Unbreak Me 5 ??Gosh, His Voice . . .??

On uneven footing, I quickly stuffed my clothes into my backpack and stared down at myself, sighing. The shalwar looked weird with my plain white Nike sneakers and the knee-length shirt was a little too girded around my waist.

Cla.s.ses hadn't even started yet and I was already done with life.

Keeping my head down, partly because I felt uncomfortable with an uncovered face and partly because I didn't want people to recognize me, I walked to the cla.s.sroom the princ.i.p.al had a.s.signed to me.

The bell had rung almost half an hour ago and nothing could be suckier than being the last one to walk into cla.s.s and interrupt the teacher's lecture. But at least with the teacher, n.o.body would be able to make comments.

I hoped.

With my eyes closed, I just threw the literature's cla.s.s door open.

"Yes, Miss . . .?" Ms Ayesha looked at me questioningly.

I cleared my throat. "Uh . . ." I stepped in, closing the door behind me.

A hush fell over the entire cla.s.s. I heard a few gasps and then someone from behind said loudly, "s.h.i.t, man, is that Leia Liman? The girl whose Mom was a pros—"

"Shh," His friend had a little more manners.

But everyone heard it. And if someone did not know—which was impossible—this guy in the back had just hinted to it.

My mother was a prost.i.tute.

Get over it.

I knew I had.

"The heck?" Anas stared at me in disbelief, his eyes narrowed. He then turned his gaze to the right. I didn't have to know who he was looking at. I already knew. "Z, you knew about that?"

There was silence. And then, "Do I look like I care about scholarship trash?"

Remember that story about how I entered this school? Well, there. Zayn just said it.

The teacher looked between the two of us and sighed. "Miss Liman, I'm afraid you'll have to take the seat in the back." When she just saw me standing like a fool, she said, "Please hurry up. I have to continue my lecture."

I licked my lips, cheeks heating as I started hopping up the steps. I was just about to take another step when I heard my name called from the very end.

I looked up and my gaze locked with Zayn's. His eyes were a constant stormy charcoal, lit up with an intensity I wasn't sure I could take for long.

Without looking at the guy on his side, he gestured for him to get up. The poor kid with round gla.s.ses immediately scurried up, and I didn't pay him enough attention to see where he got seated.

Zayn patted the desk of the chair next to him, eyes never leaving mine. "Aren't you going to take a seat, Lee?"

c.r.a.p, he never called me Lee unless he was very, very p.i.s.sed off.

"I . . . Uh . . ." I was starting to sound like I'd never talked to a guy before. Well, in my defence, no guy I'd ever spoken to was this intense.

I could've sworn electric currents were rolling off of him in waves. They were some seriously angry currents too.

"We don't have all day, Miss Liman." The teacher was getting annoyed.

I gulped and with my head ducked, I slowly went up and sat myself on the wooden chair. From the right side of the chair, a small rectangular tablet acted as a desk and the footrest handle groaned when I lay my feet on it.

Fortunately for me, Zayn sat on my right and since he was a leftie, his desk and mine were aligned. We were also sitting too close and I was liking it more than I should.

Due to that reason, I slid towards the left. That made me closer to another guy—Anas. It was weird how I didn't feel that zing of energy with Anas the way I did with Zayn. Both were gorgeous. But there was something special about Zayn . . .

I firmly fixed my eyes on the teacher's back as she started explaining things I wasn't quite hearing. A great scholarship student I was.

Anas cleared his throat lowly, enough so that I knew it was meant for me. I felt frustrated because I wasn't focusing already and here he was, making things harder.

"So," he said, not quite whispering. "There's this party tonight and thanks to me, you're invited."

I gave him a sidelong look, not bothering with a response.

"Come," Zayn rumbled and shivers ran down my spine at the throaty, rawness of his voice. Being that close wasn't helping either.

I didn't say anything, pretending to be immersed in whatever interesting things the teacher was saying. I hadn't heard a word and my mind kept chanting 'c.r.a.p, I'm going to fail, I'm going to fail, I'm going to fail'. It was a mantra that often ran like a ca.s.sette tape in my head—when I didn't get a good night of sleep, when I hadn't cleaned my room or gotten homework done.

Two fingers snapped in front of my face and I flinched back, glaring hard at Zayn.

"You're coming with me tonight. To the party. Is that clear?"

Oh, he was going to command me now?

I just scoffed and opened my notebook, scribbling down the date and making useless bullet points.

There was a tug at my hijab and I had to grit my teeth from shouting like a crazy woman. I hated how Zayn was acting. This wasn't preschool and we weren't kids anymore. My ideal type of guy would've respected me enough to know not to touch me or my hijab. He would've been kind and sweet. He sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't have been a p.r.i.c.k who was apparently the biggest jerk of this school.

Knowing that ignoring him was the best option, I stared straight through my notebook, unsure whether I was guilty that he turned out to be this way since it was partly my fault or whether I couldn't handle the intensity of his eyes.

"It would do you good to reply to me, Lee. You don't want to know what happens otherwise."

"Stop calling me that," I gritted out. "I have a name and strangers call me by it."

There was a long pause and I wondered whether he was hurt by this comment. I didn't look back at him to know.

All throughout the lecture, I kept my eyes lowered and tried to focus past the haziness Zayn had created and the constant looks kids pa.s.sed my way every few seconds or so, nudging their friends and whispering stuff.

I was getting agitated the more the clock ticked. It got worse when Zayn s.n.a.t.c.hed my notebook and placed it on his desk, hand firmly holding it in place and eyes on the board in mock innocence.

That was the first time I wanted to kill him.

He just wanted attention, I had to say in my head. He wanted attention and that's exactly what I wouldn't give him.

I pulled out another notebook from my bag and started scribbling down the important stuff; the paper pattern, the division of marks etc. We were just going through the basic stuff right now.

And I was freaking out because this was the last chance. I had to score well in my CIEs and it horrified me because the exams were just around the corner.

I'd always been a hard-working student but getting an A was like getting lasagna––you only sometimes got it. G.o.d looked at our efforts but humans wanted to see the result. They didn't know you cried every time you got bad grades; they didn't know how hard you worked, how you were awake for so many days, studying at every second of the day.

I'd long ago accepted that I was a failure. There was no subject I was exceptional at and the only reason why I'd gotten a scholarship was because my adoptive father was friends with the princ.i.p.al.

I'd let everyone imagine it was my extraordinary grades, though. Nothing wrong with everyone thinking you're a smarta.s.s.

Only I knew what a d.a.m.ned failure I was.