PROLOGUE – THE LAST TARGET
If you can sleep forever, why wait?
Law 1: If an Arcane is captured by the government, then they have to submit their powers for the greater good. For example, a Sleeper may be forced to kill a terrorist who poses a threat. If an Arcane does not submit, execution will occur to either themselves or to their loved ones/families.
He was walking, shoes crunching on the forest floor, the wind stirring. He was of medium-height and slightly muscular. His tousled flaxen blonde hair was shimmering in the daylight. His fair face was crestfallen, striking in every way. His cheekbones were prominent; his jaw angular and sharp.
Although his seraphic features were acknowledged by anybody who laid their eyes on him, he himself was not acutely aware of this particular fact. His eyes were the same peridot green as the leaves that hung off wiry branches on the surrounding trees.
Smiling, he looked up. A still sky, the sun hesitant, peeking from behind the swirling clouds.
Some nightingales darted briskly to sit on a weathered-looking oak tree, the bark slowly crumbling away.
He wore a long black hooded cloak that ended at his feet. Underneath the cloak he wore a black shirt and slate grey trousers.
He stroked something in his front pocket, taking it out.
It was an ivory hued eye mask, one that you would see used for fancy dress costumes.
But there was something different about this eye mask. His fingers went over the intricate gold crescent moons and stars. It was perfect, no questions asked. A white string was threaded through two tiny holes.
He approached a steel tower that looked out of place in between the blooming wild flowers.
He resisted the urge to pluck a lilac, and continued to the transparent door. He climbed the white steps, and saw the door.
He pushed the handle down, opening the door. He spotted a familiar glass table. He took a small seat, and sat down. He tapped the table with his fingers, humming now and then. No-one was present. He was used to the silence. The darkness of the vast room welcomed him like a long-lost friend. Boredom arrived, and he concentrated gazing down at the floor.
He would miss this room.
Finishing the last target would mean he would be free.
Free at last.
“How long do I have to wait?” He said, spinning himself round in the small chair.
Out of the blue, hundreds of lights switched on. He blinked rapidly. He saw a middle-aged woman in a royal blue dress, her platinum blonde hair in an elegant bun. Shibboleth Shire, his boss.
“We meet again, Thomas Landew.” Shibboleth spoke with a harsh manner, taking a seat at the opposite end of the never-ending table.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” She swivelled around in her oversized black leather chair. The only thing missing would be a white fluffy cat purring on her lap.
“I thought you called me Shadow Lament.” Tom said boldly.
“I do, but I wanted to be nice as it is your final time here.”
“Cut to the chase, Shibboleth.” Tom said airily. “I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
“Target number: thirteen.” Shibboleth remarked. “Legends say that the number 13 is unlucky. Prove me wrong for once.”
“Just give me the photo and the details. I’ll get it done in no time at all.” Tom said. “Besides, I need to concentrate on my school work. In fact, you need to enrol me into school. It's already been a week and everybody else has gone into school except for me. I thought you were supposed to be my guardian.”
“Here.” Shibboleth slid a glossy photo across the table of a girl with auburn hair. She was stunning, and she looked too young and naive to die.
“N-n-no. Not her.” Tom pushed the photo away.
“Why, a personal connection? Work and school are different.” Shibboleth’s tone was almost patronizing. “You do know that, don‘t you?”
“She’s too young. Can’t you find someone else?” Tom said.
“We made a deal. If you don’t do this, I won’t release your father. I’ve got him under surveillance.” Shibboleth snarled, her pewter grey eyes piercing. “There is a reason why she must die. Remember Law 1.”
Tom stood up, the chair toppling backwards. “Don’t remind me. There’s not a day that goes by without knowing that he is stuck in that black hole.” He narrowed his eyes.
“You won’t see your father until you finish this job. Do it and I’ll let him go.” Shibboleth waved a hand.
“What? But I can’t…” Tom hesitated for a moment.
“You will be transferred to Middleton School where Marielle Watson studies. You will kill her. Am I understood?” Shibboleth’s eyes were still piercing.
“Understood. When do I start?” He knew he couldn’t object to Shibboleth Shire, the head of the Sleepers.
The Sleepers were influential, rich and bloodthirsty people with the ability to kill someone by simply clapping their hands. They were called the Sleepers as they could make people sleep forever. He belonged to the Sleepers, but Shibboleth had the power to block his ability as she was of another kind - the Dreamers. Otherwise, he would have killed her long ago.
