By Amber Marigold

"Amber, I need your help!" I hear Uncle Anton shout from upstairs. I'm in the oddly warm basement - covered in shades of yellow, and nowhere near done with my artwork.

"I'm busy!" I shout back and blow a rebellious golden hair, hanging limply from my messy bun, out of my face.

"This is literally a matter of life or death!" my uncle mewls.

I hear a clatter and a God dammit from upstairs before I decide to go help the poor man. I quickly stir my paint brush in the jar of water before chucking it into my shoulder bag, grabbing my sketchbook and paints, and rushing upstairs. When I get to the kitchen, I spot Uncle Anton peering at the toaster.

"This bloody bread tanner isn't working," he complains in a grumble. Even his classic moustache seems to be at work in figuring out the machine. I let out a sigh and push the lever down at the side. "That's genius, Amber. Genius!" Uncle Anton marvels. His face is too sincere for me to tell him how un-genius it really is. You would never guess he's a doctor. A damn doctor!

I check the time and under my breath. "I'm going to be late," I mutter.

"Late for what?" Uncle Anton asks.

"School."

"That's today?"

"Yup," I sigh.

"Aren't you supposed to be making a living? You're what? Fifteen, sixteen?"

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen! Good God, we need to find you a husband!"

I'm about to remind Uncle Anton that it's not the seventeen hundreds but Aunt Tessa and my cousin, Jessica, come bouncing into the kitchen before I can even try. Jessy ties her brunette hair back with one hand and grabs the toast that jumps out of the toaster, with her other. Uncle Anton cries out a protest before trying to figure out the toaster again.

"Honey, the lever. You're not a baby," Aunt Tessa says. She straightens her blazes and quickly rushes over to the kitchen counter to put fresh water into the flower vase. The yellow star-like flowers are looking pretty dreary.

Jessy turns to me with a scowl, "You're covered in paint," she points out, "Did you even sleep?"

I duck my head in guilt, "I wasn't tired," I try to explain.

Jessy lets out a sigh before licking her thumb and wiping some paint from my cheek. "Wasn’t tired. What blasphemy is this? Sleep is the best part of my day. Oh jeeze, you even have paint on the back of your sweater. What even? Do I want to know how? Probably not. We're going to be late. Otherwise, I would have told you to change into something that's not covered in paint," my cousin rants.

I roll my eyes with a smile. "Yeah-yeah, you're not my-" Realizing the end of that statement, I shut myself up.

Jessy sees my change in mood and catches my eye, "You sure you're ready?" she asks.

My psychiatrist says I'm ready. She says I don’t even need any pills anymore and I’m coping amazingly with the fact that I lost my parents in a robbery. It's my last year of high school and I already took 2 terms off. That’s half a year of my life gone. Christmas, Summer and even my birthday four months back was spent with my therapist. My psychiatrist says I'm ready for the third term. And if she says July is my month, who am I to oppose?

"I'm ready," I announce.

"Then let's go," Jessy says and grabs my hand.

We leave the kitchen with a goodbye and just when Uncle Anton manages to make himself toast again, I grab it. Uncle Anton's cries of protest follow us all the way to the driveway. Jessy and I climb into her silver sun-bleached Ford - that honestly has seen better days - and make our way out of the short hedge-lined driveway before heading to school.

"So, first day at Tygerwell High, you nervous?" Jessy asks as we drive past trees and houses. That’s the first difference I noticed when moving to Tygerwell. The trees are a bit different. White-barked with yellow-green leaves. I noticed a pine forest more up North - which is at least  a tad bit familiar.

"Not really," I answer. My previous school wasn't something memorable. It was pretty average and I was pretty average and my friends were pretty average and, well, boring I guess. Maybe my high school experience would’ve been better if I was allowed to have friends over. Although on the other hand, I wasn't one to inform the whole school my parents were rich.

"I wish you'd let us drive your BMW. Everyone would be so jealous of us!" Jessy whines.

I don't answer that. The BMW is the last thing my parents bought me. The car, along with the millions my parents left me, will most likely not be used soon. I only made sure to pay in some money into my Aunt and Uncle's bank account. I don't want to be a burden to the people I love.

My parents were rich. I'm not even going to try and deny it. But to me, they were average. And average isn't always bad. Sure, we lived in a mansion and had plenty of sports cars, but those things never mattered to me. I’m grateful to have a life without worrying about money, but what mattered was that my parents always made a smiley on my eggs and toast and they were always there when I needed someone to talk to and they just knew when I had a bad day or when-

"Amber... you're doing it again..." Jessy interrupts cautiously.

