When I got back to the bus, some other students were arriving. I drove through the campus, following the large group closely. I'm glad to see that most of the cars are old like mine, not flashy at all. In Denyu, I live in one of the few low-income areas that are administered by Chatan. But it's not uncommon to see a Mercedes or a Porsche in the student pile. And here, the best car is a sparkling Volvo, which stands out from the crowd. I quickly turned off the engine before I got into a predicament, so that its thunderous roar would not attract too much attention to me.

I looked at the map in the car, trying to remember its contents now. I don't want to walk around with it under my nose all day. I stuffed everything into my bag, tossed the bag strap behind my shoulder, and took a deep breath. I can do it, I tell myself a pale lie. No one is waiting to bite me. Eventually, I exhaled and stepped out of the car.

I hid my face under my hood and walked out onto the sidewalk crowded with boys and girls. I was glad that my simple black jacket didn't stand out from the crowd at all.

After I bypassed the cafeteria, it was easy to find Building Three. A large black "3" is written in a white square in the east corner of the building. As I walked to the door, I could feel my breathing getting harder and harder, and I was running out of breath. I tried to steady my breath and followed two men in raincoats of both men and women into the door.

This classroom is small. The two men walking in front of me stopped as soon as they entered, hanging their raincoats from a long row of hooks. I did what they did. It turned out to be two girls, one with porcelain-like skin and bright blonde hair, and the other with light brown hair. At least my skin tone isn't so obtrusive here.

I took the note to the teacher, and it was a tall, somewhat bowed man, and the name tag on the table said that he was Mr. Weikang. When he saw my name, he looked at me dumbfounded—not an encouraging move for me—and of course I immediately flushed. But in the end, he led me to an empty table and didn't let me introduce myself to the class. It would be difficult for my new classmates to sneak a peek at me from behind, but they managed to do it anyway. I buried my head in reading the reading list that my teacher gave me. It's all very basic: Bronty, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I've read them all. It's comforting...... Also bored. I wondered if I could ask my mother to send me a folder with my old papers, or if she would think it was cheating. When the teacher was lecturing, I was arguing with my mother in my head.

The bell rang, and a shrill, lanky, acne-covered dark-haired boy slid down the aisle like oil to talk to me.

"You're Arymia Rien, aren't you?" He looked like an overzealous chess club member.

"Imia." I correct. Everyone within three rows of me turned their heads to look at me.

"What's your next lesson?" He asked.

I had to rummage through my bag. "Well, politics class, Franklin's class, in Building Six."

No matter which direction I looked, I couldn't avoid a pair of curious eyes.

"I'm going to Building Four, I can show you the way......" was obviously overly enthusiastic. I'm Ike. He added.

I tried to smile: "Thank you." ”

We put on our jackets and rushed into the rain. I could swear there were several people right behind us, close enough to overhear our conversation. I hope I don't become so suspicious.

"Well, this place is very different from Draco City, huh?" He asked.

"It's very different."

"It doesn't rain a lot there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what would that feel like?" He asked, confused.

"The sun is shining." I told him.

"It's not too dark for you."

"My mother is half albino."

He looked at my face worriedly. I sighed. It looks cloudy and incompatible with a sense of humor. After a few months I'll forget how to say sarcasm.

We walked back, bypassing the cafeteria, to the building next to the gymnasium on the south side. Ike told me to go straight to the door, even though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the doorknob. "Maybe we'll have other classes together." He sounded full of anticipation.

I smiled perfunctorily at him and walked inside.

The rest of the morning was spent in the same pattern. Mr. Liva, who taught me trigonometry—whom I should have hated only because of the subjects he taught—was the only one who asked me to stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I blushed and stammered, then tripped myself on the way back to my seat.

After two lessons, I began to recognize some of the faces in each class. There was always someone who came over and introduced himself more than anyone else, asking me if I liked Vidonia and things like that. I tried to be more sophisticated, but most of the time I just kept lying. At least I don't need that map.

There was a girl who sat next to me in both trigonometry and Spanish classes, and she went to the cafeteria with me at lunchtime. She's petite, a few inches shorter than my five-foot-four-inch height, but her fluffy black curls fill in some of the gaps in our height. I didn't remember her name, so I could only smile and nod my head as she chattered about the teacher and the lessons. I'm not going to follow up on her topic.

