A/N
Hey guys! Thanks so much for reviewing the prologue :) Again, this chapter is bit tedious until the end, but I promise the next one will be a whole lot more interesting. Enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers
"Wakey wakey."
My mum softly shakes me, pulling me out of my deep slumber.
"No…" I groan, swiping her hands away.
"Come on, Ly. We've gotta get you enrolled in school."
"No," I grumble into my pillow. "Go away."
"Don't make me get the bucket…" Mum threatens. For as long as I can remember, my mum has used a bucket-full of ice water to get me out of bed when I'm being difficult.
"I'm up!" I sit up instantly, glaring at my mother. How dare she wake me at this ungodly hour?
I take a glimpse at the clock on the wall opposite, which reads 6:30AM. I groan and roll out of bed.
"Brekky's on the table," she tells me as I slowly drag myself out of my room.
We eat our breakfast in silence. I'm still incredibly groggy from the practically restless sleep I had, while mum seems to be thinking about the day ahead. I leave my empty plate in the sink and head to the bathroom to get ready. During my well-deserved hot shower, I plan my outfit for my first school day. I can't go out looking like a slob; not yet anyway. I need to make a good first impression. It's not overly hot outside, nor is it really cold, so I opt with sky blue skinny jeans and a white top.
After redoing my make-up three times and my mum losing her patience with me, we set off in her company car to my new school.
"So what's the name of the school again?" I ask her. This must be the fourth time I've asked, but I can't seem to remember the exact name. Mum exhales loudly, obviously frustrated with me. She's not exactly the most pleasant woman to be around in the mornings.
"Manhattan East High School."
"Ah, that's right."
Silence fills the air, which begins to annoy me. I don't particularly like silences.
"It feels weird not wearing a uniform," I muse. Mum grunts in response. She must've skipped her morning coffee.
The car slows to a stop in front of a large red brick building. It seems quite old and historic. A sign at the front gates reads the school's name, followed by its Latin motto: Scienta est potestas (knowledge is power).
I follow a few steps behind my mother, taking in my surroundings. It's still quite early, with only the odd student walking around.
The building from the inside matches its exterior in age, with cement walls coloured yellow, the paint peeling and chipped concrete in places.
I stare at my mum as she talks to a lady in administration, approaching only when she begins to fill out some paperwork. She slides a subject selection form toward me, and I glance down at it in annoyance.
It doesn't have half of the subjects that my old school offered. Film studies, my favourite subject, isn't listed. Neither is Earth Science.
I finally cross off six boxes by the subjects that I want to take; English, maths, P.E., home economics, ancient history and my personal favourite, visual art.
The administrator lady runs all our forms through the system, and after the most painful fifteen minutes ever, I'm handed my class timetable and left to fend for myself.
"Have a good day, hun," mum says, kissing my cheek before taking off to work.
I glance down at my schedule for my form class; G23.
Where the hell is G23?
Never has walking through a school hallway been so terrifying. I've been surrounded by the same people since I was five years old, but now? Now I'm wading through a sea of strangers, already months into the semester. Some cast interested glances my way as I shuffle past them, but mostly I go unnoticed.
I take a second peek at my timetable, trying to locate my class. As I spin around a couple of times, trying to make sense of my whereabouts, the dull school bell begins to echo through the hallways. Damn it.
"Um, excuse me?" I whisper timidly to a small brunette as she rummages through her locker. She doesn't seem to notice, so I repeat myself, louder this time. "Excuse me?"
She jumps slightly in surprise, and turns to face me with a dimply smile on her face.
"Yeah?"
"Um, could you please help me find my form class?"
"Form class? You mean homeroom?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, homeroom! Sorry," I say, laughing nervously.
She looks at the timetable in my hands. "Oh, you're right next door to mine. Come on," she grins. She slams her locker shut, and we begin to make our way down the hall.
"I'm Krystal," she introduces.
"Lyla," I respond, returning her smile.
"Nice to meet you Lyla. I absolutely love your accent! Are you Australian?"
I giggle at her enthusiasm. "Yeah, I'm Australian."