I look back at my cousin, "Doing what?"

"You went blank. I was telling you about the cliques of Tygerwell High..."

"Oh..."

And as quickly as the dark thoughts came, I banish them. I put on my brightest smile and will my eyes to sparkle. "Let's take a first day selfie together!" I suggest. It's a good conversation changer.

"Okay!" Jessy says when we finally roll through the school gates - passing some more white barked trees and neatly trimmed hedges. Jessy parks the Ford in a parking that's away from the more flashy cars. She whips out her phone and we pose together. "New beginning!" we both chime when her phone snaps a photo.

Since we used to live in different states and we both rarely saw each other, we always made sure to take a million pictures together. Skype was all we had when I lived with my parents.

Jessy picks a warm filter before we observe. Where Jessy has dark brown hair, like most of the family, I have blonde hair, something I got from my mom. And, where Jessy likes wearing converse and crop-tops, I prefer oversized sweaters and vintage skirts. I know, I know, flattering for the body, but it’s my style and I feel good in it.

"That’s going on social media!" Jessy beams.

I shake my head at my cousin. She’s the reason I even have social media. Happy with how we look, Jessy and I finally get out of the Ford and make our way to school. My new kind of prison for the next few months. The kind where I'll have to keep smiling and laughing and being fine, when I just want to curl up in a little ball.

With its old brick walls and barred windows, Tygerwell High can seem intimidating at first, but through the modern glass doors, I already recognise the familiar school-coloured lockers and chatty kids. It’s just like any other school, I tell myself. Jessy and I enter the hallway and it's just as I remembered high school to be. Kids are laughing and catching up all around. A few couples are making out against lockers. Some pretty girls are gossiping. Jocks are flexing. Bookworms are reading. Pervs are perving and... And...

And what the hell are they?

I spot a couple of guys at the end of the hallway walking like they're Greek gods. Not towards Jessy and me, but if we don't move within the next minute, we'll probably become roadkill. Kids are practically diving to get out of the way of the five guys. Some going as far as to bow their heads or straight-up run for their lives.

The five guys all seem to be mainly dressed in black. And, they're all pretty attractive. But, it's the guy in the middle that catches my eye. With his raven black hair, and eyes that I know all the way from here are silver-grey, he walks with a bit more confidence. There's a permanent sneer carved into his stone-cold face.

Jessy grabs my arm. "We got to move," she says and turns me around. When she has me turned, we're facing guys from the other side of the hallway.

They walk with the exact same level of authority and superiority, but where the other guys have people running away, these guys have people melting. The girls are all basically drooling and guys are getting envious. And where the first group of guys are modeling ripped jeans and leather, these ones are tailored in coats and expensive pants. Leather Boys and Coat Boys I'll call them. And just like Leather Boys, Coat Boys also have someone that stands out. The guy in the middle has bronze-brown hair and dangerously dark eyes - as if every sin is trapped in his gaze.

"Shit," Jessy breathes and pulls me to the side. We stand glued to the lockers, like we're hoping to blend in.

"What's going on?" I protest.

"Just keep quiet," Jessy hisses.

Leather Boys and Coat Boys meet exactly where Jessy and I were standing just seconds ago.

"Rhodes," the leader from Leather boys snarls.

"Bowmen," the leader from Coat Boys snarls right back.

The tension can be cut with a knife. A butter knife to be honest. Hell, even a spoon.

"Some of your guys were seen on my territory," Leather Leader says.

"Well, technically the whole town is my territory," Coat Leader shoots right back.

Oh. My. God. This is battle of the egos. I have to refrain from asking Jessy to pass me the popcorn.

"This town belongs to us," Leather Leader says and oh, there they go again. Measuring levels of testosterone or something.

The bell rings and everyone scurries to class except for the bunch of guys blocking our way. I can feel Jessy tense up. Not wanting to miss class, but also not wanting to interrupt these guys. "We're going to be late," I whisper to Jessy, but she shushes me before I can get the entire sentence out.

What the hell?

"It's my first day, I can't be late," I try again. When Jessy only responds by shushing me again and pressing me even harder into the locker, I just about have enough. I will not be intimidated by a bunch of boys acting like idiots.

"Excuse me, Mister Leather Jacket and Mister Fancy Coat, can you guys go have an ego brawl some other time? We need to get to class," I interrupt. I hear Jessy suck in a breath and all eyes turn to me. Both silver and dark gazes send death glares.

Well, shit.