Summer Nostalgia

❀ Prologue ❀

"I'm sure you all have some type of homework to do, so you can occupy yourselves in outer silence. I want to hear the flies fly," Mr. Dorinos announced, peering above his glasses to emphasize his conditions.

Homework? It was fucking summer break.

I rolled my eyes and cranked up my music, drowning out the dull drone of the classroom as I doodled on a sheet of paper.

Drawing had always been my escape. It was my way of expressing myself freely, without the need for social interaction.

I owed my drawing skills to my mother. Despite her reluctance to admit it, she had a talent for drawing. When I was younger, she used to create comics for me, and we'd lose ourselves in them together. But she stopped, claiming I had outgrown such childish pastimes.

Anyways let's forget about her for a little.

I refocused on my sketch, my pencil gliding over the paper as I worked on drawing an eye. Carefully, I darkened the spot under the eyebrow and gently rubbed on it to create a shadow-like effect.

Fucking detention. I couldn't believe I was stuck in fucking detention.

Mrs. Sutherland, the principal, had deemed my attitude deplorable, despite my good grades as a junior. She even called my parents about it. My mom, in a fit of anger, suggested detention while they jetted off to Hawaii. We were supposed to go together as a family, but her rage got the best of her, and I was stuck here.

Sure, I could have skipped detention, but my mom threatened to forbid me from going to Hawaii if I dared to rebel.

She was evil.

I looked up from my paper and took in my surroundings. The school resembled a castle, with its brown walls and old wooden furniture. The one-sided windows, left untouched to preserve the school's authenticity, made the place perpetually chilly. It felt like a darker, more academic version of Hogwarts.

And to add to the prestige, Joseph K. was the only private school in my town, Alton Lake.

There was a boy in front of me. He had brown hair, some strands were curly others weren't, some were ginger, others weren't. It was...unique.

Suddenly, he turned around, offering me a soft smile that revealed deep dimples. His eyes, the bluest I had ever seen, held a mysterious depth, as if they were guarding countless secrets. Freckles adorned his nose, and cheeks, peeking out from beneath his tousled brown locks. His eyebrows appeared thick but were partially concealed by his hair. A light pink tint dusted his nose and cheeks, adding to his charm as our gazes locked.

His skin was a delicate shade of pale, like porcelain touched by moonlight. It had a subtle translucency to it, giving it an ethereal look that contrasted with the warmth of his freckles.

"What's your name?" he whispered, his British accent distinct.

I eyed him suspiciously. Why did he want to know? And more importantly, why should I tell him?

Am I overthinking it?

"Cleo," I whispered softly, my voice airy and barely audible. Speaking up had never been my strong suit.

"Does that stand short for something?" he inquired.

Were we really about to start engaging in a conversation?

"Unfortunately." I answered. I tore my gaze away from him, returning my focus to my paper. With delicate strokes, I drew wavy lines resembling tears, adding crooked red lines inside the eye while I shadowed the tear lines.