There's a lot of things that bug me about this school, but if there’s one thing I really hate, it’s the fact every girl here looks exactly the same, but with different colored hair. But other than that, they’re all the same, plastic. They spent daddy’s money so they could look perfect. I wonder what having that kind of money would be like…
But no, thinking about what I don’t have only makes it harder to concentrate in school, which means I’d have to kiss my scholarship goodbye, which is not something this girl’s going to do. My only ticket out of the slum where I live is getting an education and going to college. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I put up with these rich brats day after day. No, that wasn’t a very nice comment. That’s why I put up with these people day after day. Because this school is my ticket to freedom.
Today is a different day, mainly because it’s the first day of a new quarter, meaning I’m two more quarters closer to graduating. I walk into my advanced calculus class and sit at my usual seat, the other side of the room in the back corner, away from the Barbie and Ken dolls as I can get. I sit down in my seat and get out the ten…no, twelve pages of homework from last night and wait for Mr. Green to start the class. But before he can, the door opens again and a new guy walks in. He’s tall and muscular, with medium length black hair. Well, medium length for a rich boy, with dark brown eyes. The navy blue, gold and red uniform for our school looks really good on him. Which reminds me, I need to stop staring and concentrate. Scholarship. Getting out of here. That’s what I’m in school for, not to gawk at hot guys. Even if said hot guy looks nothing like the other tanned and perfect clones here. He’s got a small scar that starts on his neck and winds down the collar of his shirt. Stop looking at him, Vivian. He looks across the room at me, piercing me with his eyes.
Mr. Green walks up to the new boy, who hands him a white slip.
Mr. Green sighs and pushes his small glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. “Welcome to Adams Prep, Mr. Daniels. As you can see, we’re a bit tight on seating, but I believe there’s one seat left next to Miss Blake in the back.”
Daniels walks in between desks and sits down at the empty desk next to me. “Hey, my name’s Trace. And you are?”
“Vivian,” I say between gritted teeth. There goes my scholarship…