We sat at the end of a long table full of her friends, and she introduced me to a few of her friends. As soon as she finished speaking, I forgot their names. They seemed impressed that she dared to talk to me. The boy from England, Ike, beckoned to me from the other end of the room.

It was here, sitting in the dining room, trying to talk to seven curious strangers that I met for the first time.

They sat in a corner of the cafeteria, a long room across from where I was sitting. The five of them, neither talking nor eating, even though each of them had a plate of untouched food in front of them. They don't stare at me like most students do, so it's safe to stare at them without worrying about getting too interested. But none of that was what caught my attention.

They don't look alike. One of the three boys was a muscular man — muscular like a professional weightlifter — with curly black hair. The other boy was taller and thinner, but still muscular and had honey-colored hair. The last boy was long, slender and had slouchy red hair. He was more boyish than the other two, who looked more like college students, or rather, more like teachers than students.

The two girls happen to be of opposite types. Tall girls look like statues. She has a beautiful silhouette, the kind you'd see on the cover of the swimming section of Sports Illustrated, the beauty that just being in a room with her can take a toll on the self-esteem of every girl around her. Her hair was blonde and fluttered gently in the middle of her back. The short girl looked like an elf, with an extremely slender figure and delicate features. Her swarthy hair was cut short and flared in all directions.

However, they also share similarities. They were all as pale as chalk, paler than any student living in this little town that lacked sunlight. Whiter than me, an albino. Regardless of the color of their hair, they all have black eyes. Under their eyes there was a black shade - a slightly purple, bruised-like shade. It's as if they've had a sleepless night, or maybe they've broken their noses. Although their noses, their facial features, are both straight and perfect, with sharp edges and corners.

But that's not because I can't take my eyes back.

I stare because their faces are so different and yet so similar, almost mocking, beautiful beyond the ordinary. Their faces, you won't get a chance to see them anywhere other than on the coloring pages of fashion magazines. It's like the face of the founder painted by an ancient painter. It's hard to tell who's the most beautiful -- maybe the perfect blonde girl, or the red-haired boy.

They all looked away—not at each other, not at the other students, not at anything I could be sure they were looking at. As I watched like this, the little girl stood up with her plate—the soda on the plate was unopened, and the apple had not been bitten—and walked with an agile and graceful step that belonged only to the catwalk. I watched in amazement at her feminine dancer-like steps until she topped the plate and walked out the back door faster than I had ever imagined. I turned my gaze back to the rest of the group, who were still sitting motionless.

"Who are they?" I asked about the girl I was taking Spanish lessons with, the name I forgot.

When she looked up at the man I was referring to—perhaps already in my voice—he suddenly looked at her, the thinnest, the most boyish, perhaps the youngest. He stared at my neighbor for a fraction of a second, and then, his deep eyes met mine.

He quickly withdrew his gaze, faster than I did, though I immediately blushed and lowered my eyes in embarrassment. There was no look of interest on his face during that startling glance. Maybe it was just because she said his name, he instinctively looked at it, but decided not to respond.

My neighbor giggled uneasily, staring at the table as much as I did.

"That's Roger and Dyson Card Wright, and sisters Alice and Ekas Smith. The one who left was Milane Wright, and they both lived with Dr. and Mrs. Wright. She whispered.

I glanced from the side at the handsome boy, who was now staring at his plate, picking up a bagel with his long, pale fingers and tearing it into pieces. His mouth moved quickly, his pretty lips only slightly open. The other three were still looking away, but I could feel that he was whispering to them.

Weird, retro name, I thought. Such a name is a name used only by grandparents. But maybe it's trendy here? - The name of the town? I eventually remembered that the girl sitting next to me was called Mary, a fairly common name. In my history class, there were two girls named Mary.

"They...... It's beautiful. "I tried to hide it too much.

"That's right!" Mary agreed, smirking again. "But they're all in pairs – I mean, Dysonka and Alice, Eckas and Milani. And they all live together! Her voice contained the town's shock and reproach for it, and I made my judgment. However, if I'm honest enough, I'll have to admit that even in Draco City, this will attract gossip.

"Which ones are the Wright kids?" I asked. "They don't seem to be related......"