“Tomorrow. The directions to the college and your uniform will be at your house.” Shibboleth got up from her chair, and started to stroll towards the door. "And I haven't been lazy about your school arrangements. I had to find a school who would take you, Tom."
He picked up the glossy photo, looking at the auburn-haired girl. She had a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, a small nose and rosebud lips. Her blue eyes were wide, the colour reminding him of two cobalts, and her hair was in lithe curls. She had a dewy complexion, and she was smiling at something.
“We will meet soon, Marielle Watson.” Tom said. “Very soon.”
It was a cosy detached house, situated in a quiet, uneventful cul-de-sac. Ivy twisted itself around the black iron gate that guarded the untended foliage.
At either side of the iron gate, there was a strong brick wall and someone had scrawled ‘M Loves S’ on it in a messy script.
The front door was mustard yellow, the paint chipping around the black numbers 22. There was a stony slab that one had to step on before knocking on the front door. The house itself was ordinary-looking with cream plastered walls and square shaped windows.
Thomas Landew went to unlock to the gate. It swung open easily. He walked up the pathway to his home. He expected nothing. He knew that Shibboleth wouldn’t lie. But there was a slight hope that his father was there.
He unlocked the front door with his home key.
“Dad? Are you there? I’m home.” He said, waiting for an answer.
Tom gulped, and tossed the ivory eye mask to one side. He was tired after all that commotion. Tom sat down on the sofa, and closed his eyes.
Tom stood in a garden, filled with roses, white roses.
The birds tweeted a sweet tune. The lawn felt soft beneath his shoes.
He had never been to this place before or recognized it.
“Where am I?” Tom murmured, reaching out to touch a rose.
Tom glanced down at to what he was wearing.
An outfit fit for royalty: a gold-trimmed red waistcoat, fancy trousers and a crown rested lightly on his head.
“Just super! My subconscious puts me in a fable.” Tom said. “I wonder who else I’ll meet? Alice from Wonderland? Cinderella?”
He touched the collar of the waistcoat, smiling.
This was a nice dream for once.
“Your Majesty, lunch is ready.” A valet said, dropping to his feet and looking down.
“Haha, the king’s back there.” Tom said jokily. “Chilling out in the non-existent palace.”
“But Your Majesty is the king.” The valet was shocked.
“Oh. Right. So lunch is ready?” Tom said slowly, and instructed, “Lead the way.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” The valet said, getting up and walking briskly towards the ‘non-existent’ gigantic palace.
He had a feeling that there was something wrong.
The valet vanished.
The air turned cold.
Tom turned to his left. There he saw the girl he was supposed to kill, Marielle Watson. She was in poofy pink frilled dress and a scintillating tiara on her straight hair. Around her neck was a necklace of snowy roses. Marielle caught his eye, and beamed at him.
“King Thomas, you have returned?” Marielle said.
“Yes, that’s me.” Tom said, endeavouring to comprehend why she was in his dream.
“Someone has been waiting for you, Your Majesty.”
Tom spun round.
His other persona, Shadow Lament stood there.
So he was what made the air cold.
The ivory hued eye mask framed his icy viridescent eyes. He wore a long black cloak that ended at his feet, and the hood masked his hair.
He leant against some bushes, as if he was indeed waiting for Tom.
Shadow Lament crushed a rose with his hand, the petals falling mercifully onto the grass.
“You. Why are you here?” Tom said bitterly, the words tasting like acid on his tongue.
“Me? But you don’t understand, Tom.” Shadow Lament glided towards Tom, placing a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “We are the same.”
Tom threw Shadow Lament’s hand off his shoulder. “We are not the same. Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“Can’t you remember? You killed those 12 people. You single-handedly murdered them.”
Tom saw a blur, and Shadow Lament whispered in his ear, “Tell me, Tom. How old are you?”
“I am 17 years old.” Tom gazed into Shadow Lament’s looming eyes. He felt like running away from everything. But all he could do was stand there.
“Well answered. Say, should you live, Thomas Landew?” Shadow Lament’s arm was around Tom’s neck. “Should we live for what we have done?”
Tom choked, replying, “I should not live. Yet I am living, breathing, walking, and talking.”
Shadow Lament let go of Tom’s neck. Tom fell to the ground, breathing heavily.
“You know what you have to do, Tom. Don’t you want to see your own father? Your own family?” Shadow Lament said. “Regret is bittersweet. We all must pay a price despite our good intentions.”
