling in soon." She pointed to a seat right next to another.
The seats were grouped by two.
I plopped my binder down on the desk and sat down, picking at my fingernails until most kids came in.
I looked at each of them as they came in.
No one really interesting.
There were a few cute jocks though, but that didn't really matter.
And then he came in.
I recognized him.
From the dream.
He was tan, sun-kissed, with dark brown hair and bold green eyes. Just like in the dream. I wasn't sure, though, since I had only seen him laying dead on the floor.
"Hello? You there?" A tan hand waved in front of my face. It was him.
I cleared my throat. "Yeah, I'm, sorry, what were you saying?"
"I'm gonna sit next to you, if that's alright with you.." He had a small Spanish accent, but it wasn't very noticeable.
"Spanish? Or Mexican?" I pinged at him.
He looked at me, puzzled. "Yeah, how'd you know? I've worked for years, trying to get rid of my accent."
"Oh, I have a talent for that, since my dad had people over from like, every single country." I rolled my eyes and laughed.
"Antonio." He said and smiled.
I smiled back. He was like, a model straight out of a magazine.
"Um, I expect you have a name?" He looked at me, with those green eyes, like he was trying to figure me out.
"Oh yeah, sorry." I laughed a little bit. "Lydia."
"Cool." He said, and turned his attention who the teacher who had just started her boring lesson.
I stared at him. Was he the person in my dream?
He had to be.
No one that tan had green eyes.
He noticed I was studying him, and his eyes darted towards mine, but he still kept his face turned towards the teacher.
He smiled a tiny bit.
He turned my head.
I hoped he liked me.
But I just met him.
But he was so cute!
I hoped he like me.
It was like an angel and devil on my shoulders, fighting, arguing, back and forth.
I shut them both up, trying to pay attention.
The teacher, (who, by the way, had way too much dark red lipstick on), handed out a worksheet.
He poked me. "Hey, can I borrow your eraser?" I handed it to him. "Keep it. I have like, 50. Literally."
He grinned. "Thanks."
"So," I looked at my paper and wrote my name. "If you speak Spanish, assuming you do, why do you take it?"
I put down my pencil.
"To get a free A. Duh." He smiled again. He had the sweetest smile. "Let's get started on the worksheet."