Graphite

Minutes bleed into hours, days, years, and I swear to God if that kid sitting in front of me doesn’t stop clicking his goddamn pen I’m going to plunge it into his eye.

With an aggravated sigh, I shift backwards into my seat, slumping downwards. Harry shifts minutely beside me. The droning of the teacher buzzes like an incessant insect in my ear, something about the Mongols taking over the world. There is nothing I want more than to be out of this classroom.

My eyes drift over to the back of a head, covered in shaggy brown hair and a pencil tucked behind one ear. Daniel Grant, all-star soccer player who’s bulked up like a bodybuilder. Honestly, it a miracle no one else noticed he must be taking something to look like that.

And they say weed is the gateway drug.

Two desks away and a row in front of him is a girl with red hair twisted into braids that cascade down her back, not a single strand out of place. Felicity Nottingham, who has a penchant for getting one too many penalties in a lacrosse game and a stereotypical party-girl attitude.

We’re going completely on stereotypes and it makes my stomach churn.

Daniel and Felicity are the ones we have files on, but it was made clear to us that this ring involved several more people. We just had to find the dealer.

I began to make calculations in my head. It would take a solid month to gain their trust; hell, I’ve known Harry for months and I still don’t trust the bastard. Another month to be told about the drug ring, maybe a few weeks after that to infiltrate it enough to be able to meet with the dealer ourselves. Harry and I could make light work out of this, as long as we didn’t get in each other’s way. That was crucial.

The bell chimes, not so much a bell as a long beeping noise at a frequency that could call the dogs home. I gather my books and shove them into my bag, thanking God that I wasn’t required to do homework around here. There were only so many things I could focus on at once.

“Any ideas?” Harry asks once we’re in the hallway, with the incessant chatter of an entire school to block us from nosy ears. I’m still not used to his voice without the accent. He sounds very neutral; his American accent is so general that you couldn’t place it anywhere. That worries me a little bit.

Nosy ears. Talk about an oxymoron.

I adjust the straps on my bag and stare straight ahead. “Looks like we’re going to have to work to be acknowledged.”

“We’re two new kids in a school where everyone’s known each other since birth. Every guy that we’ve passed in this hallway so far has given you the same once-over they’d give a hamburger.”

“What a lovely comparison.”

“It’s true; getting acknowledged won’t be the problem. It’ll be gaining their trust.” Harry flashes a smile at a girl attempting to hide behind the door of her friend’s locker. Her face turns crimson with blush blood. When he looks back at me, he raises an eyebrow as if to say, See?

“Okay, Casanova, I get your point. We’ll have to be good about it, though.” The crowd of students in the hallway begins to thin out, the danger of the late bell ringing becoming perilously close. The door to our destination is only a few feet away. We’re going to have to repeat the new student spiel all day. All my dreams have come true.

“How good?”

I press my hand against the door, feeling the cool metal of the handle beneath my palm.

“Styles, we’re joining a sports team.” Then I push the door open, ready to get this entire day over with.

***

Chemistry is the one of the only classes I don’t have with Harry. I manage to make it to class early, before anyone else is there, and get the meeting with the teacher over with.

The teacher, as far as teachers go, seems friendly. Her name is Dr. Hemmick and she’s long and thin, perpetually wearing a lab coat with a pair of glasses perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. There’s a glint to her eyes, as if her intelligence is lighting them up from the inside. She has to be if she’s got a PhD. They don’t hand out those things to just anybody.

Dr. Hemmick points me to a lab table in the center of the room. There’s a row on either side of it, and two rows in back and in front. It’s not the most ideal location, but it’s good enough.

As I slide into my seat, other students trickle in, some laughing from a joke their friend told them in the hall, others squealing or thumping someone on the back when they reunite with someone they probably have seen in –wait for it—a whole three days!

There’s a fragile innocence that seems to drift through the entire school, it drapes itself along the corridors like a heavy reminder that this is high school, this is not the real world and the real world is not pleasant.

Oh, how just unpleasant it really is.

Suddenly someone plops down on the stool next to me, jolting me into the active present and I mentally slap myself for drifting off. Stupid shit like that could get me killed if I wasn’t careful.

I turn my head to look at the person and recognize the face instantly; it’s Rosalie Dervin. I can practically see the bold-faced print of her name on the case file. She’s listed under suspected co-conspirers, but she looks like the last person to ever be involved in a drug ring.

“Oh, hi, you’re the new girl, right?” She smiles widely and brightly, sticking out a perfectly manicured hand. Her arms look clean, no scars, no tracks, and her eyes don’t have the bloodshot look of the addicted. “My name’s Rosalie, but everyone calls me Rose.”

I return her smile with one of my own, practiced and perfected enough to seem natural to the untrained eye. “I’m Sophia. And yep, new girl, that’s me.”

“Where’d you move out from?” Rose asks politely, pulling out a notebook that has yet to be cracked open or scribbled in.

Virginia. “California. My dad and a few other people got relocated here because the company they work at was opening up a new branch. Some real estate thing, I think. I never paid too much attention until it decided to directly interfere with my life.” Rose chuckled, though in reality her little laugh seems too delicate to be called a chuckle.