Then, Shadow Lament clapped his hands, the sound ringing in Tom’s ears. Tom heard a gasp and a thump. He whirled around to see what had happened. Marielle lay on the grass, lifeless and unmoving. Her hair was spread around her face like a fan, her eyes shut.
“What did you do? Why did you hurt her? She did nothing wrong!” Tom yelled at Shadow Lament.
“I did not kill her, Thomas Landew.” Shadow Lament gave a crooked smile. “You did.”
CHAPTER 1 – A NEW BEGINNING
Fingers of light crept through the metal blinds, waking him up.
Thomas Landew rubbed his eyes.
The first day of Middleton School’s sixth form.
He fell out of his bed, and went to pull the blinds up.
He turned the plastic handle again and again until the windows illuminated his bedroom. His bedroom was nothing out of the ordinary.
The walls were an eggshell-blue, his favourite colour; and the laminated wooden flooring was vacuumed the day before. His ancient desk sat next to his wardrobe, which was open. Two neatly folded and ironed piles of clothes sat in the pulled out bottom drawer.
This is really too much.
He sighed, grabbing the black and red striped tie, the white shirt, the red blazer (the school logo emblazoned on the top right hand side) and the black straight trousers.
Tom looked at the logo. It was a red squirrel. It had black eyes, and some of its tail went past the black oval.
'MIDDLETON' was stitched on in italics below the emblem in gold.
“Thanks, Shibboleth.” Tom muttered. What is this school?
Beep, beep. His mobile buzzed in his hand several times. Tom opened it.
The screen flashed. ‘1 new text message received from Shibboleth’. Tom pressed the OK button. The text said:
“I’m waiting outside. I will act as your mother when you go to enrol in your school. Get changed quickly and meet me in front of your house.”
Tom snapped the phone shut, and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth
He splashed water onto his face. Tom lifted his head to look at the mirror.
He looked at the face of a killer - Shadow Lament.
He dried his face with a bath towel, shaking his head.
He pulled his white shirt over his head, the black straight trousers on his legs. His arms slipped into the red blazer and he looped the tie around his neck. He flicked the eye ivory mask off his desk into his canvas bag.
He assumed Shibboleth’s team had organized and packed the bag too.
Tom closed the door behind him.
He sprinted downstairs to the kitchen.
Normally, he would see his father and eat breakfast, but Mark Landew was not standing by the kitchen counter cooking something in a suit, chattering to Tom about his next business meeting.
Mark Landew was not there.
Mark was his idol in his life. He had never met his mother. She left when Tom was a newborn baby so Mark raised him on his own.
It was true, even though he knew in his heart that Mark would not come back until he had finished all the thirteen targets.
His fist came into contact with the hard wall, and he swore silently.
Shibboleth still had the one thing that was dear to him.
His own flesh and blood.
He had to get his father back.
Tom would have to kill Marielle Watson.
Tom took a bottle of lemonade and a croissant from the fridge.
His long black cloak, the black shirt and the slate grey trousers went into the bag, and he walked to the front of the house.
Shibboleth was standing there, not in her usual formal wear, but in a floral maxi dress that ended at her ankles. Sandals replaced the normal high heels and her platinum blonde locks were tied up in a colourful bandana.
Tom was surprised. She looked like a typical mother, not the serious woman he knew.
“Wow, you took your role seriously, Ms Shire. No, wait, that doesn’t sound right.” Tom paused, and then chuckled. “I mean, Mrs. Landew.”
“Don’t laugh, Shadow Lament. I'm only here because they couldn't find someone quick enough for the job. Otherwise you would have had one of the ditzy receptionists burbling about you." Shibboleth gestured to a silver Mercedes behind her. "Get in the car."
“Ah, not only a posh school, but a posh car as well. Well, am I privileged or what?” Tom flung open the door of the passenger seat.
“Ladies first.” Tom smiled at her, bowing as he hid a grin.
“No, you meant dunces first.” Shibboleth shoved him into the car. “I’m driving.”
He sat on the white leather seat, pushing his canvas bag aside.
“I must warn you, Landew. I drive very fast.” Shibboleth said, looking at Tom pitifully. “Oh, and you must eat some breakfast.”
“That’s what I’m planning to do.” Tom said. “Go ahead. I won’t die.”
“We’re here.” Shibboleth raised her voice above the heavy rock music playing on the radio.
“Well, you took your time.” Tom remarked.
“Get out of the car. I’m going to find a parking space.” Shibboleth unlocked the doors with one fluid motion.
“Alright.” Thomas looked up.
