“Have you met Max yet?” Savannah asks, pulling her hair up into a high ponytail, which supported the rumor of it being so tight that it’s pulling all of the knowledge out of her tiny brain.

“Apparently he moved from England last year and paid a lot of money to take the admissions test after its make-up date. The dean gave him a chance but only accepted him if scored 95% and above,” Georgia mentions, her hair in a sleek high ponytail similar to Savannah’s. If twins could be the exact same person, that would be Savannah and Georgia.

“He ended up getting a perfect score, and they just let him in without an interview,” Savannah finishes the story in time when Jumpsuit, their gym teacher, blows the whistle and forces the girls out of the locker room.

“That’s unfair. Just because he’s a smart, rich, English boy doesn’t mean that he’s allowed to just get into a prestigious school without going through the whole process like everyone else did,” Violet rolls her eyes and walks over to the blob of girls that crowd around Jumpsuit.

“Captains today are Sylvia and Jane. Choose your team quick considering you girls like to spend five hours in the locker room gossiping about the boys in your year despite the fact that you can do that at lunch next period,” Jumpsuit glares at Violet, Savannah, and Georgia as Sylvia and Jane take their spots in front of the net.

“Sylvia, you won last class, choose first.”

“Violet,” she states almost immediately. Violet’s background in sports caused her to make quite the name for herself in her gym class. In addition, the 28-11 win with Sylvia’s team last class meant she wasn’t going to any other team in the near future. The next two minutes are dedicated to Jane and Sylvia choosing their teams, which results in Jane trying to contain her disappointment of not getting Violet.

“So I’m aware that Sylvia is the captain of this team, but seeing that this was basically the same team as last class, it would be appreciated if you call the ball before hitting it so that we don’t end up in bruises like last time,” Violet states as they went into their positions in front of the net. Jumpsuit throws the volleyball to Sylvia, who gracefully catches it and sets up to serve. Once the ball is in play, it’s hit to Violet one too many times due to her team’s insecurity of not being able to hit it over the net.

After about fifteen minutes, Violet’s forearms get to a point where there’s no more feeling, and it’s double the size it was before the game started.

“Can I visit the medical room?” She yells across the gym, but being the hard head that she is, Jumpsuit doesn’t allow her to. That’s when Violet realizes that in order for her to be sent to the medical room, she’d have to be the one escorting the person.

Many factors go into her decision, but two of them help carry the action out: perfect aim and almost perfect eyesight, thanks to contacts of course. She hits the ball with extra force, and the ball hurls itself to the other side of the gym, where the boys conveniently play basketball. It hits a tall figure on the back, sending him forward and onto the floor.

“Violet, escort Max to the medical room,” Jumpsuit yells at her, running to the boy’s – Max, apparently – aid. Violet shrugs and runs to his aid as well, helping him up, and they walk outside, pushing through the large and heavy gymnasium doors. The medical room is in the main building, which is a nice five minutes away from the gymnasium building.

“I apologize for knocking the wind out of you over there. Jumpsuit wouldn’t let me go and check out my already numb and swollen forearms so I needed an excuse to go to the medical room. Fortunately, you walked right into my aim on Jason’s unnecessarily large head right as the ball came plummeting downwards,” Violet gives him a small smile and pats his back, pulling away as he flinches.

“It’s perfectly fine, hopefully that ball came plummeting downwards to our potential friendship,” he smiles although his pain is evident in how scrunched up his face was.

“Smooth. I’m Violet, by the way.”

“More like violent, but that works too.”

“I don’t appreciate your salty tone,” she raises an eyebrow. She knows who he is. He’s that rich kid who’s smart enough to work circles around everyone but doesn’t even get the opportunity to because his charming smirk wins them over before he gets the chance to. Being from a boarding school in New England, there are tons of them, and Violet is looking forward to seeing him get a hard reality check like all of the boys do. Poor Max.

“Let me guess. Everyone sees you as the popular airhead who’s good at sports, but you’re sick and tired of that stereotype, so you’re rebelling against the system,” he says, his condescension painfully obvious.

“Completely wrong, actually. Let me guess. You’re not used to that,” she rolls her eyes and walks faster in hopes that the distance between the gymnasium and the main building somehow becomes shorter. If she has to deal with another word from this English boy’s mouth, she’s going to start contemplating her existence. “Take out airhead and replace it with ‘girl who’s at the top of her class’ if you want to be accurate. There’s also no point in rebelling if there’s no system to rebel against.”

“That’s music to my ears, actually,” he smirks as they reach the medical room. “Rebels and airheads aren’t exactly my type.”

“Wait, what?”

“Dalton Hall, Room 24. Swing by sometime. Maybe I won’t be much of a stereotype to you after,” Max turns to the door, and Violet forgets that her arms hurt in the first place. “See you later, Violent.”