Falling For The Boy Who Cleans

Arabella's POV · Monday morning

The first thing people noticed about Arabella Sinclair was her car.

The second was her face.

The third was the fact that she could ruin someone's entire morning without even raising her voice.

On Monday morning, she managed all three before eight thirty.

Her white Mercedes rolled through the black iron gates of Westbrook Academy, its polished surface reflecting the October sunlight. Students standing near the entrance turned to look. A few lifted their phones. Others whispered behind their hands.

Arabella barely noticed.

She was too busy inspecting her reflection in the passenger-side mirror.

"Madison," she said, tilting her head. "Does my hair look uneven?"

Her best friend glanced up from her phone.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Arabella, your hair looks better than most people's entire lives. Can we go inside now?"

Arabella smiled.

"See? This is why I keep you around."

Madison laughed as if it were the funniest thing she'd ever heard.

Arabella stepped out of the car in a red-and-white varsity jacket, a pleated skirt, white sneakers, and the sort of confidence that made people move out of her way before she reached them.

She was captain of the cheerleading squad, president of the school's social committee, and the daughter of Richard Sinclair, the businessman whose name appeared on the academy's new sports complex.

At Westbrook, her surname opened doors.

Sometimes literally.

"Arabella!"

Three girls from the cheerleading squad hurried toward her.

"Did you see the new photos from Saturday?" one asked.

"Everyone's talking about your party," another added.

"Chase posted that picture of you two. You look like an actual royal couple."

Arabella took the phone, glanced at the photograph, and smiled.

Chase Montgomery looked handsome beside her. His arm rested around her waist, his expensive watch visible beneath the cuff of his shirt.

They made a beautiful couple.

They also made a useful one.

Their relationship was perfect for photographs, school events, and the endless competition of being young, wealthy, and admired.

Whether it was perfect when nobody was watching was a question Arabella rarely bothered asking.

"Of course we're the best-looking couple here," she said, returning the phone. "Who else would it be?"

The girls laughed.

Arabella started toward the main building, already thinking about cheerleading practice and the party she planned to attend that weekend.

Then her white sneaker landed in a puddle.

She stopped.

Looked down.

Looked at the wet mark spreading across the side of her shoe.

And slowly raised her eyes.

A young man stood several feet away, pushing a yellow cleaning cart along the corridor entrance. He wore a navy work uniform, dark trousers, and an expression so unbothered that Arabella immediately disliked him.

He glanced at the puddle.

Then at her.

"Sorry," he said. "The floor's still wet."

Arabella stared at him.

"Then why is it wet?"

He blinked once.

"Because I just cleaned it."

Madison made a small choking sound beside her.

Arabella ignored her.

"Well, clean it again."

The young man looked at the floor, then back at Arabella.

"You could also walk around it."

For one extraordinary second, Arabella couldn't think of anything to say.

People didn't speak to her like that.

Teachers softened their voices when correcting her. Students laughed at her jokes even when they weren't funny. Adults called her mature when she was being demanding.

Even Chase, who occasionally disagreed with her, usually found a way to do it without making her feel challenged.

But this boy?

This boy had a mop.

And apparently, no survival instinct.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"You heard me."

His voice wasn't loud or aggressive. That somehow made it worse.

Arabella folded her arms.

"Do you know who I am?"

He glanced at her jacket.

"Cheerleading captain?"

"Arabella Sinclair."

"Okay."

She waited.

He waited too.

Madison's mouth fell open.

Arabella felt heat creep up her neck.

"My father funds half the facilities in this school."

"That's nice."

"Nice?"

"Should I congratulate him?"

Madison turned away, pressing her lips together as if her life depended on not laughing.

Arabella shot her a warning look.

Then she turned back to the janitor.

"What's your name?"

"Elias."

"Elias what?"

"Bennett."

"Well, Elias Bennett, I suggest you learn how to speak to people properly."

He rested one hand on the handle of his cleaning cart.

"I suggest you learn how to read warning signs."

Arabella looked down.

A bright yellow sign stood beside the puddle.

CAUTION: WET FLOOR.

She stared at it.

Then at him.

Then back at it.

The girls behind her had gone suspiciously quiet.

Elias picked up his mop.

"Have a good morning, Miss Sinclair."

And he walked away.

Just like that.

No apology. No nervous smile. No attempt to explain himself.

He simply pushed his cart down the corridor, leaving Arabella standing beside a warning sign she had somehow managed not to notice.

Madison waited until he was out of earshot.

Then she burst out laughing.

Arabella turned slowly.

"Not. One. Word."

"I'm not saying anything."

"You're laughing."

"I'm laughing internally."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Arabella looked down at her shoe again.

A small, wet mark stained the pristine white material.

It was ridiculous.

Completely insignificant.

And yet, by the time she reached her locker, she had made a decision.

Elias Bennett was going to regret speaking to her that way.

She didn't know how yet.

But she would find a way.

Because Arabella Sinclair always got the last word.

Or at least, she usually did.

Across the building, Elias pushed his cleaning cart into an empty classroom.

He glanced at the clock.

Seven minutes until the next corridor needed cleaning.

He could manage that.

He always managed.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. A message from his mother appeared on the screen.

Don't forget to eat today. And please tell me you've thought about the music application.

Elias stared at the message for a moment.

Then he locked his phone without replying.

The application deadline was approaching.

So was the audition he had promised himself he wouldn't attend.

He glanced toward the auditorium at the far end of the corridor, where an old piano sat beneath a layer of dust.

He could still remember the last time he'd played in front of an audience.

The applause.

The lights.

The feeling that, for once, he might actually become someone he wanted to be.

Then he remembered the bills waiting at home.

The rent.

His mother's exhausted smile.

The dreams that didn't pay for groceries.

Elias tightened his grip on the cleaning cart.

He had more important things to worry about than a spoiled cheerleader.

At least, that was what he told himself.

He had no idea that, before the school year ended, Arabella Sinclair would become the one person capable of making him question everything he'd given up.

And she had absolutely no idea that the boy she'd just decided to hate could play a song beautiful enough to break her heart.

End of Chapter One.