Samuel Sinclair

  I hear the whispers before I even turn the corner.

  "Look, it's him."

  "We're literally standing beside royalty."

  "He's quite handsome, yeah?"

  They follow me as I walk down the hall lined with portraits of the past founders. Nothing particularly remarkable, just old, white men staring down at me with mirroring expectations. Men who built their legacy on discipline and an unnecessary amount of money.

  Near the end of the hall, a new portrait stands out. The only one with color and with a decent presence.

  My father

  Copper-red hair, sharp green eyes. I thankfully only inherited the eyes.

  He stares down at me, as well, but it's only him that makes me want to shiver. It's almost as if I can feel his disappointment. Joke's on him, though, because he looks a bit like a leprechaun.

  By the time I arrive at my father's office door, I'm able to completely block out the whispers. If I just keep reminding myself that I'm above them all, I'll be fine.

  Fine. I roll my eyes. When have I ever been fine?

  I don't bother knocking on the door—he's expecting me. He mentioned that he had something important to tell me, but no matter how hard I pushed, he wouldn't explain further.

  With a low grunt, I push open the door. It opens up into a beautiful, dimly lit office, with overflowing wooden shelves, gorgeous art, and an army of dust bunnies.

  All of this I expect. After all, I've had my fair share of...meetings in here with my father. He practically lives in here.

  What I don't expect, is the boy sitting in one the leather armchairs. I jolt back, my back bumping into the brass doorknob. Though I'm sure the boy heard the door scratch open, he only looks back when I hiss in pain.

  "Oh, hi." He smiles brightly, his hand raised in greeting.

  American.

  I blink back at him. All I can do is stare at this boy I've never seen before. He definitely doesn't go here. Everyone who attends St Luis Academy is known by my father and therefore known by me. This boy, however, is not known by me.

  He shifts uncomfortably and I realize that I've been staring. I don't stop, though. I take in his entire being, something that is so very out of place it's baffling.

  He wears an oversized jumper the color of the sun if it was on crack, blindingly white sneakers, and jean shorts. His posture is slightly slouched, and he sits low in the chair.

  What is happening? I think to myself, my body taking its time in catching up with my brain.

  After another few seconds, I shake myself and walk farther into the room.

  "Hello..." I reply slowly. "Who are you?"

  The boy raises an eyebrow like he wasn't expecting that response. I guess we're both getting unexpected surprised today.

  "I already feel so welcomed," he says, dryly. "I'm—"

  It's at the moment that my father decides to grace us with his intense presence. He pushes through the door behind me, nearly knocking me to the floor in the process.

  My father grins widely and floats across the room. When I look closer, it appears to be a bit strained.

  He walks around the boy and takes a seat in the grand chair behind his desk. "Ah! I see you two have already met. That makes things much easier."

  Neither of us speak, too out of sorts with everything.

  My father notices and gestures to the seat next to the boy. "Come, Samuel. Sit. We have a few things to go over."

  I immediately make my way over to the chair, not in the mood to disobey when he seems to be in a good mood.

  When I'm seated, I glance between my father and the mysterious boy. My heart drops into my stomach when I realize the one thing I've missed.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I can't believe I missed it, but it's there, shining like a beacon.

  The boy is black.

  And before anyone literally attacks me for it, I have no problems with it. I could care less what you look like, as long as you don't get in my way. No, the problem was my father. He's a very...particular man who likes to hang out with very particular people. His school, for example, is very particular. I believe there's only one person of color here, and her parents are one of greatest donators.

  In no world where my father is alive is there ever a chance where he'd allow a boy like him into his school. Not unless there was something planned, an ulterior motive.

  The thought is like lead in my veins.

  My eyes snap to my father as I search him for any signs of what he might be about to do. Whatever cruel thing he's come up with, now.

  When I glance over at the boy, I find him not staring at my father, but at me. His eyes bore into me, his eyebrows scrunched. I don't—I can't look away. I feel that if I do, I'll be admitting that I'm just like my dad, and I'm not.

  We are nothing alike.

  I swallow and hold eye contact until he looks away. When he does, it feels like I can finally breathe again.

  "So!" My dad claps his hands, startling both of us. "Not sure if you've introduced yourselves yet, so I'll do it for you."

  He points to me, his eyes glinting with pride. Usually, it'd make me feel good, but right now, all I can think about it was he's about to do next. "This wonderful man here is my son, Samuel Sinclair."

  I nod in the boy's direction, not making direct eye contact.

  "And this," his grin twitches. "This is Alexander, our most recent transfer from America."

