Love Across Borders

Lexa

Do I really have to go to school, or can I just fake my death today?

I stared blankly at the stubborn monitor in front of me. I’m really trying to stay positive, but damn—I haven’t slept since last night, and I still have to drag myself to class. Why do I even have to study when it’s pretty clear I might die from lack of sleep before graduation?

“You’re daydreaming, Miss! This line isn’t going to serve itself!” barked an old man, jabbing a finger at me.

“I-I’m sorry, the monitor is just… so old,” I stammered. Honestly, all I wanted to do was scream: The monitor is ancient, just like you, grandpa.

I fumbled with the register buttons, trying not to spill someone’s overpriced latte, while the queue in front of me groaned impatiently. The hum of the café—steamers, grinders, chattering customers—felt like background noise to my daily torture.

Okay, let’s finish this queue, then I can crash in my cute apartment, take a bath, and drag myself to school. Easy-peasy.

“Lex!” That voice—my absolute favorite music—hit me like a wave of relief.

I spun to see Myka, my lifesaver and shift partner. “Finally, you’re here.”

“Go. Eat something that isn’t instant noodles,” she scolded, rolling her eyes while I handed her the apron and the key to the cash register.

“Don’t worry. The noodles will kill me eventually.”

I let out a weird grin because, as soon as I arrived at my apartment, I opened the cabinet… and wow! My cabinet was stocked with noodles. Jackpot.

I opened one and saw the flavor—shrimp. Yes, I’m having shrimp today. Ain’t I so fancy?

I took a bite. Yum! What a flavor… tastes like pure MSG.

Sick of noodles, I opened the fridge and grabbed my leftover pizza. Heated it in the microwave, watching the light inside slowly toast it. I hummed a little as I waited…

Ding! Finally. Yeahh—my very own Italian menu. Bon appétit.

This is a perfect day. I lay on my bed and set an alarm for one hour, just to grab a quick nap.

I collapsed on my bed, stomach full of shrimp noodles. And that’s when my parents’ faces decided to crash my nap.

I stared at the ceiling, the faces of my parents filling my mind. My mom, standing at the market with hands cracked and scarred from years of gutting fish, the smell clinging to her no matter how hard she scrubbed.

My father, shoulders bent under the weight of insults from his boss, swallowing his pride just to keep his job. Their tired smiles haunted me, and my chest tightened. My heart sank, heavy with guilt I couldn’t shake.

If they could keep pushing through every day, then who was I to complain about bratty rich kids?

So hey, Lex, you can’t give up. Do this for them.

The alarm rang. Ahh, right—what a nice nap.

I stood up, looking down at my cute socks with a hole in them, and giggled a little.

“Hey there, toes,” I muttered with a weak laugh. Sometimes you laugh at yourself, or you break down completely.

Grabbing a towel, I hopped into the shower and sang my heart out with my crappy voice.

“Dancing queen, feel the beat of the tambourineee…” I sang off-key, my voice echoing off the tiles.

Crappy voice. Crappy life. But for a moment, it didn’t matter—I was the star of my own bathroom concert.

Kingsley Academy.

Owned by the Kingsley Corporation—a school for rich, bratty people.

Three years ago, Kingsley offered a raffle for their employees: a scholarship for their children to study at this elite school. My father worked for them, and by some miracle, he won it.

I hate this school. I hate how it looks, how it smells, and how everything about it feels like it’s from another world. Every day, I wake up wondering: Is this real? Am I really supposed to be here? I feel like an unstrange girl in a world full of strange people.

But what can I do? I know how hard my father works for this. So here I am.

The distance from my apartment to this school isn’t exactly short, but walking is cheaper than pretending I can afford a taxi. Of course, that doesn’t stop the shouting.

“Hey there, promo queen! Need a ride?” some students yelled from their luxury cars, zooming past me like I was just part of the scenery.

Yeah, right. Like I’d ever make that mistake again. Last time, they ditched me in the middle of nowhere and zoomed off laughing. I walked forever under the sun, looking like a tragic extra from a desert survival movie. No thanks.

When I finally arrived at the gates, they loomed high—iron bars and security cameras on every corner. A line of security guards stood stiff and silent, like soldiers guarding a castle. Students didn’t walk in; they were dropped off in shiny cars, the kind with leather seats and air fresheners that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

And me? Yeah, just me, walking in like some lost extra in the wrong movie.

The gates opened with a heavy creak, and I stepped inside.

Kingsley Academy wasn’t just a school—it was a fortress. The buildings were made of old red bricks, towering and polished, ivy crawling up the sides like something out of a history book.

Wide stone pathways spread across the courtyard, lined with trimmed hedges and fountains that sprayed water like it was a contest. The smell of expensive perfume mixed with freshly cut grass lingered in the air.

Even the air here felt rich.

I tugged my bag higher on my shoulder and whispered to myself, Okay, Lex. Just survive another year. This is going to be eas..—

Before I could even finish, a car sped past and splashed dirty water all over me. Completely soaked.

The window rolled down, and of course—it was Tristan, the freaking baseball captain.

“Sorry, didn’t see ya!” he called out with a fake grin.

Yeah, right. Another year with Tristan too.