"Oh, none of them. Dr. Wright was young, in his twenties, in his early thirties at most. They were all adopted. The Smith siblings were twins -- the two blonde ones -- and they were adopted children. ”

"As adopted children, they're a little older."

"They are now, and Aekas and Alice are both eighteen, but they were only eight when they lived with Mrs. Wright. She was their aunt or some other relative. ”

"They're really kind – they've taken care of so many kids at this age, they're so young."

"I think so." Mary reluctantly admitted, and I had the impression that she didn't seem to like the doctor and his wife very much for some reason. Given the glances she cast at the adopted children, I can surmise that it all stems from jealousy. "But, I don't think Mrs. Wright can have children." It seems that this would undermine their good deeds, she added.

Throughout the conversation, my eyes were cast again and again on the table where the eccentric family was sitting. They continued to look at the wall and eat nothing.

"Have they always lived in Victoria?" I asked. If that's the case, I should have noticed them at some point during my stay here.

"No," she said in a tone that seemed to imply that it was obvious, even for someone as new to me as I am. "They only moved from Anchorage two years ago."

I felt a wave of pity and relief in my heart. Pity because, despite how beautiful they are, they are still outsiders and are clearly not accepted. Relieved because I'm not the only newcomer here, and by no means the most striking by any standard.

As I examined them again, the youngest, one of the boys, surnamed Wright, looked up at me, this time with a curious expression. I looked away quickly, and there seemed to me a certain unfulfilled look in his gaze.

"Who's that reddish-brown haired boy?" I asked. I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not like the other students who were staring at me today—he had a slightly frustrated look. I lowered my head again.

"That's Roger. Sure, he's outstanding, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date anyone. Obviously, there is no girl here who is so good-looking that can match him. She scoffed, clearly sour grape shoes. I wonder when he turned her down.

I pursed my lips so as not to laugh out loud. Then I looked at him again, and he had already turned his face, but I felt his cheeks slightly raised, as if he were smiling.

A few minutes later, the four of them stood up from the table together. They were all good-looking and elegant—including the muscular man. It's hard not to notice them. The boy named Roger never looked at me again.

As we walked into the classroom, Reilis sat down behind a black-topped lab table that was the same one I had used to use. She already has a table mate. In fact, all the tables were full, except for one. In the middle of the aisle, I recognized Roger Wright and his unusual hair, who sat next to the only empty seat.

I sneaked a sneak peek at him as I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and ask him to sign my note. As I passed him, he suddenly straightened up and sat straight in his seat. He stared at me again, and looked me in the eye with a look of utter strangeness on his face—a hostile, furious look. I quickly looked away, shocked, and blushing again. I tripped over a book on the way and had to grab a table to keep my balance. The girl sitting behind the table laughed deliciously.

I noticed that his eyes were black - as black as coal.

Mr. Ruth signed my note and handed me a book, without the slightest intention of introducing myself. I dare say we'll get along. Of course, he had no choice but to let me sit in the only empty seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I sat down, puzzled by the hostile look he cast.

I put the book on the table and sat down, I didn't look up the whole time, but I noticed a change in his posture out of the corner of my eye. He leaned as far away from me as he could, and sat down at the very end of his stool. His face twisted to the side, as if he had smelled something unpleasant. I sniffed my hair as unobtrusively as I could, only the smell of strawberry, which was the scent of my favorite shampoo. That's all there is to it. I let my hair hang down from my right shoulder, like a black curtain between us, and tried to focus on the teacher.

Unfortunately, this class is about cell anatomy, which I've already learned. But I still took notes carefully and kept my head down.

I couldn't restrain myself, and every now and then I peeked through my hair curtain at the strange boy sitting next to me. He sat stiffly on the edge of the stool throughout the lesson, never relaxing, sitting as far away from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg clenched into a fist, and the veins on his pale skin bulged. Neither did he let go of his hand. The long sleeves of his white shirt were pulled up above his elbows, his forearms were surprisingly strong, and his snow-white skin was full of muscles. He wasn't at all as slender as he looked when sitting with his sturdy brothers.

This class seems to be longer than the others. Maybe it's because the day is coming to an end, or maybe I've been waiting for his clenched fist to release? He never let go of his fist. He had been sitting there, so quiet that he didn't seem to be breathing at all. What the hell is going on with him? Is he usually like this? I began to doubt my judgment of Mary's acerbic tone at lunch, and perhaps she wasn't as indignant as I thought.