  The boy—Alexander, apparently—holds up a polite hand. "Alex is fine, sir."

  My dad doesn't give any indication that he heard Alex and keeps his eyes on me. "I've brought you here because Alexander, here, is a new student and I wanted him to be welcomed by the best."

  What. Is. Happening?

  Out of everything I expected, welcoming him was not one of them.

  Next to me, Alex shifts.

  "Me? Welcome him?" I ask, incredulously. He cannot be serious.

  "Yes you, son! You know this place better than anyone."

  I pick at my blazer, trying to think of an excuse. "But..."

  My father steeples his hands. "Don't think too much about it. I've already arranged everything."

  "OK..."

  "Wonderful." He turns to Alex, albeit reluctantly. "Now, Alexander. There are some rules that must be followed if you want to keep your scholarship."

  My eyebrows skyrocket. Scholarship? There's only been a few scholarship students here. It's next to impossible to get one.

  Alex nods earnestly. "Yes sir, I understand. I'll be on my best behavior while I'm here. I can promise that."

  "Good..." My father rubs his ginger beard. "Failure to do so will result in consequences."

  Alex nods again. "Yes sir."

  An uncomfortable silence fills the dusty room, and it almost feels like my dad is waiting for Alex to slip up. But by just looking at him and his suddenly corrected posture, he's been in situations like this before and he won't be making those mistakes.

  My father's face breaks out into his usual grin. "Now that that has been settled, Samuel, I would like you to show Alexander his room. He's paid extra for a single, so he'll be on your floor."

  I don't react right away; I'm still struggling to catch up. My father sends a warning glance, and I snap to attention.

  "Of course, yes father," I respond quickly.

  He nods. "You two may leave."

  The two of stand at the same time, more than ready to leave the stifling room.

  As I lead him to the door, my dad calls after us. "Remember, Alexander. You're here on a scholarship. Something that can be easily taken away."

  Alex nods once. Being closer to him, I can see the way he swallows nervously. "I understand, sir. You will not be disappointed."

  When my dad gives me the signal, I pull open the door and step out into the hallway. Through the large windows, I find that the sun has started to go down.

  I inwardly groan. I missed the rest of my classes. Now I've got to make up the work. All for a stranger.

  Alex walks out behind me, his posture still rigid.

  I roll my eyes. "You can calm down, now. My father won't see you. He never leaves his office."

  "Ok," he says, but he doesn't relax.

  It's quiet as we walk through the halls. Alex's gaze bounces everywhere, never staying in what place. He stares intro empty classrooms, he gapes at large light fixtures, and he can't help stopping to admire a Greek statue my dad bought at an auction.

  By the time we get to the stairs that lead to the floor with the singles, the sun is completely set, the moon taking its place.

  "This is where you'll be staying," I tell him after an eternity of silence. "My room is up here, as well."

  We walk down the hall past the rooms who belongs to people who tried to befriend me but gave up once they realized I wasn't interested. I keep my eyes glued on the names on the doors, in search of Alex's.

  He must be somewhere over here, I think, frowning when I don't see it.

  I've already come up with the idea that maybe his room is on the next floor when we get to my door. The first thing I notice is how the usually empty second to last room now has a name tag on it. The second thing I notice is whose name it states.

  Alexander Toussaint.

  My eyes bulge as I stare at the name, willing it to disappear. I can't have the anomaly in the bedroom right next to mine. It'll bring me unwanted attention, and I'm already the definition of attention.

  "Looks like this is mine?" Alex asks, hesitantly. He glances up at my door and smiles shyly. "Looks like we're neighbors."

  I nod slowly. "I suppose so. We also share a bathroom."

  This seems to surprise him because he jerks back, eyes wide. "We share a bathroom?"

  "Yeah, but if you're worried about running into me showering, I usually get up really early."

  He doesn't answer for a moment. He stares daggers at my door, chewing his lip. "Well, ok. They told me my stuff would be up here already. So, I guess this is goodnight. Thanks for getting me here. This place is huge."

  He lets out a self-conscious laugh before quickly snapping his mouth shut. "Sorry. I don't know if that's disrespectful or anything—"

  "Stop," I sigh heavily. "I'm not like my father. No one here is. Though, I suppose you should keep an eye out around the rugby team."

  He visibly relaxes. "Oh, thank god. Ok, thanks. Night."

  I nod once. "Good night."

  He turns and walks into his room, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

  All I can think about as I head to my own room is how this isn't the end of the anomaly named Alexander Toussaint. In fact, I can practically feel it festering into more of a problem as the seconds go by.

  I groan in my hands.

  Why is it always the attractive ones?