Pilot

“Amelia, wake up!”

I opened my eyes to find my mother's face hovering over me, the last pieces of a stage and a screaming crowd already dissolving somewhere behind my eyes.

“Get up. You're going to be late for school.”

For a moment, I simply stared at her, still caught somewhere between the dream and the ceiling above my bed. Then I turned toward the clock.

“Shit!”

I threw the blanket aside and jumped out of bed so quickly that I nearly tripped over it.

There was no time to think.

I rushed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth as quickly as I could, jumped into the shower and stayed under the water only long enough to wake myself up before hurrying back to my room. Water was still dripping from the ends of my brown, curly hair, but I didn't have time to do anything about it. I couldn't properly comb it, and breakfast was out of the question. I barely had enough time to make sure I was wearing the right uniform before grabbing my school bag and running out of the house.

By the time I reached the bus stop, the school bus was already pulling away.

“No, no, no!”

I took off after it, waving both hands while praying the driver would notice me.

Thankfully, he did.

The bus slowed before reaching the corner, and I managed to climb aboard, breathing so hard that I had to hold onto one of the seats for a moment before I could even think about sitting down.

The rest of the ride was spent trying to convince myself that I still had enough time. Maybe the gate wouldn't be closed yet. Maybe the teacher on duty would be in a good mood. Maybe, just maybe, I would get lucky for once.

I wasn't.

By the time I reached school, the teacher on gate duty was already standing beside the entrance with his watch in his hand. He looked at me, then at his watch, and finally back at me.

I slowed down.

“Please,” I said between breaths.

He shook his head, and the gate closed before I could say anything else. Just like that, I was officially late.

I wasn't the only one. A few other students had already been caught and were gathered in the latecomer's corner, all of us wearing the same miserable expression.

The punishment came quickly. We were told to clean the restrooms, take out the trash and arrange the classrooms, which basically meant spending the next hour doing every unpleasant chore nobody else wanted to do.

I was standing there accepting my fate when the sound of a car engine made several students turn their heads.

A black car was pulling up outside the side gate, the one reserved for staff and deliveries.

It wasn't unusual for parents to drop students off, but something about this particular car made the teacher near us straighten up without a word.

The car stopped a short distance away.

The driver stepped out, walked around to the back and opened the door.

Dorian Beckham stepped out.

I didn't need anyone to tell me who he was.

Everyone knew Dorian.

The Beckham name was practically impossible to miss in Hudson. Their family owned businesses all over the city, and Grande de Tour Hotel was one of the biggest names among them. My mother had taken me there once for a wedding when I was younger, and I still remembered staring at the enormous chandeliers and polished floors, wondering how anyone could afford to live surrounded by that much luxury.

The Beckhams probably never had to wonder about things like that.

Dorian was one of their sons.

He adjusted the front of his uniform jacket before taking his school bag from the driver. His blonde hair was neatly styled, and his green eyes stood out against a face that was almost too beautiful for a boy. His lashes were long, and his features were fine and almost delicate, as though every part of his face had been carefully put together.

He started toward the school building and passed right by us through the side entrance without even glancing in our direction.

No one stopped him, and no lecture or punishment followed.

I watched him disappear through the doors and looked down at the bucket I was holding.

So that was how it worked.

If you were Amelia Carter, arriving late meant cleaning toilets. If you were Dorian Beckham, apparently nobody cared what time you arrived.

I hated admitting it, but that was simply how things worked around here.

Once I finished my punishment, I hurried to class and dropped into my usual seat. My hair was still a mess, and a few damp curls had fallen across my forehead. I pushed them aside and opened my bag, pulling out the sketchbook I kept tucked behind my textbooks.

I didn't have time to draw anything before homeroom started, but I flipped it open anyway, just to look at yesterday's page for a second before closing it again.

“Ammy.”

I looked up.

Trina was standing beside my desk with an amused expression on her face. She had short black hair with a blunt fringe that stopped just above her eyebrows, and her brown eyes were already sparkling with mischief.

“You were late.”

“And whose fault is that?”

She dropped her bag onto the chair beside mine.

“Don't look at me.”

“You were the one who said we should play one more round.”

“I said one more round at midnight.”

“And then?”

“And then you said, ‘Just one more.’”

I stared at her.

“You said that too.”

“Yeah, but I have self-control.”

I gave her a look, and she lasted about two seconds before laughing.

