The first day of school for any transfer student is never easy. Whether it's at the start of the new school year or smack dab in the middle of it all, one always has to remember to present himself or herself to the crowd of the other students. And you need to have three things in mind: a calm mindset, a certain goal, and most importantly- a new persona.

And with me beginning the first day of classes at Cartier Valley with a certain stud known as Logan Michaels set to be in all of my classes with me, I know that a lot of people will have all eyes on me. I needed to present myself to the other guys and teachers that I was serious about my new road to healing and that I wanted to learn how to be authentic with not just them but myself.

As I slid on my black dress shoes and smoothed the invisible wrinkles out of my pants, a lot of thoughts were running through my head.

What if the teachers accuse me of being a know-it-all since I was an academic prodigy?

Would any of the other guys give me a chance to be their friend or just brush me off and leave me to fend for myself?

And would Logan even dare stick around to see whether or not I was going to get through the day?

"Wendell?"

I snapped out of my thoughts to stare into the eyes of my roommate, his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Sorry, I was just getting my mind clear for the first day and all," I muttered, standing up and beginning to fix my tie. "Who knew that the first day of school can be so nerve-wracking, even for a transfer like myself. And at the end of the Memorial Day weekend, no less?"

"Well, being the new kid can be very tiring and jittery," Logan agreed, "but be real with me for a moment. Are you feeling all right?"

I turned to him, letting loose a deep breath. "Not really," I confessed. "Can I let you in on something?"

He nodded, motioning for me to sit down in the desk chair in front of him. I did so, letting him fix my tie.

"Well, you know how McHenry South High is like, am I right?" I began. "I mean, there are only two sets of groups at the school- the royally rich and self-righteous and the lost causes. Almost all of the school is made up of the former- the trust-fund babies and those whose families bought and bribed their children to attend their school. And then there are the lost causes such as myself- the ones who were on scholarship and got in based on merit."

"So, you were basically set up for failure just because you were a scholarship kid and you were more intelligent than all the rest of them combined?" Logan deduced. "That's just wrong."

"Tell me about it," I replied. "Anyway, if you were blessed with good looks, money, and a lot of connections; you basically got the green light to breeze through high school without lifting a finger. But for me? Well, let's just say that I was lucky enough to survive this far because I was basically heading down the end of the road with everyone adding too much pressure for me to either fall in line or make myself disappear."

Logan shook his head. "Damn," he muttered. "I'm going to be honest with you, Wendell. Cartier Valley is very competitive in academics and all of the guys here are expected to be involved in the classroom as much as possible. But we're not like McHenry South High at all. We care about each other and we never leave anyone hanging. When one falls, another is there to help him get back up. When one rises, we all celebrate together. And with our teachers knowing your history and your IQ, you can expect them to toughen you up and challenge you, but they'll also be there to guide you when you need it the most."

I took a deep breath. "Thanks," I breathed, letting him help me to stand up. "I guess I was just fronting and all of that on the account of the first-day jitters."

Logan smirked at me. "We all had been there," he replied. "What helps me get through is taking a deep breath, closing my eyes and imagine that I'm blowing bubbles. Let me see you try it."

I stood up straight, closing my eyes before taking a slow yet giant deep breath.

"Hold for three seconds," I heard him say.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Now...blow," he said softly. "Blow bubbles and let them carry you away into happiness.

And as if I was a little kid back at Pop-Pop's farm, I imagined myself blowing bubbles- the soapy mixture creating the orbs of carefree and whimsical wonders into the summer air, each one flying higher and higher as if they here full of helium before dissolving into the evening sky.

"Better?" he asked me as I opened my eyes.

I nodded, smiling a little. "Thanks," I said gratefully as he handed me my jacket. "I guess I can be ready for what's coming my way."

"Good, because I'm going to be around to make sure that you'll be respectful to everyone at all times," he warned me while we gathered our bags and made our way to the door. "Don't make me go all full dominant on you if you start to act out."

"I won't," I promised him, holding up my right hand in a solitary promise. "I will keep my sass to myself and be humble."

"That's what I'm talking about," Logan said. "Now come. Breakfast is in ten minutes and I want you to get in a full meal before the day begins. And all the teachers you and I will share will want to meet you beforehand."

Let the day begin, folks!

**************

By the fourth period, I was already bogged down.

Not with drama, of course. But with too much homework- even for the first day. We were given two essays (AP English Literature and World History), a reading assignment (Economics), and the first hundred problems from Calculus. At least the teachers that I met were cool enough to make sure that I didn't overstudy too much.

In homeroom, most of the other guys were from group therapy and they wanted to learn more about me- trivial questions, to be precise. I loved the color indigo because it was so mysterious and yet noble- like the ones at sunrise or sunset on a clear day. My favorite movie was "The Spirit" by Arthur Miller and my favorite book series were The Selection and Divergent. My guilty pleasures included binge-watching RuPaul's Drag Race (I was a stan for Bianca Del Rio for obvious readers and Aquaria for being so fashion-gifted) and Scandal (Olivia Pope was bae). I loved Mexican and soul food but I hated eating Chinese food because my ex-father usually ate it before he and his spawn began to humiliate me in front of the cameras.