Middleton School was enormous compared to his old secondary school. The exterior was mainly made of bricks, long windows dotted here and there.
However, he spotted a modern block attached at the end. He assumed it was for science and technology.
He hated science.
A red sign read ‘Middleton School - a school of excellence’.
“Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all, Shibboleth.” Tom made clear his appreciation.
“You are supposed to call me Mum!” Shibboleth retorted, as they walked up to the entrance.
A picture of a girl with auburn hair and a boy with brown hair smirked at them. Tom looked at the words in horror. ‘The Head Boy and Head Girl welcome you to Middleton School.’
“I suppose your target will be sorely missed, Thomas.” Shibboleth said, sighing.
Shibboleth opened the door to the reception.
A young woman with glasses perched on her nose (who sat behind a glass screen with the banner ‘Visitors, report here please’) spoke into the microphone. “Are Thomas and Mrs Shibby Landew here for enrolment?”
Tom tried not to laugh. Shibboleth pursed her lips, replying, “Yes, we are here.”
“Excellent. Pleased to meet you both. If you could go and stand outside the Headmistress’s office, she will speak to you very shortly.” The receptionist glided a map of the college, with the Headmistress’s office circled in a red marker, through the tiny slit in the glass screen.
Shibboleth took it half-heartedly.
Tom started to walk towards the lift, and Shibboleth meandered behind him.
Some Year 7 girls giggled as he passed them.
He flexed his arms, and Shibboleth mumbled, “Oh my god, what a womaniser.”
Tom pressed the Up button.
The doors sprung open. He waltzed in. Shibboleth pushed the Wait button.
“Why are you doing that?” Tom asked.
Shibboleth gestured to Marielle who was sprinting, quite fast, towards them.
Her uniform was the same as Tom’s, except she had a cerise ‘Head Girl’ badge shone that on her tie. Her eyes were a twinkling cobalt blue, and her auburn curls were unruly. She was just as gorgeous as she was in the photo.
“Oh, sorry! Thank you for waiting for me!” Marielle said graciously. “I haven’t seen you around before. Welcome to Middleton School.” She extended her hand, and a gold bracelet tinkled on her wrist.
Tom coughed lightly, and Shibboleth hastily shook Marielle’s hand, and the other hand was on the Wait button.
But Marielle wasn’t paying attention to Shibboleth; her eyes were busy burning into the very depths of Tom’s soul.
“We’d better get going now, Mum.” Tom pulled Shibboleth away from Marielle.
“Please excuse him.” Shibboleth said, startled by Tom’s actions. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m the current Head Girl. Who are you?” Marielle called to him.
“Thomas Landew. And to be honest, I already know who you are, Marielle Watson.”
And then the doors closed in front of her, as Tom pressed the Close button.
Silence at last! I can’t believe it took me this long to find a vacant room! It’s so peaceful here! No more distractions! Time to study, Marielle. Those questions won't answer themselves. Unless they were personified of course. Ahahaha!
“So there you are, Marielle.” Henry Starling mooched into the empty RE room.
“Go away, Henry. I’m working.” Marielle did not have to look up to know it was him. I think I said silence at last a little too quickly.
He seated himself in a chair opposite her.
“I came here specifically to get peace and quiet.” Marielle sighed.
“I heard there is a new boy coming into our form.” Henry snickered contemplatively. “From Headmistress Banks.”
“And?” Marielle looked up from her work. “What’s it to me?”
“All I’m asking is to be welcoming, Marielle." Henry smoothed his blazer. "Besides, you might run into him.”
“I probably won’t.” Marielle snapped, shooting Henry a wilful look.
“Want to bet if he’s handsome?" Henry's smile was galling.
“No, thanks. I’m busy with this assignment. I don’t have time to go around looking after the new boy.” Marielle rolled her pen to the other side of the table, and caught it swiftly. “Unless of course, I’m interested in him.”
“Interested? Now who’s getting mature?” Henry laughed.
“At least I don’t act like my shoe size.” Marielle riposted.
“What’s the assignment for?” Henry said.
“Don’t let me bother you then, bookworm."
“I’m just academic, Henry. No need for the small talk." Marielle replied. “You're just here because your entourage of young girls have disappeared.”
“Entourage?” Henry smiled. “You make me sound like a pervert.”
“That’s because you are one." Marielle put a hand to her forehead. "Now leave me alone.”
“Hey, Marielle." Henry leant towards the table with an amused expression playing on his face.
