You're My Kind Of Wrong

Chapter One

Elizabeth

Two months from now

I inhale deeply. My chest rises, cold air fills my lungs. A feeling of uneasiness slithers down my spine. I turn my head in all directions, my eyes focused, attentive, doing their best to take it all in and register my surroundings.

The masquerade ball seems splendidly regal; everyone around me is lavishly dressed, adorned with jewels and masques. Couture dresses slightly brush the floor and sparkle as the light dances amongst sequins, crystals, and diamonds. Tuxedos are perfectly pressed, gentlemen are holding their ladies and feet sway all around me to the rhythm of the music.

The classical style castle-like house is full, and the muffled voices are distracting. The reverberating sound echoes in my ears.

I can almost see Poppy from the corner of my eye. Other than her, I don't seem to recognize the others. I feel a light buzz. I close my eyes and open them again.

In the back of the room, facing me, there's a shadow. Yes, certainly a figure. No, a man. A very tall man, lean in figure, long legs and arms, wearing a perfectly tailored suit, although the face is not clear. Details are just a blur, and I cannot seem to see through the accessory hiding his features. He is walking towards me, and I feel a sudden inexplicable urge to dart in his direction; butterflies are restless in my stomach. Something about him lures me in.

Now

Oh, the noise. What is this god-awful noise?

I open my eyes and a piercing sound invades my head making it boom like it's about to explode; the alarm clock is ringing nonstop. It's probably been going for a while now by the look of the sun gleaming through my window. I bury my head in the silky pillows for a second before deciding to take my chances and look at the time. Jesus! Is it eight-thirty already? Elizabeth, your luck is just not here today.

Miss James is going to kill me; I'm extremely late for class. Why did I have to sleep in on the day she is presenting our semester assignment worth more than half of our grade?

I jump from the bed straight into the bathroom and brush my teeth while trying to put my platinum blonde hair into a semi-presentable hairdo. By that, I mean a charmingly scruffy bun. I don't do hair and I use hair pins, many more than I probably need. I curse myself for not paying attention or practicing more all those hairstyling videos that I love watching; apparently, they would be very handy on a day like today. I do a double take at the makeup barely there from last night and decide against fixing it.

Stumbling my way through my unorganized-but-still-very-much-organized-to-me room, I find the clothes I need, get dressed in seconds then head out.

Halfway through the corridor, I realize that I forgot my bag, phone, and books. I am really something else. I go back inside, put my keys into my Balenciaga bag along with my phone and IPad and leave.

Once in the elevator, I notice that I look much better than I feel or expected to look, and all in under twenty minutes. Kudos Liz, maybe you are not such a mess after all.

My phone beeps with a message from Poppy: Where you at, girl? James is already here. It appears she is excited and arrived a bit early. When I look at my watch again, my happiness deflates.

I text back, I will be there in 10. Hold on. Tell James.

Miss James is by far the best professor I have ever had. Last year, I was ever so lucky to get accepted into one of her classes, and attending it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I was mesmerized instantly by the eloquence and intelligence she showed during her lectures. I also thought to be quite quirky the fact she enjoys being called James, not Miss James, but James alone and didn't disclose the reason. She is still young, but very serious. Maybe due to her age, she feels she has to be a bit more formal than others; maybe it's because she's British, not sure.