The Boy I Swore To Hate

The first thing I learned about the new school year was that the universe had a terrible sense of humor.

The second was that it hated me personally.

I discovered both lessons at exactly 8:07 on Monday morning, standing in front of the Westbridge High School noticeboard, staring at a name I had spent two years hoping never to see again.

DAMIEN BLACKWOOD.

For several seconds, I simply stared.

Then I blinked.

His name remained.

"No," I whispered.

Beside me, Serena Whitmore stopped scrolling through her phone. "No what?"

I pointed at the noticeboard.

Her eyes followed my finger. The moment she read the name, her expression changed. It was subtle-just a slight tightening around her mouth-but I noticed it.

I always noticed things when they concerned Damien Blackwood.

"You have got to be kidding me," Serena murmured.

"Apparently, Westbridge has decided that my suffering was insufficient last year."

"Maybe it's a mistake."

"His name is printed in bold letters beneath the list of returning senior students. Unless someone has developed a very specific sense of humor, it isn't a mistake."

Serena looked toward the school entrance. "Amelia, maybe he's changed."

I turned to her slowly.

"Changed?" I repeated. "Is that what we're calling people who ruin lives now?"

She sighed. "You promised you wouldn't let what happened two years ago control your entire life."

"I promised I wouldn't punch anyone this year. That is a very different promise."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

I didn't laugh.

Two years ago, my older brother, Daniel, had been Westbridge's brightest student. Teachers loved him. Students admired him. He was supposed to graduate with a scholarship and a place at one of the best universities in the country.

Then a collection of leaked messages and accusations destroyed everything.

Daniel was blamed for stealing examination materials and selling confidential information. His scholarship disappeared. His friends abandoned him. Even people who had once praised him began whispering whenever he walked past.

And Damien Blackwood had been at the center of it all.

At least, that was what I believed.

Damien left Westbridge shortly after the scandal. No explanation. No apology. Nothing.

For two years, I had imagined what I would say if I ever saw him again.

I had prepared speeches in the shower, arguments in my bedroom, and entire conversations while brushing my teeth.

Now he was back, and all those speeches had vanished.

Because the boy standing at the school entrance looked nothing like the memory I had kept of him.

He was taller than I remembered, dressed in the school's navy blazer with his tie hanging loosely around his collar. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and his expression suggested that returning to Westbridge was the last thing he wanted to do.

Then his gaze found mine.

He stopped walking.

For one strange second, the noise around us seemed to disappear.

His grey eyes narrowed slightly. Recognition crossed his face, followed by something I couldn't identify.

Regret, perhaps.

Or irritation.

Knowing Damien, probably irritation.

He started walking toward me.

"Amelia Hart," he said when he reached us.

His voice was deeper than I remembered.

Unfortunately, so was my dislike of him.

"Damien Blackwood," I replied. "I see they still let anyone through the gates."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "And I see you still mistake being rude for having a personality."

Serena made a small choking sound beside me.

I ignored her.

"Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you."

"Then we're already making progress."

I folded my arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Attending school. It's a fascinating concept. You should try it."

"Didn't you get enough of this place the first time?"

His smile disappeared.

For a moment, I saw something shift behind his eyes. It was gone so quickly that I might have imagined it.

"Some of us don't get to choose where we start over," he said quietly.

Before I could respond, he stepped past me and headed toward the main building.

I watched him go, furious that he had managed to end the conversation as if he had won something.

"He is still unbelievably annoying," I muttered.

Serena slipped her arm through mine. "And you are still unbelievably interested in arguing with him."

"I hate him."

"Of course."

"I mean it."

"I know."

She sounded unconvinced.

I decided to ignore that, too.

By eight-thirty, the entire senior class had heard the news. Damien Blackwood was back, and every hallway conversation seemed to revolve around his mysterious return.

Some people said his family had lost their money. Others claimed he had been expelled from his previous school. One particularly imaginative rumor suggested that he had returned to win back a girl he had supposedly left behind.

I found all of it exhausting.

My only concern was surviving the first day without getting involved in his nonsense.

That plan lasted exactly forty minutes.

Our first lesson was Advanced Literature, taught by Mr. Lawson, a man who considered surprise tests a legitimate form of education and happiness a suspicious emotion.

I took my usual seat in the second row, placed my notebooks on the desk, and opened my planner.

My final year mattered. My grades mattered. The scholarship I intended to win mattered more than anything.

I had spent the summer preparing, and I wasn't about to let one arrogant boy distract me from my future.

The classroom door opened.

Damien walked in.

Of course he did.

Mr. Lawson looked up from his desk. "Ah, Mr. Blackwood. You're just in time. Take a seat."

Every empty chair seemed to disappear at once.

Then Damien noticed the vacant seat beside mine.

I stared at the chair.

He stared at me.

"No," I said.

Mr. Lawson raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, Miss Hart?"