It can't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me the night before.

I peeked at him again, but immediately regretted it. He glared at me again with hateful eyes. His dark eyes were filled with extreme disgust. I winced and withdrew my gaze and curled up on a stool, when the famous phrase "If you can kill with your eyes" burst into my mind.

Just then, the bell rang, startling me, and Roger Wright had already left his seat. He jumped up quickly—he was taller than I thought—with his back to me, and no one else had even gotten up when he disappeared out the door.

I sat in my seat blankly, staring blankly at his figure. He's gone too far. It's not fair. I began to slowly gather my things, trying to contain my anger for fear of tears coming out of my eyes. I can't help but cry when I'm angry, which is a tendency to lose face.

"Aren't you Elemiah Ryan?" A boy's voice asked.

I looked up and saw a cute, baby-faced boy. His pale yellow hair is carefully held in a neat shape with hairspray. He smiled at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Imia." I smiled and corrected him.

"I'm Jack."

"Hello, Jack."

"Need help finding a classroom for the next class?"

"Actually, I'm going straight to the gym. I think I can find it. ”

"My next class is also PE class." He looked excited, though it wasn't a big deal in such a small school.

We walked together towards the gymnasium, and he chattered all the way – most of the conversation was on his own, which was much easier for me. He lived in San Francisco until he was ten years old, so he could understand how I felt about the sun. And he and I are in the same English class. He's the friendliest person I've ever met today.

But as we walked into the gym, he asked me, "Well, did you poke Roger Wright with a pencil, or something?" I've never seen him like this. ”

I was stunned. It turns out that I wasn't the only one who noticed this. Again, obviously, this is not Roger Wright's usual style. I decided to pretend to be deaf and dumb.

"You mean the boy sitting next to me in biology class?" I asked without pretentiousness.

"Yes," he said. "He looked like he was enduring some kind of pain or something."

"I don't know," I replied. "I haven't spoken to him yet."

"He's a weird guy." Jack refused to enter the locker room and continued to talk to me. "If I'm lucky enough to sit next to you, I'll definitely talk to you."

I smiled at him and walked into the girls' locker door. He was friendly and clearly complimentary, but that didn't soothe my anger.

My PE teacher, Coach Claypen, found me a tracksuit, but he didn't let me change into it in this class. At home, I only need to take PE for two years, but here, PE is compulsory for four years. Vidonia is my hell at all.

I watched four volleyball games play at the same time, and I felt a little sick as I remembered how many injuries I had endured – and how many of them had taken a toll - playing volleyball.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost immediately turned around and rushed out.

Roger Wright stood in front of me leaning against his desk. I recognized his messy red hair. He didn't seem to hear me open the door and come in. I forced myself to stand with my back against the wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

He was arguing with her in a magnetic voice in a whisper. I quickly grasped the point of their argument. He tried to change the sixth period of biology to a different time—any other time.

I just can't believe it has anything to do with me. It must have been something else, something that happened before I went into the biology classroom. The look on his face looked as if he was completely enraged by something. This stranger could not have been so disgusted with me so suddenly and intensely.

The door opened again, and a cold wind suddenly poured into the room, rustling the paper on the table, and my hair kept brushing my face. The girl who had just come in just approached the desk, put a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Roger Wright's whole back froze, and he slowly turned and stared at me—his face was incredibly handsome—and looked at me with a perceptive, disgusted look. At that moment, I felt a shudder, a real fear, and the fine hairs on my arms stood on end. His gaze only lasted for a second, but it sent me a chill far better than the cold wind that had just blown. He turned to face the receptionist.

"Well, it's okay," he said quickly, his voice sounding like velvet. "I can see it's impossible. Thank you for your help. Then he turned away, never looked at me again, and disappeared out the door.

I walked meekly to the table, and my face immediately turned from red to white. I handed her the signed note.

"How's the first day going, darling?" The receptionist asked gently like a mother.

"Good." I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

When I got back to the car, I was pretty much left in the parking lot. It's almost like a paradise. For me, it's the closest thing to home in this damp greenery. I sat in the cab for a while, just staring blankly at the windshield. But soon I was so cold that I needed to turn on the heating. So I turned the key and the engine roared. I drove straight back to Chuck's house, trying not to let the tears fall along the way.