"Would you consider being my companion, girlfriend or-"
Marielle did not want to hear any more of the nonsense that came out of his mouth. “Henry. I will never date you even if pigs sprouted wings and the moon became blue."
Henry frowned. His charms never seemed to work on Marielle, no matter how hard he tried. What’s with her? Where’s Genevieve?
“Oh, and Genevieve said she is going to meet with Peter today so you’ll probably run into the new boy.” Marielle informed him.
“Again?" Henry slammed a fist onto the table, making it jump slightly. "They saw each other yesterday.”
“If you count the fact that Peter is her boyfriend, then no, I wouldn’t say it’s bizarre for them to hang out often.” Marielle smirked.
“Don’t remind me of their incommodious relationship.”
“You’re just mad that she chose Peter over you.”
“No, I am not mad.”
“If you're not mad, then I must be a spotted elephant.”
“I’m hungry. Have you eaten?” Henry said, pulling out a bag of chips.
“His name is Tommy Landew or something like that." Henry opened the bag, and munched on a potato chip. "Unusual surname though. Maybe he's American. I've always been drawn to America with their high school gossip girls and an insatiable desire to never think before doing anything."
“I think he will be comforted when he hears your name, Henry Fitzwilliam Starling.” Marielle clucked.
“It’s not my fault my mother had read Pride and Prejudice and decided it would be a great idea if her son had a pansy middle name.” Henry mumbled.
“I could think of a lot more insulting words to describe your name than pansy, Henry.” Marielle put her pen back into her pencil case.
The bell rang for the next lesson.
Marielle rose promptly, and got her Chemistry textbook, folder out from her bag and held them in her arms.
“See you then, Henry.” Marielle smiled. “Don’t let the door slam on your way out.”
“Marielle.” Henry paused. He put the finished packet in the bin.
“What? I’m going to be late! I hate being late. Punctuality is a necessity!” Marielle said, her foot in the door.
“Stay fresh.” Henry chuckled, striking a pose.
Marielle groaned farcically. “Sometimes I wonder why you were elected as Head Boy. At least one of us has the brains around here.”
She left a speechless Henry and ambled to her Chemistry room.
Marielle opened the door. “Sorry, I’m late, miss.”
Ms Taylor, an ageing woman, with wispy brunette hair smiled broadly. “That’s not a problem, Marielle. I haven’t even got the register up on the computer yet. This technology is so new fangled that I can’t get my head around it. I remember the time when blackberries and apples were fruits!”
The class burst into laughter.
Ms Taylor ignored them. “There is starter on the board, class. I’m giving you ten minutes to do it, and we’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong.”
Marielle dumped her school bag in one of the bag compartments, and reached into her school bag getting out a hair band and put it in her blazer pocket.
Just in case we have a practical today. I don’t want my hair to get burnt. Marielle reminded herself.
Marielle sat down next to Chemistry partner, Melanie Taplin, the president of the Chess Club. She had strawberry blonde hair that was in a sleek bob and slanted pink glasses.
“Late again, Marielle. Who was it this time?” Melanie giggled eloquently. “Was it Prince Charming?”
“Henry Starling, who else?” Marielle grimaced back, opening her book and scribbling down the questions that were on the whiteboard. She had already done these questions at home.
Oh well. Might as well do them all and get some sleep afterwards.
“I wish I could speak to Henry.” Melanie started doodling a flower next to her second answer. “He’s so refreshing.”
“Yeah." Marielle agreed and added, "As refreshing as an incandescent sloth. And trust me, they are not that refreshing as you think they are.”
Melanie stared at Marielle, open mouthed. “Your attitude towards boys stinks to high heavens, Marielle. One day, my girl, you are going to be made speechless by a boy and you won’t know why.”
“Not going to happen.” Marielle declared almost immediately.
“Oh please, Marielle! Henry can’t be that bad!” Melanie exclaimed. "I'd sell my belongings just to be able to talk to him like you can!"
“Melanie, Melanie, Melanie.” Marielle shook her head plaintively. “One must not fall into the traps that young men set up for us.”
“What do you mean by traps?” Melanie drew a square on her notebook page.
“The way they style their hair, their walk, they way they talk to you- everything. I’ve seen Genevieve become a victim to both Peter and Henry often.” Marielle shrugged.
“I suppose you’re right.” Melanie sighed. “Hey, have you heard that a new boy is supposed to be in today? I hope he’s fit.”
Marielle rolled her eyes as Melanie put on a dreamy expression.
