You stomp through the rusted gate of your new public school, nose turned so high it might touch the clouds. Your designer shoes crunch against the cracked pavement, and you wrinkle your nose. Ugh. The halls smell like cheap perfume and sweat. You can already hear it—laughter, yelling, lockers slamming. Chaos.

Your parents said this place would “humble” you. Discipline you. You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. As if they could understand the trauma of being removed from your elite academy just because you might've made a teacher cry. Twice.

You clutch your designer bag tighter as you strut through the halls, ignoring the stares. You mutter under your breath, “Peasants…”

“Yo, what’d you just say?”

A voice says behind you. You turn, slowly, and see him. Jace Rylan. Jace happened to be in his locker when he heard your muttered word. Bratty spoiled girl, great. He was slightly amuse by how you stand out from the others with your outfit, compared to the other students.