The Hirt

Chapter Sixteen

16

Heather shuffled into the school, schedule and map in hand.  Out of all the things she missed from Boston, school was not one of them.  Damien had managed to get Ivy and her into Sacramento High in just a few days.  Ivy hadn’t spoken to Heather since the group had decided that Heather would go with her, and this was fine with Heather.  They didn’t get along too well.

Heather glanced at her schedule, Chemistry being her first period.  She checked the map, found the way, and glanced at Ivy, who still managed to look like a model.

Where she had gotten these designer clothes, Heather didn’t know.  Ivy’s suitcase didn’t look that big, but she hadn’t repeated an outfit yet.  Her first-day-of-school outfit consisted of designer skinny jeans, a skin-tight white tank-top and small leopard print heels.  Her make-up was done flawlessly; eyeliner penciled thinly around her sparkling green eyes and soft pink lipstick applied to her lips.   Silky brown hair flowed down her shoulders.  She radiated confidence, and Heather knew that if they were both normal people going to a normal school, Ivy would’ve been very popular. 

Heather looked down at her own outfit and scrunched her nose.  She had thrown her brown hair into a ponytail and applied her usual makeup:  a little eyeliner and mascara.  Skinny jeans that she had had forever clung to her legs and an old T-shirt hung on her torso, while sneakers adorned her feet.  She was surprised she had even made it that far; she was usually lazy in the mornings.

“Well,” Heather mumbled.  “I’m going this way.  If you find a Mordan, just connect with me and I’ll meet up with you.”

“You’ll probably find one first since you’re so good at finding them,” Ivy snapped.  Heather rolled her eyes, sighed, and walked toward her classroom as the first bell rang.  She didn’t have the patience to deal with Ivy today.  She was exhausted and was not looking forward to sitting through seven hours of teachers lecturing on topics she would be behind on, considering it was already almost second semester at Sacramento High.

As she sulked into the Chemistry classroom, she kept her head down, eyes trained on the floor, looking for green-bottomed shoes.  She scanned everyone in the classroom, but found nothing.  Sighing, she found an empty seat and plopped down just as the bell rang.

A middle-aged man with a slight beard and big glasses walked to the front of the classroom and began calling roll.  Once he was finished, a red-headed boy next to Heather raised his hand.

“Um, Mr . . .” the boy trailed off, obviously not knowing the teacher’s name.

Hmm, Heather thought.  He must be new, too. 

“Mr. Bumner,” the teacher replied curiously.

“Right, Mr. Bum,” the boy replied, and the class snorted.

“Excuse me, who are . . . ”  Mr. Bumner said, caught off guard.

“Doesn’t matter,” the red-headed boy said, waving his hand.  Heather could only see the side of his face, so she couldn’t read his expression.  “But you didn’t call my name.”

Mr. Bumner looked back at his list, flustered.  “Well, you must be new then.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Redhead murmured.  Half the class stared at him, jaws dropped, while the other half, including Heather, busted up laughing in surprise.

Mr. Bumner’s face reddened.  “Young man, we do not accept that kind of language in our school.  What did you say your name was?”

“Ron Weasley.”  This provided laughter for the whole class.  Heather could even see Mr. Bumner fighting a smile.  The redheaded boy turned to the side for the first time and glanced at Heather.  Heather did a double take when she saw his eyes:  a very familiar gold color.