Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

I stiffened at the sound of heels echoing outside the office. There was a halt, a brief exchange of words, and then its continuation. When the principal walked in, I straightened my back and watched her settle behind her desk. She opened a cabinet and skimmed her fingers over the files before plucking one out. It was my student record. My name was printed in bold letters on the yellow folder, and my ugly ID picture was stapled on the top right corner. Fortunately, the principal opened the file, and my mugshot was out of sight.

"Desmond Mellow," she read aloud. "Seventeen-years-old, lives with mother, previously attended Junjay High, expelled for behavioral issues and indecent acts, and has now transferred to Ivory All-Boys high school."

She paused, peering at me over her horn-rimmed glasses. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," I answered stiffly.

She went on reading. "Below average grades, doesn't take part in any physical activities, doesn't participate in any clubs, has no instrumental talent and-"

"Mom," I groaned. "Do we have to do this right now? Class is starting soon, and I don't want to be late on my first day."

"We would have gone through this at home if you hadn't sprinted off without me. I told you I'd drive you to school."

"I wanted to take the bus." An obvious lie.

"No, you're still mad at me," she interjected.

I remained silent.

"I know changing schools is hard, but I did this for your own good."

"If you know, then did you make me transfer? I was suspended from my last school, not expelled. I could have gone back after three weeks," I snapped.

"For goodness sake Desmond, don't you remember how you were always getting into fights? Do you even know how worried I was when you came back home covered in bruises and injuries?" she demanded. "I don't understand why you were acting so rebelliously. What were you trying to achieve with that kind of behavior? What point were you trying to prove? I just don't understand how and why you're so different from-"

I glared at her and she stopped, taking in a deep breath to calm herself down.

"Ivory High has a great reputation. The students here have some of the best academic scores in the country. The boys here are very kind and smart. You'll make new friends soon."

I rolled my eyes.

"Being smart isn't a personality trait. And no offense, Mom, but this place could burn to hell and I'd still sleep like a baby."

"Do you think leaving you in your previous high school would have been any better? That environment and the crowd you hung out with was no good, and you know it. Do you know I worried I was? Your behavior scared me. Ditching classes every week? Going out with your so-called friends to who knows where doing who knows what? Getting into fights and coming home with bruises and injuries? What were you thinking?!"

I clearly wasn't if I was stupid enough to get caught.

"I've had enough of this teenage phase of yours. At least here I'll be able to keep a closer eye on you, and I won't have to worry about getting a call from the principal."

Her joke didn't make me laugh, and I glared at her.

"Would you like me to remind you why you were suspended?" she asked, raising her angular brows and folding her hands together.

"You promised not to bring that up again," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks redden. I was caught in a situation that involved me, a girl, and very few clo in a classroom. We had forgotten to lock the door, and our English teacher walked in on us, screaming when she found two of her students half-***** on the very desk she corrected our papers on.

She reported us to the principal's office, and word spread quickly around the school. To the students, I was a legend. To the adults, I was a horny boy who couldn't keep it in his pants. My mom was furious when she found out, and my busy dad had to cancel his business trip to Singapore to discuss my "unacceptable behavior" with the school authorities.

My English teacher, a kind Christian lady, had to go through therapy due to the traumatic experience. I wrote her an apology letter, which went something like:

Dear Mrs. Hilary,

I am sorry that you had to see my bare bum. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my unholy behavior. God bless you.

Yours Truly,

Desmond Mellow

I was originally supposed to be suspended temporarily but my mom, as she just said, was tired of seeing me get into trouble, thought that it'd be a good idea to send me to my worst nightmare, Ivory High.

"Hopefully this place will help you focus more on your studies and less on girls."

Heat rose to my face at her words and I quickly raked a hand through my dark, brown hair.

"I should go now. I'm going to be late," I said, using whatever excuse I could to get out of here.

"Wait, Des," called my mom, stopping me in my steps. "I want you to be on your best behavior, okay?"

"It depends on your definition of "best behavior," I chuckled half-heartedly. She narrowed her eyes, obviously not appreciating my sense of humor.

"Best behavior as in going to all your classes, handing in your homework on time, no fighting, and no indecent acts in a classroom."

My eyes widened at her last remark.

"Mom!" I hissed. The fact that I blushed at the smallest things wasn't helping either. "They're all boys."

"You know I support the LGBTQA+ community with all my heart, and that I love you for who you are and not who you like," she said, taking a motherly tone. "Just make sure it's done with consent and condoms."

"Mom, I'm not gay," I deadpanned.

"Okay, son."

Another groan escaped my mouth.

"There's no need to be embarrassed," she said in that reassuring voice adults always used. "You did it with a girl in a classroom in your last high school-"

"Exactly! A girl."