“You stayed until two in the morning!”

“So did you.”

“But I woke up on time.”

“How the hell did you still come to school early?”

Trina placed one hand against her chest and lifted her chin proudly.

“My reputation is my pride. I can't be known as a latecomer.”

“You are insane, you know that, right?”

She pulled out her chair and sat down.

“I'll take insane over being the girl who had to scrub a toilet before first period.”

I dropped my bag beneath the desk.

“Don't remind me.”

“What did they make you clean?”

“The girls' restroom.”

Trina made a face.

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“Was it bad?”

I slowly turned toward her.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

She thought about it before shaking her head.

“No.”

“Good.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook.

“I told you we shouldn't have played that late.”

“You were the one who kept saying the next round would be quick.”

“Because it was supposed to be quick.”

“It lasted forty minutes.”

“That wasn't my fault.”

“You were the one who started arguing with that guy.”

“He deserved it.”

I laughed.

“You called him useless.”

“He was useless.”

“You told him his parents must have regretted buying him the game.”

Trina looked completely unbothered.

“He started it.”

I shook my head and opened my mathematics book.

“I really need to stop playing Empire's Fallen with you.”

“You won't.”

“Why the hell not?”

She leaned toward me.

“Amy.”

“What?”

“You're addicted.”

I looked at her, and she pointed at me as though she had already won the argument.

“You know I'm right.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped because she was right.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“Don't push it.”

She laughed and leaned back in her chair.

“That's what I thought.”

Before I could answer, the noise in the classroom suddenly increased, and I looked toward the door.

Dorian had walked in.

The reaction was immediate.

Whispers spread across the room as several girls straightened in their seats. Some started smiling at each other while others openly watched him. A few boys muttered beneath their breath, clearly annoyed by the attention he received, while others simply watched him with the kind of expression people got when they knew they couldn't compete.

I didn't bother looking for long. I closed my sketchbook and slid it back under my textbooks.

Dorian walked through the classroom and headed toward our row before taking his seat beside me.

Technically, it was his seat. It wasn't as though he had chosen it because of me. We had been classmates for more than a year, and I couldn't remember him ever saying so much as hello to me. His seat happened to be right beside mine, yet he might as well have been sitting on the other side of the school.

That was Dorian Beckham for you.

I was pretty sure he didn't even know I existed.

I pulled my mathematics book from my bag and opened it.

“Ahh.”

Trina's voice came from beside me.

“He's even more handsome today.”

I glanced at her.

“You say that every day.”

“Because it's true every day.”

“I mean, look at him.”

She lowered her voice again, her eyes still fixed on Dorian.

“His jawline, his face, those lashes. And his eyes. Seriously, he's perfect.”

She sighed.

“I wish he were mine.”

“Yeah, he is handsome,” I said, still searching through my bag for my pen. “But he's not exactly the kind of guy who'd notice girls like us.”

Trina looked at me.

“You know, Ammy, you're the only girl in this school who doesn't seem interested in Dorian Beckham. You don't react whenever he's in the room. I mean, he literally sits next to you. If he sat beside me, I swear to God, I'd forget how to breathe half the time.”

I finally found my pen and placed it beside my textbook.

“Guys like Dorian don't fall for girls like us. It's easier to accept that than waste time on feelings that are never going to be returned, don't you think?”

“Well...”

Trina seemed ready to argue, but the classroom door opened before she could finish.

Everyone immediately quieted.

Our homeroom teacher, Miss Riley, walked in carrying her books and placed them on the desk at the front of the room.

“Everyone, quiet.”

The remaining whispers died away.

Miss Riley looked around the classroom before speaking.

“Today's class will be about assigning partners for the upcoming art project for the school fair, so everyone pair up.”

She turned toward the class representative.

“Class rep.”

Hank Mendez stood from his seat.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Handle the rest.”

Hank nodded.

Miss Riley picked up her things and walked out of the classroom.

The moment she disappeared through the door, the room came alive again. Students began moving their chairs around, calling out to friends and deciding who they wanted to work with.

Trina immediately turned toward me.

“You're with me.”

I nodded.

“Obviously.”

Hank began reading through the names on his list, assigning students to their partners.

I opened my notebook and waited.

Then I heard my name.

“Amelia Carter.”

I looked up.

Hank glanced down at the list again.

“Dorian Beckham.”

The classroom went quiet.