“Isn’t that how it always is? Parents don’t get it, especially dads.” I honestly wish I could truly sympathize but I can’t. I don’t have parents, I have bosses and trainers. I have fellow agents.

Any familial bonds I had were severed long ago.

I just nod my head in agreement, and a nervous look suddenly flashes across Rose’s eyes. A deep seed of doubt is suddenly planted in my stomach.

The bell to mark the start of class rings, but Dr. Hemmick doesn’t call everyone to order right away. She’s too busy sorting through a gigantic stack of packets and mumbling, her lips moving fractionally.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Rose, drumming my fingers on the fire-retardant lab table.

“Oh, nothing. I was just, you moved here with the new boy, right? Harry Styles?” The flutter in her voice and the sudden redness of her cheeks has me biting back the insult I want to automatically spew out about Harry.

Instead I just laugh. “Yeah, his dad and my dad are like, best friends. They got promoted together.” Lies upon lies.

Rose bites her lip, her light brown hair falling into her face and over her eyes, which remind me immediately of the world cerulean. Is that even a thing?

“Are you two…” She takes a deep breath like it’s painful for her to even fathom this concept. “Dating?”

This time I really, truly, genuinely laugh, because I’ve never heard something more fucking ridiculous in my entire life.

The look on Rose’s face is torn between befuddlement and relief, so I put her out of her misery and answer the question. “Me and Harry? Nope, never. I find it hard enough to be in his presence as it is, and now we’re going to have to spend like, ninety percent of our time together. Feel free to take him off my hands.”

“Oh, good,” Rose breathes out, laughing a little bit to soothe her nerves. “Half the girls in school fell in love with him on sight, and I’d figured that I’d ask you about him before someone else does it. New people don’t happen often in this school.”

Dr. Hemmick calls the class to order then, and I sit facing the front of the room. I say one last thing to Rose. “Yeah, I definitely got that vibe the second I walked in.”

I couldn’t wait to tell Harry.

***

I stand leaning against the side of the school building that faces the parking lot. The day had passed in a flurry of speculations and awkwardly asked questions. Lunch was an event, because Harry and I did not sit with each other. I sat with Rose and her friends, and somehow, Harry managed to worm his way into the jock circle. The kid works fast, I had to give him credit for that.

Harry has the keys to the car and decided to take fucking forever walking out of the building. I busy myself on my phone, strictly for the mission, reading a .PDF file of the case again.

A shadow passes over the screen.

“Fucking finally,” I grumble, “I was withering away to nothing. I want the keys tomorrow—”

I stop talking immediately when I realize the person I’m talking to isn’t Harry.

It’s Scott Andersen, best friend to Daniel Grant.

I had been just reading his file. He was suspected, but not guilty. Of course, no one was guilty yet, per se. There were various shades of guilt.

Scott has feathery blond hair and dark brown eyes; so dark they seem to blend in with his pupils. His mouth stretches into a wide grin, and I don’t miss the way his eyes seem to flit all over my body. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his impossibly tight jeans.

“Hey,” he says airily, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “You’re the new girl, right?”

I smile, only out of courtesy. “Here’s a surprise, I have a name! It’s Sophia, but you’ve got the right person.”

“Sophia,” he rolls my name around on his tongue. “Are you dating that Styles kid?” Jesus Christ, go somewhere else.

“Nope. He’s just a family friend.”

If possible, his grin becomes wider. “Cool. There’s a party this weekend, to kick off the semester. If you and not-boyfriend Styles wanna show up, that’s cool.” His use of descriptive words astounds me.

“Sure! Why not? It’s a good way to get to know people, I guess.” Is my distaste palpable? I hope not.

Scott’s eyes flicker in a different direction, and his jaw hardens. “I’ll get you an invite, see you at the party, Sophie.” Then he turns and walks off in such a hurry, he could’ve won an Olympic metal.

Sophie. Glad to see we’ve reached a nickname basis so soon into our two minute relationship.

“You ready to go?” Harry asks, his voice tight, and I hide my smile, knowing he was the reason Scott disappeared.

“You scared poor Scottie off,” I say sarcastically, and Harry’s eyes dart over to me.

“Scottie?”

“He called me Sophie. I don’t know if he just messed up my name or thinks a party invitation makes us best friends.”

“He invited you to a party?”

“Don’t let your man ego take too much of a hit, you got invited too. Under the name of not-boyfriend Styles.” Harry smirks.

“How many times today did you have to answer that question?”

“If I had a nickel, I’d be a millionaire. You?”

“I think I’d go for being a billionaire. I wasn’t joking about the guys here being obsessed with you.”

I laugh, even though I’m supposed to be mad at him. “According to Rosalie Dawson, half of the girl population is in love with you and about ten percent of the male population is considering switching sides.” We both laugh, the peaceful noises echoing over the parking lot.

“I’m going to write a book about it.”

“And no one will buy it.”

Harry scowls, and unlocks the car. “Just get the fuck in, Holly.”