"You never know," she insisted.

"I'm not- Never mind," I grumbled, grabbing my bag and leaving her office before she could start teaching me how to use lube.

"Have a great day, sweetie!"

I closed the door behind me before she started teaching me the importance of lube. I walked away from her office before stopping in my steps, banging my head against the lockers in embarrassment. The conversation I had needed to be burnt from my memory, and fast. The bell rang and my eyes widened. Snap, I was late for class!

I pulled out my timetables from my jean pocket. The first class I had was Math in room 112. I took a confident step forward but froze when I realized that I didn't know where room 112 was. I asked a few students and teachers for directions. Either they were new here too, or they had no sense of orientation because they were all giving me different instructions. I probably would have found it quicker if I had just followed my instincts, but I eventually found the classroom. I straightened my shirt and cleared my vocal cords before knocking. A man opened the door for me. The first thing I noticed was that he was bald. His shiny scalp hypnotized me, and I wondered if he waxed it every morning.

Everything about him screamed discipline and order: the rectangular glasses framing his eyes, his pink shirt tucked neatly into his pants, and the blue tie that sat symmetrically on his chest.

"Hi," I said, breaking the silence. "I'm Desmond Mellow, the transfer student."

"Mr. Mellow." He spoke in a tight, snobby voice that reminded me of Severus Snape. "You're late."

"Sorry, I got lost."

"I am sorry."

I blinked blankly. "You're forgiven?"

He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"For your sentence to be grammatically correct, you must say, 'I am sorry' and not 'sorry'. The personal nominative pronoun 'I' must precede the infinitive form of the verb 'be' in the present simple, before the use of the adjective 'sorry' to form a complete and proper English sentence. Are you a foreigner?"

"Uh, no."

"You sound unsure."

I stiffened. "No, I am not a foreigner."

"Then if you've received a proper education in an English-speaking country, you should know how to construct a proper sentence. Out of respect for your native language and your new teacher, refrain yourself from using such abominable half-finished sentences."

"Okay." I might as well use one-worded sentences instead.

He flicked his wrist. For a second there, I thought he was going to punch me. I was about to raise my fists until I realized that he was just checking his watch. Even unintentionally, he made me feel stupid.

"Apart from your horrendous knowledge of English grammar, are you aware that you are five minutes and sixty-three seconds late?"

"No, I didn't know."

"Wrong."

"Excuse me?" I scoffed.

"That was a trick question. If you were attentive, you would have noticed that sixty-three seconds does not exist in a minute. You were, in fact, six minutes and three seconds late."

And you are, in fact, a royal pain in the ***.

"We do not tolerate tardiness in Ivory High. This is a school of excellence and prestige. I will not accept any student who is a second late in class. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am- Oh, I mean, sir," I said, causing the students behind him to laugh. Before he could scold me, I asked, "May I come in?"

Despite the annoyed look on his face, he stepped aside. I tightened my grip around the strap of my bag and walked past him. I quickly scanned the room and gulped. I must have made quite an impression on my new classmates because they all stared at me with a mixture of astonishment, admiration, and disapproval. There was an empty seat at the back, so I naturally gravitated towards it. I sat down, but as soon as I did, murmurs and gasps filled the room.

Was I not supposed to sit here?

Baldy walked to the front of the classroom and resumed his lesson on the equilibrium of X and Y. I took out a tattered notebook and a chewed-up pencil from my bag. I didn't understand a thing the teacher was saying, but I had to at least pretend like I did. I thoughtlessly scribbled down notes until I noticed that my deskmate wasn't paying attention to class. In fact, he wasn't even awake.

His head laid snuggly against his crossed arms, his body steadily rising and falling at each breath. He was facing the other way, but the dense waves of his mahogany hair were enough to catch my attention. He had a nice boyish smell, a hint of fresh pine, and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. He shifted in his seat, and I lowered my gaze to my unreadable notes. I waited a few seconds before glancing at him once more. He was now faced towards me. The sunlight that slanted through the windows kissed his cheeks, illuminating his defined features. He was asleep, so I studied his face. My eyes lingered on his thick brows before descending to his dark lashes that rested over the dark patches beneath his eyes. He had flawless, ivory skin, and a defined jaw, and high cheekbones. The closest word that could describe him and even then, the adjective felt lacking - was beautiful.

His lids cracked open, revealing a storm of grey and blue. My heart fluttered when his gaze met mine, and a playful smirk pulled on his lips as if he had known that I had been staring at him, which caused an all-too-familiar warmth to rise to my face. I looked away, pressing my hand against my cheek to hide my embarrassment. When I glanced at him again, he was asleep.

