Star-Crossed Read Online Free Page B

triggers a memory that you would probably rather forget.
    It was your first day of secondary school, and you walked into a classroom that seemed so big and scary. You remember how frightened you were when you walked into the school. Your only friend, Reuben, had been put in a different form, so when you had left him in his room, you wandered around until you found yours. You were acting tough on the outside, but inside you were freaking out. When you found your room, you pushed open the door and saw some other people in there. They all seemed to know each other already, so you decided to sit on your own at the front of the class, next to Mr Bowden’s desk. It looked a bit newer then, and a bit bigger, but that was probably because you were smaller. You remember you were looking at your hands, minding your own business, when a ball of scrunched-up paper hit you square in the back of your head, then slid off. It had stung badly, so you opened it up and out fell a large sharpener. You looked around, rubbing the back of your head and scowling, to see who had thrown it, but you couldn’t see over the mass of girls seated in the middle of the room, who were obviously too busy chatting to throw bits of paper. You looked back to the note.
    It read: Bad luck, Anderson. If you’re anything like your old man you’d better watch your back. ’Cause I’ll be firing stuff at it.
    You didn’t recognize the handwriting, which made you scowl. Somebody knows me … you thought, as you stood up to look over the girls to the corner of the room. Sitting at the back was a blonde boy with bright blue eyes, and a sneer on his face.
    Anger swelled inside you. You sat back down and scribbled a new note to the boy in the corner on another bit of paper: I’m a lot like my dad, and he’s got great aim – so you’d better watch your face, ’cause it’s in MY firing line. You screwed up the note, but it didn’t seem heavy enough to travel across the length of the room. You looked to the front of the class, and your eyes landed on an object on the desk.
    A small plastic paperweight was on top of a bunch of papers in the centre of the desk. It was in the shape of a book that said “For the World’s Best English Teacher” on it. You reached over and picked it up. It was perfect. You wrapped the note around it and stood up. Chris looked at you, then said something to his circle of friends, who all looked at you and laughed. You curled your fingers around the paperweight and threw it with all your might at Chris. It hit him in the head, and he shouted out in pain and surprise. You gasped, shocked at yourself. His hands were up at his head, and when he brought them down you saw blood on his forehead. Then Mr Bowden walked in. All the class were staring at you, mouths open and silent. Mr Bowden looked first to you, then to the bleeding Chris, put two and two together and took you both to the Head Teacher’s office. You both spent the week in detention, and the whole of Year Seven talked about it for the next month. Ever since, everyone knew that Jen Anderson and Chris Banner were not to be mixed.
    Miss Phillips should have known.
    All that anger is still flowing strongly through your veins. You still hate Chris with all your might. And it doesn’t help that—
    Oh my God, there he freaking well is!
    While you were lost in thought, people have been gradually arriving, and now, who but Chris Banner should saunter into the room. Your pulse soars about twenty blood-pressure points. Looking like Action Man from his years of Army Cadet training, Chris sweeps the classroom with those penetrating blue eyes until they land on you. He arches an eyebrow and smiles cockily, turning to his mates and nodding in your direction. You’re leaving. You shove your folder into your bag and look up – straight into his scarily bright blue eyes. He stares straight back, the eyebrow still raised