"Well, here we are. I'll see you around." Krystal flashes me a toothy smile and disappears into her classroom, and I enter the one beside her.
The class is chaos. Loud chatter fills the room, kids sit on desks; some are even standing on them. I head straight to the teacher's desk and introduce myself, handing her my timetable. She checks my name off the roll and tells me to take a seat.
I take a lonely seat in the back corner of the room, wishing more than anything that I could be back in Australia.
By lunch time I had managed to almost completely slip under the radar, with only a few people noticing my existence, and even then it was only briefly. Krystal is still the only friend I've made today, if you can even call her that. She smiled at me from across the cafeteria earlier, but that's about it.
I sigh and take a seat at an empty table in the furthest corner. My packed lunch, pasta salad to be precise, sits in front of me, untouched. I don't especially feel hungry.
"Ooh, that looks delicious," I hear a girl say. I look up and see Krystal sitting across from me, along with a blonde and a ranga.
"Hi," I greet shyly.
"Lyla, meet Ruby and Hayley," the brunette says, gesturing to the blonde, and then the red-head. "Ruby and Hayley, meet Lyla."
"Oh my gosh, you are so pretty," Hayley gushes, grinning at me.
"Thank you," I beam, feeling a blush creep onto my cheeks.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I spot a plastic bowl of spaghetti sail through the air, mere seconds before it collides with Krystal's brown locks. A look of shock, followed by anger, crosses the short girl's face. She shoots right up, and glares at the cheerleader that towers before her.
"What the hell was that for?" she shrieks, stepping forward boldly.
The raven-haired girl smirks at the smaller girl's attempts at looking threatening.
Something inside me boils, I'm not quite sure what, but it's enough to make me stand up and step between the two.
"Guys," I warn.
"Who's this bitch?" the cheerleader snarls, turning to her blonde sidekick. The other girl shrugs. The cheerleader looks back at me, and seems as if she's about to swing a punch. When she does, I block it easily, and get her in the gut instead. Mum would always tell me, never throw the first punch, but don't be afraid to throw the second one.
"Girls!" the booming voice of a teacher interrupts the preppy girl's wails. His eyes shift from Krystal, to me, and to the cheerleader.
"You," he points at me. "Detention." He takes out his pad and writes out a detention slip.
"Sir, I didn't mean-"
"I don't want to hear it."
The slip gets pushed into my hands and the teacher stalks off. Great start, Lyla.
By the time I find the detention room, I'm already ten minutes late.
"Sorry I'm late," I mumble to the teacher, handing her my detention slip. "I got lost."
"Take a seat," she tells me, not looking up from the papers on her desk.
There are only two other people in detention; one is a boy with shaggy brown hair and a glazed look in his eyes, and the other is a tall brunet, who, might I add, is a damn fine piece of eye candy.
I catch the cute one's stare, and we hold eye contact as I choose my seat. I sit five seats to his left and turn my attention to the clock hanging on the wall.
There's only one thing I hate more than packing, and that's unpacking. My first day of school is done and dusted and I can honestly say that I hate New York.
I unzip the first large suitcase that sits on the polished wooden floor. Inside are clothes, and sandwiched between two layers of material are my more fragile possessions. I fling the top layer of clothing aside and begin to sort the black bookshelf beside me.
The second suitcase is the same story, only with my books, movies, CDs and comics inside instead.
It takes roughly about an hour to get that sorted. Next comes the boring bit; the wardrobe.
This wardrobe isn't a walk-in like the one I had back home. It's a simple slider mirror door that reveals a classic closet with a shelf on the top.
I grab the icky green swivel chair and pull it towards the wardrobe. I decide to start with the top shelf, where I plan to store every piece of clothing I don't like.
It takes one wobbly step up onto the chair and a hand on the shelf to find my balance.
Slowly I begin to reach down, taking items one by one, folding them neatly before setting them on that top shelf. As I pull up, clutching a disgusting yellow cardigan, I bump my head on the bottom of the shelf. The next thing I know, I'm tumbling into the back wall of the closet, and into complete darkness.