As soon as the bell rang, my desk was surrounded by new faces who stared at me as if I was some kind of newly discovered animal on the discovery

channel. "What's your name?" asked one of them.

"Desmond." I smiled, hoping that I didn't sound as awkward as I felt.

"Which high school are you from?" said the one on the left.

"Junjay High," I answered, intimidated by the overwhelming amount of people around me.

They all gasped, sharing glances and exchanging whispers.

"Is it true that you were expelled?"

Was that why they were staring at me like that?

"No, I wasn't expelled." Which, in my defense, wasn't a complete lie. Technically, I was suspended.

"Why did you transfer here?"

Before I could answer, someone else asked:

asked:

"Do you play any sports? How about joining our basketball team?"

"You should try out for the volleyball team. It'll look great on your university application!" Exclaimed another.

"I-" I was interrupted again.

"There's also a literature club if you're interested!"

They continued to drown me with questions, interrupting me with more of them, inviting me to join clubs and whatnots.

"Back off hoes," ordered a disembodied voice.

The chattering died down when a tiny figure shouldered his way through the crowd, stopping in front of my table. He had bright blond hair and a toothy smile that called upon two dimples on his cheeks. His emerald eyes sparkled with vivacity. Despite his small frame, he wore an oversized sweater that drooped down his shoulder, which revealed his silky pale skin and prominent collarbone.

"Next class is P.E." He winked. "Follow me."

I got the message he was saving me. I didn't waste a second to gather my things, apologizing to the others before following my savior out the door. When we were out of earshot, I sighed in relief.

"Thanks," I murmured gratefully. He turned towards me and flashed a bright, sunny smile, carrying a warm aura around him.

"No worries," he beamed. He gave out his hand, his sleeves going past the tips of his fingers. "I'm Charlie, by the way, Charlie Wimbrow!"

"Desmond." I nodded with a smile, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Everyone seems to have taken quite the liking to you," he mused.

"It's probably because I'm the new kid, it'll die down sooner or later." I shrugged, but Charlie laughed, shaking his head as if I just made a noob mistake.

"Oh, Desy," he chuckled. Desy? "You're in an all-boys high school. You may be new here, but some of us have been cooped up in this place for years."

I furrowed my brows in confusion. "I uh, I still don't see the problem."

"Well, when you're constantly in male-only environment, you start to change your preferences, or at least discover your real center of interest, if you know what I mean," he said, wriggling his brows as if it was going to help me understand what he was trying to say.

"Um, no, not really."

"A lot of our classmates thought it was brave of you to talk back to Mr. Power. No one's ever done that before. To be honest, it kind of turned me on too."

I almost choked. "What?"

"I said it turned-"

"I'm not gay," I blurted, self-consciously raking a hand through my hair.

"To quote our king Harry Styles, 'we're all a little bit gay.' Oh, but don't worry, I only date tops."

Tops? What ethnicity was that?

I quickly cleared my voice. "I'm uh, I'm honored that people find me cute, but I personally don't swing that way."

"I can already tell that you're going to be popular here. Not only did you talk back to Mr. Power, but you also sat down beside the Class Prince."

"The Class what?" It seemed as if I had lots to learn about this school.

"The Class Prince," he repeated nonchalantly.

"You mean my desk mate? Is that his name?" I scowled, suddenly feeling bad for him. What kind of cruel parents would give their kid such an unusual name?

"It's a nickname that the students gave him," he explained while adjusting his sweater. "He's a prodigy, a genius if you must. He ranks first in our grade, so everyone here treats him like royalty. Even the teachers give him special treatment."

Was that why Mr. Power said nothing when he was sleeping in class?

"Plus, he looks like a total prince. Not the typical blond-haired Prince Charming, but more like the mysterious and dangerous type."

"You mean the villain?" I snorted, which made Charlie giggle. What's his real name? Because there is no way in hell that I'm going to call him," I paused, trying not to cringe as I croaked, "The Class Prince."

Charlie just laughed, looking at me with his bright, green eyes that had a hint of mystery. "His name real name is Ivan. Ivan Moonrich."

"I see," I mumbled flatly.

The scowl on my face made him laugh. "You don't seem to like him very much."

Charlie leaned closer towards me with a raised brow. "Seems like you're not a big fan?"

"No, it's not that," I quickly said, mentally scolding myself for my transparency. "I mean, it's nothing personal or anything. I just try to steer clear from perfect guys like him."

"Ohhh, how mysterious," he murmured in amusement. He then smiled. "Then again, what's a love story without some angst?"

"Love story?" I choked. "I told you, I'm not-"

"But maybe it's a good thing that you don't want to get involved with him."

"Why?"

Charlie looked straight ahead of him.

"You said that he could be a villain, right? Well, every villain has suffered, and Ivan is no exception."