“Yes, I heard. Really, gossip in this school spreads so quick nowadays.” Marielle leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “Anyway, I’ve finished. Now, I can nod off.”
“Marielle, you’re not supposed to fall asleep in a Chemistry room! That’s why your hair is on fire!” Melanie screeched.
“What?” Marielle shouted and touched her hair nervously. “Shut up, Melanie.”
“I apologize again, Marielle but could you take these files to reception?” Ms Taylor, asked. “I assume you have finished the equations from the board?”
“Yes, all of them.” Marielle replied. “Could you check them while I go?”
“Teacher’s pet.” Melanie muttered under her breath. Marielle saw she was stuck on the fourth question.
“Of course.” Ms Taylor smirked. “See that, everyone, she’s already finished!”
Jealous whispers crawled around the room.
“Amazing, isn’t she?”
“I want to be that good at Chemistry!”
“She has brains and brawn!”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Marielle beamed, and took the papers from a jovial Ms Taylor.
“Now, class. Quiet. Marielle, just one more question?” Ms Taylor laughed.
"If you insist." Marielle teased.
"What are we made of?"
The class fell silent. They hadn't learnt this yet.
"The elements in the body are classified as one of three types: major constituent elements, (which make up 2-60% of all atoms present, these are hydrogen, oxygen, carbon and nitrogen), trace elements (which make up 0.01-1%, e.g. calcium and phosphorus) and last of all ultra-trace elements (which make up less than 0.01%, e.g. iron and iodine)." Marielle paused and stared at Ms Taylor. "Is that a sufficient enough answer?"
The class burst into rapturous applause.
"Well done! Magnificent, Marielle! As expected of my star student!" Ms Taylor gushed.
Marielle smiled as she left the classroom. She went down the stairs to the ground floor.
Melanie’s like all the other girls I know. Wrapped up in a bubble where boys will affirm their ardour for them and live happily ever after.
She shook her head, and walked towards the reception.
“Ah Marielle, off on another errand, are we?” Headmistress Banks smiled at her.
Headmistress Banks was a wiry woman, with frizzy hair falling from her untidy pleat. She often wore patterned scarves around her neck, and today there was a startling geometric cloth which clashed with her starched outfit.
Marielle nodded, and replied, “Hello, Headmistress Banks. I’m just going to the reception to drop these files off for Ms Taylor.”
“I see. Well, keep up the good work.” Headmistress Banks smiled again, and walked past Marielle.
“Will do.” Marielle answered quickly.
She walked to the Reception, and slipped the files under the glass screen. “Here are Ms Taylor’s files.”
The receptionist grinned, “Thank you, Marielle.”
“It’s okay.” Marielle spun around, and strolled to the lift entrance. Normally students weren’t allowed to go in it but Marielle figured she could take a gamble.
She noticed a tall, lean blonde boy go into the lift, followed by a slim, platinum blonde woman.
Someone’s about to go in! I could run for it! WAIT FOR ME!
The platinum blonde woman must have perceived her, as the lift doors did not close.
The lean boy had tousled flaxen blonde hair and his polar peridot green eyes narrowed as he caught her staring at him.
His face was beautiful, symmetrical, and his splendour was hypnotizing. Not only did his features startle her, but he didn’t look smug about it like Henry.
He looked humbled and a little sad. He towered over Marielle, and he wore the Middleton school uniform.
He looks like he should be in the first year of sixth form. Or in the second year. Anyhoo, I should be civil to him.
“Oh, sorry! Thank you for waiting for me!” Marielle gasped graciously. “I haven’t seen you around before. Welcome to Middleton School.” She extended her hand.
The boy coughed lightly. The woman hastily shook Marielle’s hand, and her other hand was on the Wait button.
Why isn’t he shaking my hand? What’s with him?
But Marielle wasn’t paying attention to the woman; her eyes were busy burning into the very depths of the boy’s soul.
“We’d better get going now, Mum.” The exasperated boy pulled the woman away from Marielle.
“Please excuse him.” The woman said, startled by her son’s actions. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m the current Head Girl. Who are you?” Marielle called to the boy.
Who is this? Eluding me like I’m some sort of ghost.
The woman took her hand away from the Wait button. She was tired of waiting.
“Thomas Landew. And to be honest, I already know who you are, Marielle Watson.”
And then the doors closed in front of her, as Tom pressed the Close button.
“One day, my girl, you are going to be made speechless by a boy and you won’t know why.”
I sincerely hate you, Melanie.
© Copyright 2016 Maisha A Chow. All rights reserved.