You'll Be Okay

Chapter 1

Marshall Grammar, with its halls filled with the children of celebrities, politicians, world-famous athletes and more, had always intrigued me. And while there was no reason for senior year to be any different from the other years, I arrived early on Monday morning with a renewed excitement buzzing through my veins.

As I pushed through the double doors, I was immediately swept into a flurry Chanel perfume and curly blonde hair.

"Senior year, baby!"

I raised my eyebrows in question at my best friend, not quite convinced.

I'd first met Kayley Brewer in kindergarten when I found her standing stubbornly in the rain with lopsided pigtails and clutching a tattered Mr Wiggles. It took two or three cookies to coax her out of her temper tantrum but five year old Lex met her best friend right then and there.

"Lex." Kayley narrowed her eyes and tsk-ed at me. "Stop moping. Senior year will be the time of our lives. Just smile and get a boyfriend – that's all there is."

"Fantastic," I observed. "I'll use that to get into Yale."

She looked crestfallen and I smiled guiltily to remind her that I was only joking. After losing both my dad and my brother two years ago, Kayley was the one who helped me back to my feet. To this day, she was still paranoid whenever there was the slightest crease between my eyebrows.

From the corner of my eye, Bree Richardson, our newly-elected head cheerleader, waltzed through the doors. Flawless brown skin, black hair tossing and Maserati keys swinging from her freshly manicured fingers, admirers flocked but her attention was elsewhere. She was the epitome of Marshall Grammar's top-class.

"Oh, your timetable," Kayley remembered, pulling something out of her locker. "Not to be dramatic but I would rather die than take Home Economics."

I frowned and she handed me the piece of paper. Indeed, once a week in place of Study Period, the little block letters spelled out Home Economics instead.

"Is this a joke?" I asked.

"Don't worry," said Kayley, sympathetically patting my arm. "In case the lawyer thing doesn't work out, at least you'll know how to make an apple pie."

I laughed, despite myself.

Following in my parents' footsteps, I'd wanted to be a lawyer for as long as I could remember. I had grown up listening to them talk about how Yale had shaped their lives so of course, it was the ultimate goal for me. The problem was that Home Economics - essentially, cooking class - wasn't going to get me any closer to that goal.

But before I could figure out a way to fix this, Kayley let out a dramatic gasp.

"Look, Jarred Dalton cut his hair!" She pressed a hand against her chest, eyes trained on something behind me. "And wow, Reid Castellan just keeps getting hotter, doesn't he?"

I turned to see what all the fuss was about.

From the left, Jarred Dalton, the self-proclaimed comedy genius, was talking animatedly on the phone with vague hand gestures. Next to him, Tyler Kypriano twirled Bree Richardson in his arms and they immediately started making out against her locker. Dennis Sinclair was on the far right, headphones in, shirt collar undone and dark hair falling over his eyes.

And lastly, walking in front of them all, behold Reid Castellan.

Reid was hand-picked by his notorious father at fifteen years old, announced to be the heir to the multibillion Castellan franchise over his seven other siblings. Since then, the media had gushed over Reid's soccer champion potential, his countless Vogue photoshoots and recently, his activism work during the summer. Nowadays, he made headlines for being a "beacon of hope," "the change that the world had been waiting for" and a "breath of fresh air." But really, it was all over a couple of Instagram posts.