Lexi stepped into her first-period classroom, her polished appearance immediately drawing attention. Heads turned as the unfamiliar blonde with an aura of confidence—and unmistakable discomfort—crossed the threshold. She could feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken curiosity that came with being new. The room was chaotic, with students talking over one another and the teacher half-heartedly attempting to restore order. Lexi scanned the desks, her sharp blue eyes landing on an empty seat near the front.
As she slid into her seat, pulling her notebook and pen from her bag, the whispers started.
“Yo, that’s the new girl,” someone said behind her.
“Man, she looks like she walked out of a catalog,” another muttered.
Lexi ignored them, her shoulders stiff but her posture perfect. She wasn’t about to let anyone here see how unnerved she was.
“Front row, huh?” a voice drawled from behind her. “That where they taught you to sit in rich-kid school?”
She turned her head slightly, her icy glare meeting the smirking face of Dante. He was leaned back in his chair, his dreadlocks tied loosely at the nape of his neck, and his dark brown eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Is there something you need?” Lexi asked coolly.
“Yeah, actually,” he said, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his desk. “Heard a little rumor about you.”
Lexi raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this should be good.”
“Word is, you’re trying to get on the hockey team,” Dante said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “That true?”
Lexi turned fully in her seat, facing him now. “I don’t try to get on teams. I make them.”
The students around them murmured, a mix of surprise and amusement, but Dante just chuckled, shaking his head.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, leaning back again. “Look, I don’t know how y’all did things up in New York, but down here? Hockey’s a guy’s game. It’s rough. Fast. Brutal. You sure you don’t wanna stick to, like, figure skating or something?”
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Lexi’s jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying,” he continued, shrugging. “Not sure you’ve got the chops for it. You don’t exactly scream ‘tough.’”
The classroom quieted as everyone watched the exchange, eager for Lexi’s response.
“I’ve been playing hockey since I was eight,” she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. “I’ve taken hits from guys twice your size and left them wondering what just happened. But if you’re so worried about me, maybe you should focus on your own game instead of mine.”
A few students let out low whistles, and Dante’s smirk faltered for a moment. Then, he laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
“Alright, alright,” he said. “Guess we’ll see what you’re made of at tryouts.”
Lexi turned back to her desk, her cheeks burning with a mix of anger and determination. She wasn’t new to this kind of attitude—it was something she’d dealt with on and off the ice for years. But it didn’t make it any less infuriating.
Lexi straightened in her seat, letting the moment bolster her resolve. She had nothing to prove to Dante or anyone else in this school—but she’d make them believe in her anyway.
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Across the school, Jordan walked into his own first-period class, his gaze scanning the room for an empty seat. Unlike Lexi, he was less concerned with making a statement and more focused on figuring out where he fit in.
“Yo, over here!” Marco called, waving him over to an empty desk near the back.
Jordan slid into the seat, nodding a silent thanks. Marco wasted no time, turning to him with a wide grin.
“So, New York, huh? Bet this place is a whole lot different.”
“You could say that,” Jordan replied, his tone neutral.
Marco chuckled. “Man, you’re quiet. Bet you’re the strong, silent type, huh? The girls love that.”
Jordan gave him a faint smile, not entirely sure how to respond.
“So, what position do you play?" Jordan asked, changing the subject.
"Wide receiver. But that’s just for now. My real dream? Music. I’m gonna be the next big thing in hip-hop. Got a whole mixtape in the works.”
“Sounds cool,” Jordan said, genuinely intrigued.
“It is,” Marco said confidently. “You should come check out my set after school. A bunch of us hang out at this spot nearby—The Underground. It’s chill, and I might even spit a few bars if the vibe’s right.”
Jordan hesitated. The idea of hanging out with a new crowd in a completely unfamiliar setting was daunting, but Marco’s enthusiasm was infectious.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said finally.
“Cool,” Marco said, slapping Jordan on the shoulder. “You’re gonna fit in here, man. Trust me.”
As the teacher called the class to order, Jordan found himself relaxing slightly. Marco’s laid-back energy was a welcome contrast to the tension he’d been carrying since they’d arrived. Maybe Southside High wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d feared.