Chapter Eight
The bell rang, loud and shrill, cutting through the hum of teenage chatter and chairs scraping against polished tile.
Almost instantly, students shot to their feet like they'd been launched. Some darted toward the doors like lunch was a life-or-death mission. Others clustered in corners to gossip and show off their phones. The room quickly shifted from quiet tension to buzzing chaos.
Desmond stood too, slinging his bag over one shoulder and adjusting the collar of his blazer. He looked back to where Frankie was sitting and, assuming she was just packing up slowly, took a few easy steps toward the door.
Then he stopped and turned back to check on her.
Frankie sat hunched over her notebook, her pen idle between her fingers, her eyes tracing over the same line again and again like it held secrets she hadn't cracked.
He hesitated for a beat, watching her. Then he walked back over, eyebrows raised.
"You're not eating?" he asked gently, voice loud enough to reach her over the buzz of the room but soft enough to avoid attention.
Frankie barely looked up. "I just need a few minutes, I'll be there."
Desmond frowned. "You better hurry up, should I wait for you?."
"I'm good," she mumbled.
He didn't leave. Just stood there a second longer.
Then, after a small breath, he nudged her notebook with two fingers. "Come on. At least stretch your legs."
Frankie raised her brows, confused on why he wanted her to go for lunch so badly.
"I'll show you the weird underground music room," he added, grinning now. "It's like a posh Hogwarts dungeon. Weird acoustics, terrifying violin echoes, the whole vibe. Total chaos."
Frankie snorted despite herself. "Sounds expensive. Wait, aren't you also supposed to be new like me?"
"Well, I did an online tour on Saturday, so..."
She let out a soft laugh, "Oh," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "That's something I should have done also."
Desmond gave a little shrug, still smiling. "So? Just five minutes. I'll just take you on a tour"
Frankie rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in them now. She started to shift in her seat, sliding her notebook into her bag.
Then, the air changed. Not literally, but it felt like someone had cracked open a window to let winter in.
Frankie didn't even have to look up to know who it was.
Leo.
"I've been waiting," Leo said coldly.
His voice sliced through the corridor like a blade dipped in ice.
He stood just behind Desmond, arms crossed, blazer sharp, expression unreadable, but his jaw was tight, and his gaze was locked on Desmond like he was late to war. There was no warmth in his tone, only that calm, commanding edge that always seemed a few syllables away from a threat.
Desmond turned halfway, caught off-guard. "I was just... "
"Now, Desmond," Leo interrupted, eyes flicking briefly toward Frankie before settling back on his friend.
Desmond paused, frowning. "Uhm, this is Frankie. She's new," he explained, nodding toward Frankie. "I was just suggesting to show her around. Help her get settled."
"You can play tour guide after," Leo said, voice quiet but hard. "We're late."
There was no visible tension in his body, but Frankie felt it anyway. It came off him like steam off pavement. That slow, simmering pressure beneath the surface.
Frankie tilted her head, watching him now with narrowed eyes. "You can chill. I'm not helpless."
Leo didn't respond, he just looked at her and looked away immediately like she had some kind of plaque in her body that he can't withstand.
He hated that he couldn't stare at her the way she stared at him. It's not fair on him, he decided to look again, he stared at her like she was a puzzle no one had handed him the box cover for.
His eyes narrowed just slightly, as if trying to catch her slipping into weakness. Like he was waiting for her to fumble or flinch.
She raised an eyebrow instead, posture relaxed. "I'm good. You don't need to tear him away from me like a jealous girlfriend."
Desmond blinked. "Um, Frankie..." he tried gently.
She didn't even look at him. Her gaze stayed fixed on Leo. "I said I'm good. Go. He looks like he's about to combust if you make him wait another second."
Leo's expression didn't change, the more he looked at her, the more his chest hurts, his heart heavy like a missile just dropped on it. He couldn't take it anymore, he looked away and took a deep breath.
Desmond glanced between them again, Leo standing like a stone carving of irritation, Frankie sitting like a queen who didn't ask for a throne, and sighed.
"Alright," he muttered. "I'll catch you later."
He took a few reluctant steps before falling into stride beside Leo.
Leo didn't look back.
She shook her head slowly and turned back to her notebook.
She stared at the open page.
The same sentence stared back at her looking pointless.
"Hey."
Frankie looked up, again.
Another interruption. This one, however, came with an easy smile and the scent of expensive cologne.
Pascal.
He was tall, effortlessly clean-cut, the type of guy who looked like he belonged on the front page of the school's brochure. His uniform fit perfectly, his hair was deliberately tousled, and his confidence was the kind that didn't ask for permission.
"You're Frankie, right?"
She blinked at him. "...Yeah?"
"I'm Pascal. I sit right over there" he said as he gestures at the position he sat in the class.
"Oh. It's nice to meet you, Pascal" Frankie said trying to seem as pleasant as possible but her jaws were already hurting from pretending to smile.
He smiled. "You just have that 'I'd rather be anywhere else' vibe. Which, trust me, makes you more relatable than ninety percent of this place."
Frankie gave a small snort, flipping her notebook closed. "I'm fine right here."
"You didn't go with the prince and his shadow," Pascal said casually, glancing at the now-empty classroom doorway.
She raised a brow. "The what?"
"You know. Cold boy and the other guy. They were standing here like they were about to ask you to join them."
Frankie frowned. "Wait. Prince?" she knew she was right, he looked so much like the crown prince on the papers.
Pascal looked genuinely surprised. "You didn't know?"
She shook her head. "The... the cold-faced one? With the attitude problem?"
"That's Leo Kincaid. Crown prince of Jevenex."
Frankie sat back, eyes wide. "That arrogant boy with the stick up his back is actually the prince?"
Pascal chuckled. "I know, right? Guilty as charged. I do not like him. I found out that the other one, Desmond, is like a puppet to him, like his royal toy"
Frankie stared at the door. "I see...I saw a little bit of that display" Frankie stared in awe as she thought about it again, "Wow. No one ever said royalty couldn't act like toddlers."
"He's yet to show more of his true colours," Pascal added with a grin. "But hey, want me to grab you something from the cafeteria? You don't look like one who wants to go for lunch"
Frankie narrowed her eyes. "Did I look like I needed saving?"
"Not saving," he said, unbothered. "Just lunch."
"I'm fine and thank you."
"I heard you," Pascal replied smoothly. "But I asked if you wanted something."
She sighed, reaching for her pen again. "Look, I don't need..."
"Veggie lasagna? Chicken tikka? One of those smoothies that tastes bad but boosts your brain or something?"
Frankie gave him a look. "Why are you still here?"
Pascal leaned his elbow on the edge of her desk. "Because you look like you need something."
"Exactly. Space, I need space" she said, flicking her pen toward the floor for emphasis.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll back off. But I'm still grabbing you something. Surprise meal. No pressure."
"Uhmm" She tries to think of his name.
"Pascal, " he helped her
"Pascal!" she called out, but he was already walking away, hands in his pockets, turning back only once to flash a disarming smile.
"Try not to hate me for being nice."
She stared after him, exasperated. "Why can't everyone just leave me alone?"
She said it aloud, but quieter, as if maybe if she whispered it, the universe would actually listen.
Her eyes drifted back toward the door.
She could still hear the tail end of laughter echoing from the hallway. The buzz of students. The scent of food already wafting through the vents. Her stomach gave a quiet protest.
She glanced at her notes. She hadn't written a word in ten minutes.
Then, slowly, grudgingly, she stood.
"Fine," she muttered to herself. "One awkward lunch. Then peace."
And with that, Francisca Adebayo tucked her notebook into her bag and followed the boy who refused to take no for an answer.