When it came to being lucky, Chord was not.

That is what he always told himself until the day came he was.

But before that, his day started with Chord flat on his ass.

Xander Payne - idiot, jock, asshole, bigot — stood over him with that all-too-familiar sneer. With looks that instilled fear — but the brain of a gnat — he made anyone who didn't fit his myopic sense of mind feel inferior and worthless. Though he wasn't the only one who had a problem with Chord, Xander was the more frequent. Though Chord wasn't the only one he made feel like trash, Chord was just one of his unlucky favorites.

"I'd watch where you're standing, Fat Albert. It's hard enough walking without your whale-sized ass making it worse." He laughed loudly, giving Chord a hearty kick as he stepped over him. "Or better yet, why don't you go ahead and save everyone the trouble and kill yourself?"

As Xander and his friends walked off, Chord got back to his feet stiffly. His shoulder hurt from where Xander shoved him and his ass had certainly felt better. Chord was pretty sure he tasted copper from biting down the inside of his mouth too hard.

Asshole. Does he really have to do this every damn morning? Doesn't he get bored? Because this shit is old.

Glaring at his retreating backside, Chord looked down at the scattered papers that fell out of his folder. Kneeling, he started gathering up his stuff when he realized someone was kneeling in front of him, handing out some papers to him.

As he looked up, he froze.

She wasn't model worthy. Though she was pretty, she didn't look special by any definition of the word. The only thing that stood out was her hair.

Her red hair was frizzy, haphazardly kept on top of her head in a bun with small curls sticking up around her face. It was as bright as the sun. Her glasses seemed far too big for her face and her blue eyes looked twice their normal size. Her face was an explosion — freckles splashed like paint across a canvas— and there was a barely noticeable white scar that fell across one eye.

Her clothes, on the other hand, were like those of everyone else. Bright, flashy, and oozed money. Like they came from one of the many rich boutiques around town.

He still couldn't help but stare at her. She was beautiful to him— someone real.

Who was this girl? He didn't recall seeing her before, and he definitely would've remembered her.

"Who are you?" The words fell out of his mouth automatically. He slapped a hand over his mouth. "I mean, uh, hello?" The words stumbled over themselves once more and he cursed inwardly as he took the papers in her hand. He stuffed them in his folder before standing. "S-Sorry, I'll get out of your way."

She smiled, and he could see a slight misalignment in her front teeth, but the smile was genuine. Warm and welcoming like stepping into a warm home out of the snow. Chord felt his heart jump at the sight.

"Hello yourself, but don't worry. You're not in my way." She stood up as well, falling short of him. By his estimation, she was barely over five feet, if that. "Are you okay?" She pushed up her glasses. "You look like you hit the ground pretty hard."

It would be my luck Xander would harass me and someone would see it.

Given, there was always someone nearby laughing at his misery, but he shut them out years ago. When you grow up being known as the poor black kid, the charity case, and far worse you learn to grow a thicker skin than most. For years, it was like a plague. Many judged him for it, and those simply ignored him weren't much better.

It was like it caused those around him to not even bother trying to get to know who Chord was.

At Saint Claire Academy — the richest school in the district by far — there was a status quo. A hierarchy rooted in the foundation itself that has stood since the school began and no one ever dared to change it.

The students that went to school at Claire's were the children of big money — businessmen, doctors, lawyers, and the like — and because of that, there was a certain standard. Chord was an exception since he was one of the few scholarship kids allowed in each year. Those students were seen like the leftovers you kept in the fridge for too long.

Strike two for him.

You didn't belong there unless you had money.

"Uh, are you alive?" The girl waved her hand in front of his face, and Chord shook his head clear. "You look like hell, no offense." Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Maybe you should see the nurse in case. That jerk really hit you."

Concern? Why would she be looking at him like that? She didn't even know him. Why would she give a damn? No one ever gave a damn about him. Or did she just pity him? Pity sucked.

Chord felt his face heat up in embarrassment and looked away from her. "Yes, I-I'm fine. I s-should be going." He turned on his heel and walked as fast as he could to his homeroom.

"Hey, wait a minute," her voice called out behind him. "Are you —" Her words went out as he got out of earshot.

I am okay. Six months. Just six more months and I can leave this hellhole for good.

It didn't matter that she showed concern. The concern was either fake or it didn't last long. Either way, Chord knew he was better off just forgetting it. If he let someone get close, it would only end badly. No one here cared about anyone else but themselves. It was practically written in their DNA.

He ignored the short-lived emotion that laid in his chest when he saw her blue eyes looking at him. For a few moments, he was happy that someone did not see him like he was worthless on first impression.

He pushed it out of his mind. It wasn't that he wanted to. Chord very much wanted to spend what remained of his senior year how he wanted — with someone who gave a damn. With a friend even who possibly shared some form of interest.

But he was surrounded by fake people, and he was determined to keep his head down until May. He spent years unnoticed, he could do it for a little while longer.

At least, that was the plan anyway.

Fortunately, Scarlett Everett had other ideas.