"Nothing, sir."

Damien pulled out the chair and sat down.

I moved my books several inches away from him.

He glanced at the empty space between our belongings. "Afraid I'll contaminate your notes?"

"I'm afraid you'll contaminate the entire learning environment."

"Good morning to you, too."

Mr. Lawson clapped his hands. "Now that everyone is settled, I have an announcement."

The room fell silent.

"As you know, Westbridge will nominate one student for the prestigious Sterling Academic Scholarship this year. The scholarship covers university tuition and living expenses. It is awarded to students who demonstrate exceptional academic ability, leadership, and character."

My attention sharpened.

The Sterling Scholarship was the reason I had spent the entire summer studying while my friends went to parties and watched movies. Winning it would mean university without placing an impossible financial burden on my mother.

Mr. Lawson continued. "The selection process begins today. Candidates will be assessed through coursework, a research project, and a final academic competition."

I opened my notebook and wrote the date at the top of the page.

Then he said the words that ruined my morning.

"Our two strongest candidates this year are Amelia Hart and Damien Blackwood."

The class erupted into whispers.

I slowly turned toward Damien.

He was already looking at me.

"You have got to be joking," I whispered.

"Believe me," he murmured, "if I had planned this, I'd have chosen a seat farther away from you."

"Good. Then you won't mind losing."

His gaze held mine.

"That's the thing about you, Amelia. You always assume you've already won."

"And that's the thing about you, Damien. You always assume you deserve to."

For the first time that morning, he didn't have an immediate answer.

Mr. Lawson handed out the first assignment. We were to submit a research proposal by Friday, and the strongest proposals would determine the final candidates for the scholarship.

I began writing before he had finished explaining the instructions.

Damien leaned back in his chair.

"Still trying to prove you're the smartest person in every room?" he asked quietly.

"Still trying to compensate for your lack of manners?"

He gave a soft, humorless laugh.

"You haven't changed at all."

"Neither have you."

Something in his expression turned serious.

"You don't know anything about who I've become."

I met his eyes.

"I know enough."

"No," he said. "You know what someone wanted you to believe."

My pen stopped moving.

Before I could ask what he meant, Mr. Lawson called for our attention, and Damien turned toward the board as though he hadn't just dropped a bomb into the middle of my morning.

I tried to concentrate on the assignment. I really did.

But his words kept repeating themselves in my mind.

You know what someone wanted you to believe.

It was a ridiculous statement. A manipulative attempt to confuse me. Damien had always been good at making other people doubt themselves.

I would not fall for it.

When the bell rang, I packed my books and stood so quickly that my chair scraped against the floor.

Damien remained seated.

"Enjoy your first day back?" I asked.

He looked up at me. "It's getting interesting."

"Stay away from my brother."

His expression changed immediately.

The teasing disappeared. So did the careless smile.

"Amelia-"

"Don't say his name." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "You have already done enough."

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then Damien lowered his gaze to the desk.

"I never wanted what happened to Daniel," he said.

My heart gave one hard, angry beat.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"No." He looked at me again. "Not yet."

I walked away before he could say anything else.

By lunchtime, I had almost convinced myself that the morning hadn't affected me.

Almost.

I was sitting beneath the old oak tree behind the library, reviewing my scholarship notes, when my phone vibrated.

An unknown account had sent me a direct message.

There was no profile picture, no name, and no explanation.

Just one sentence.

YOU SHOULD ASK YOUR BROTHER WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TWO YEARS AGO.

My stomach tightened.

Before I could reply, another message appeared.

DAMIEN BLACKWOOD ISN'T THE PERSON WHO BETRAYED HIM.

I read it once.

Then again.

My fingers went cold around the phone.

A third message arrived.

AND IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO DID, LOOK AT THE PEOPLE YOU TRUST MOST.

I stared at the screen until the words blurred.

Behind me, students laughed as they crossed the courtyard. Someone shouted across the lawn. The ordinary sounds of school continued as if nothing had changed.

But something had.

For two years, I had been certain I knew exactly who the villain was in my brother's story.

Now a stranger was telling me that I might have spent those two years hating the wrong person.

I looked toward the school building.

Through the library windows, I could see Damien sitting alone at a table, his head bent over a notebook.

As if he felt someone watching him, he lifted his eyes.

Our gazes met through the glass.

He didn't smile.

He simply looked at me with an expression I couldn't understand.

Then my phone vibrated again.

This time, the message contained a photograph.

It showed Damien standing beside my brother on the night everything had fallen apart.

And in the background, half-hidden by a doorway, was someone I recognized immediately.

Someone who had been standing beside me that very morning.

Someone I had trusted for years.

Serena Whitmore.

I stopped breathing.

Because suddenly, the boy I had sworn to hate wasn't the only person at Westbridge hiding a secret.

And I had a terrible feeling that my entire world was about to fall apart.