The New Girl
The black car glided smoothly through the quiet, tree-lined streets of an impossibly wealthy neighborhood. Everything looked polished, untouched—like a place where nothing ever went wrong.
Angela pressed her forehead lightly against the window, watching the enormous houses pass by one after another. Each one looked bigger than the last. Perfect lawns. Tall gates. Expensive cars parked like decorations.
This didn’t look like real life.
Beside her, Rosa smiled, her elegance effortless but her fingers slightly tense where they rested on her lap.
“New country. New life,” she said warmly. “Aren’t you excited?”
Angela forced a small smile, though her stomach twisted.
“My English sucks,” she muttered. “This is going to be a disaster.”
From the driver’s seat, Sawyer let out a low chuckle, calm and unbothered.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Kids your age adapt fast.”
Angela didn’t answer. Her eyes remained fixed on the passing houses.
“In Argentina,” she said after a moment, “people don’t live like this.”
Rosa reached over, gently squeezing her hand.
“That’s why we came here.”
Angela turned her head slightly, studying Sawyer with quiet suspicion.
“So… where is your son?”
Sawyer shrugged, casual as ever.
“He studies there too. Trust me—you’ll meet eventually.”
Angela raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Great. Another stranger judging the poor Latina girl.”
Brookfield Academy was exactly what she expected—and worse.
Luxury cars lined the entrance. Students gathered in perfect groups, dressed like they belonged in a magazine. Cheerleaders laughed too loudly. Boys leaned against cars like they owned the world.
The moment Angela stepped out, heads turned.
Whispers followed her instantly.
“Who is she?”
“She’s definitely not from around here.”
Angela lifted her chin, her earrings catching the sunlight. If they were going to stare, she’d give them something to look at.
Inside, the hallway buzzed with noise—lockers slamming, conversations overlapping, eyes following her every step.
That’s when she saw him.
Leaning casually against a locker, like he had nowhere else to be and all the time in the world, stood Cameron.
Tall. Effortlessly handsome. A dangerous kind of calm in his expression.
He noticed her immediately.
Their eyes locked.
For a second, everything else faded—the noise, the movement, the whispers.
Just them.
Angela was the first to look away.
She kept walking.
Behind her, Cameron smirked.
“New girl,” he said to his friends.
“Think she speaks English?” one of them joked.
But Cameron wasn’t laughing anymore.
He watched her walk down the hallway—slow, confident, like she didn’t belong to anyone’s expectations.
“Oh…” he murmured. “I’m definitely going to find out.”
As if she could feel it, Angela turned.
Their eyes met again.
This time, she didn’t look away.
Neither did he.
A silent challenge passed between them.
And neither one backed down.
