Chapter 1 Welcome to Seayers

What comes to mind first when you think of high school life? The gorgeous cheerleaders, the arrogant jocks, the class-skipping idols, the Shakespeare aficionados, the vegans? Or is it the incessant buzzing of the alarm clock, the uncomfortable desks and chairs, the dreadful cafeteria lunches, the looming finals and exams, the lost mechanical pencils, the unrequited crushes and heartbreaks, the constantly energetic group projects?

"Hey, watch where you're going!" a girl, whose outfit screamed Regina George from Mean Girls, snapped at me, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is limited edition."

"You can't expect everyone to have eyes, right?" her minions added, their voices laced with mockery.

Bitch. The word echoed in my mind, though my lips remained sealed. If you were to ask me about high school, I'd offer you two pieces of advice:

Rule Number One: Never attempt to reason with sorority members.  

Rule Number Two: If you're not among the popular crowd, brace yourself—high school will be your personal hell.

As I opened my locker, a sticky note from the opening ceremony caught my eye, meant for jotting down reflective thoughts on the semester. Mrs. Griswold's advice, spoken in her unique Southern drawl, seemed to resonate within me, "Before getting swept up in the whirlwind of busy days, take some time to reflect on this semester's experiences."

Lost in thought over her words, I barely noticed the gentle tap on my shoulder.

"Scarlett, you finally made it!" I turned to find Brooklyn, her expression a mix of relief and excitement. "I was afraid you'd be late!"

Her next words caught me off guard, "I hope you don't mind that Skyler drove me to school. He could've picked you up too."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, "Thank God he didn’t flaunt his BMW in front of my house."

Skyler Thompson. Just saying his name felt absurd. He was the embodiment of my male nemesis, the kind I'd gladly take down with me to the grave.

What was more amusing, I couldn't even recall why I harbored such disdain for him. Was it merely because he was Brooklyn's boyfriend, the town's rare specimen of arrogance, who believed the world owed him everything while scoffing at my silly, heart-fluttering crushes?

"Do you want to come with me and Skyler to Will's party?" Brooklyn asked, snapping me back to reality.

"I'll pass. Last time at his place, I nearly destroyed his prized porcelain," I confessed, the memory of that night playing vividly in my mind. Dancing on the table, clutching Will's family heirloom vase—only to nearly hurl it at Skyler's smirking face under the influence of too much alcohol. If it weren't for the packed party, Will might have seriously considered burying me in his backyard.

Despite the embarrassment, that party's memories clung to my brain like a persistent virus, branding me as the "broken girl" to those who didn't even know me. Yet, refusing Brooklyn wasn't an option. She had her ways of persuading, always leaving me with little choice but to comply.

"Don't worry, dear. This time everyone's well aware your tolerance matches your appetite," she quipped, a hint of mischief in her smile.

"Come on, at least you can keep track of your drinks this time. And if you're worried about the vase—then rest assured," she continued, her grin widening.

"Got it..." I replied, feigning enthusiasm.

Her smile of satisfaction was the last thing I saw before she swiped my literature notes from my backpack, all set to copy my homework once again.