𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 1 ☆ 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒

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Sam Westlane is the new kid in the famous all boys Crestan High School for the rich and the spoiled ... There's only one problem. Sam is a girl
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"Mr. Sam Westlane, is it?" The headmaster of the prestigious Crestan High School peered over his frames at the small boy sitting in front of him. As the principal of the private all boys school for the last thirty years, he had grown more and more determined to uphold the school's traditions and maintain its "legacy of producing high upstanding young men to assume leadership positions in the world". In other words, to prevent the boys from tearing apart his precious building with their cheerful mischief before they graduated.

A rosy, rounded man, his seat creaked painfully as he shifted. "I'm Headmaster Finnigan. I'm extremely pleased to have you as a new addition to our wonderful school. I've looked at your files. It's amazing." He nodded at the boy. "You're here on full scholarship. That's quite a task to accomplish. I congratulate you." His eyes squinted behind the wire-rimmed glasses as he glanced over the documents spread out before him. "But you say that you mailed your old school records to us?" Shaking his head slowly, he flipped through the papers. "I'm sorry, but we haven't received anything yet. Perhaps it was lost in the mail? You must have them on file or something, I hope."

The boy shook his head and whispered, "No."

Finnigan frowned. Sam Westlane kept his eyes cast down. The boy's shiny red hair was cut short and messily, ragged at the ends. His clothes were baggy and oversized, engulfing his small frame. He was clearly extremely shy and nervous, chewing his lip every two seconds. The boy had obviously been through hard times, arriving just this morning with only a tiny banged-up suitcase and his letter of acceptance.

The principal sighed. He sympathized with the boy. He'd seen too many spoiled, rich brats and it was nice to see someone different for a change.

The boy tensed after the long silence. He whispered softly again, "Does this mean I can't stay?"

Lord, he sounded devastated. Finnigan was suddenly determined to help young Westlane out. Nodding briskly, he said, "I believe we can overlook this as long as you prove to be hard-working, responsible, and conscientious - in short, a model Crestan student." At least, what I believe should be a Crestan student . . .

Sam Westlane's head shot up and he eagerly thanked the headmaster. Finnigan took a while to answer because he was momentarily stunned by the boy's beautiful, emerald green eyes and his pale, porcelain skin. The boy looked almost . . . feminine. Finnigan shook his head to clear his thoughts and frowned. Poor kid. Something tells me he's not just going to be bullied by the others for his financial status alone. They're going to drive him away by the end of the week, just like the last kid who came here on scholarship. What a shame. He seems like such a nice boy, too.

Sam Westlane breathed a silent prayer. The ordeal was over. The school had accepted him. His only problem now was to make sure no one found out his secret - that Sam Westlane was actually Samantha Westlane and that she was far from meeting the standards for the "model Crestan student".

She smiled to herself. Headmaster Finnigan seemed like a nice, friendly man and she had felt a bit guilty for lying to him . . . but it was necessary. Her future depended on this step. Her fingers tightened instinctively as the memories she'd tried so hard to lock away resurfaced with a vengeance. Her parent's deaths in the car accident ...her energetic brother now stuck in a coma like a living vegetable . . . her uncle taking her in . . . her uncle's vile treatment of her for two years . . .

Sam shook her head and breathed deeply. She'd finally run away after finding out that her desperate application to Crestan had been accepted. For days, she'd prayed that her uncle wouldn't find out and lock her away in the attic again, but luck was on her side. She'd managed to intercept the mail and she'd nearly wept with relief at the sight of the thick envelope.

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