It was now lunchtime and I was currently enjoying some homemade barbecue chicken with rice and greens made lovingly by Miss Lana (the head cafeteria cook) sitting in between either of the Guerro twins with Logan and a couple of other guys from my roommate's circle joining us. "So how are you enjoying the first day of school?" Victor asked me, wiping a bit of grease off his chin with a napkin.

"Tiring, but the other kids and the teachers seem cool enough for me to endure," I replied, pausing to take a sip of orange juice. "I mean, McHenry South High is-"

"Don't talk about them anymore, chico," Pedro admonished me. "We all knew what those rats are like at your old school. They missed out on enhancing your education and should be hanged for mistreating you like that. You belong with us, okay?"

I nodded. "I couldn't help myself," I said sheepishly. "I mean, they just liked to use and abuse me for being a scholarship kid and being smarter than them."

"We know," one of the guys, a masculine blonde with a bowl-shaped haircut, replied. "Is it true that you didn't have much luck with finding some stable friends?"

"Yeah. I mean, the ones that I do try to be friendly with usually seem cool at first glance. But once my family got wind and got near them, they either turned on me or just lost contact with me. It's mainly the latter that I dealt with."

"And other than Ms. Whitfield, none of the teachers saw your true worth?" the other guy, a pole-thin Asian junior named Brent, wanted to know.

"Right. And like the other kids I came up to talk to, the adults either turned on me or simply disappeared. Only Ms. Whitfield saw me like a regular kid and wanted to connect with me."

"Well, Ms. Whitfield is a saint," commented Pedro. "And as for everyone else, they lost a good chance. You can find new friends here, starting with us. We can help you evolve into something more. In fact, there's a lot of new faces to talk to- kids with similar stories to tell and wanting for a second chance."

"Well said," Dr. St. Pierre commented as he joined our large table. To me, "Wendell, I have you booked for therapy sessions with Dr. Sellers at lunchtime, so starting tomorrow you'll be joining my nephew and me for lunch in my office."

"Why?" I wanted to know. "I'm not being judgy or anything, just curious."

"Well, we mainly wanted you to have a private lunch so we can discuss making you a better student," the older man went on. "I personally wanted you to have lunch with me so I can not only keep my eyes on you but also help you mold yourself into a real winner in life."

That makes sense in an odd way, readers. "All right," I commented. "Will I see Dr. Sellers after lunch today?"

He nodded. "I'm here to escort you right now," he replied. "You got a free period for the fifth period, so you'll be having an extended lunch with me and my nephew beginning tomorrow. For now, let's get you to your private therapy. She's waiting for you."

I nodded as Logan also stood up, taking both of our trays to bus them. "You ready for your first therapy session?" he asked me before heading to the cleaning area for the trays.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I commented before I was greeted by a young Black freshman. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Wendell Harding?" he asked me nervously.

"That would be him," the dean replied firmly. "What is it, McNeal?"

The young man gave me a folded piece of paper. "This is from-"

"I'll take that," said the dean, snatching the paper from the nervous kid. "Now go eat."

I saw McNeal race back to his table where a young red-headed and mean-looking junior was giving me the stink-eye. "Who's that?" I wanted to know.

Dr. St. Pierre sighed heavily. "That's one of the hard-core kids, Braeden Saltillo," he said. "And he's one bad apple, one that you'll need to stay away from."

That caught my attention. "How so?"

"Wendell, he's one of those rich kids who can make anyone's life miserable with a single snap of his fingers," Logan said, a dour look on his face as he joined us. "And he can do anything and everything possible to get someone in trouble. And from where I stand, his eyes are now on you."

Wait, what?

This Braeden kid has beef with me just because I was new. "All right," I nodded. "I'll keep my distance. Now, about the letter-"

"It's his calling card," the dean said curtly, handing me the letter. "Read it."

Unfolding the paper, I began to read the fancy calligraphy (not as fabulous as mine, though)-laced note. And it didn't exactly contain well-wishes.

I know who you are, Wendell Harding.

I know that you are a sassy little sh*t and that you slept with MY boyfriend.

Stay away from Logan and his uncle. Join me and my crew...or else.

-Braeden.

I gulped as I handed Logan the letter. "Logan, was that Braeden kid your boyfriend?" I asked him weakly.

"Hell no," my roommate spat angrily. "Just some lovelorn idiot who didn't accept the word 'no' when he proposed to sleep with me. Did he threaten you?"

"Oh, yeah," I said slowly.

"Let's get you to therapy," the dean said hurriedly as he and Logan escorted me out of the cafeteria and made a beeline for the offices. "And Wendell?"

"Hm?"

"Stay away from Braeden. If you want to have little to no drama, you stay away from that little shit," he hissed.

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I'm steering clear of that doofus completely. But I had a feeling that there was something more to the story than what I was being told. And I was going to find out sooner or later.

As for the therapy session? Well, let's just say that there's going to be a lot to say to my adult confidante. Oh. Wow.

Wow, indeed! And just who is this Braeden kid who's targeting Wendell? You'll soon see it for yourself in the chapters to come. But in the next chapter, you guys will have the first look into Wendell's uncharmed life and learn how Wendell became who he was.

Dedication: NathanielLeyva.

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