The seat was narrow.
I mean, I knew public transit wasn't exactly designed for comfort. But this was ridiculous. The plastic molding clearly assumed that human beings came in one universal size: "slightly malnourished sardine." Belle Fox did not fit that description.
Neither did I, for that matter.
Her shoulder pressed against my arm. Warm. Soft. The bus hit a bump and she shifted, her thigh sliding against mine through the thin fabric of her skirt.
I stared very hard at the seatback in front of me.
Think unsexy thoughts. Tax returns. Public speaking. That time you ate gas station sushi and prayed for death.
The vanilla scent was everywhere now. It had invaded my lungs, my brain, probably my soul. Every breath I took was just more Belle Fox perfume entering my system like some kind of weaponized aromatherapy.
The bus rumbled beneath us. The vibration traveled up through the seats, causing friction in places that didn't need any additional stimulation.
Think about literally anything else.
My eyes drifted downward.
I want to be clear: this was not intentional. I am a man of discipline. A man of focus. A man who can resist basic biological impulses when the situation calls for it.
But gravity exists. And so does peripheral vision.
The uniform skirt had ridden up slightly when she sat down. Nothing scandalous. Just enough to reveal the full glory of what fashion enthusiasts called "Zettai Ryouiki." The Absolute Territory.
Black thigh-high socks.
Pale skin.
And that miraculous ridge where the elastic band pressed just slightly into the flesh of her thigh. The spillover. The proof that beneath the angel's face was a body that existed in three dimensions, soft and warm and definitely not made of porcelain.
God is real and He wants me to sin.
I tore my gaze away with the willpower of a man defusing a bomb.
"So!" Belle's voice was bright as sunshine. "You're headed to Athelgard too, right? I saw the box."
I glanced down at the black case still sitting on my lap. The gold lettering caught the afternoon light.
"No, actually. I just carry around mysterious academy welcome packages for fun. Really livens up my Sunday commutes."
"You're funny!" She angled her body toward me slightly, which somehow made the proximity situation even worse. "I've been so nervous about starting. Have you heard the rumors?"
"Depends on which ones."
"The employment rate." Her purple eyes sparkled. "One hundred percent placement at Fortune 500 companies. Every single graduate. Can you imagine?"
I could imagine. I had imagined it extensively. Every night for the past three weeks, actually, while staring at my ceiling and wondering if I'd finally escaped the cage or just found a fancier one.
"Sounds too good to be true," I said.
"Right? Like a fairy tale." She clasped her hands in her lap. The movement drew attention to her chest, which was straining against the buttons of her uniform shirt. "Like if we just make it through those gates, our whole lives are set. No more worrying about the future. No more uncertainty."
Her voice was wistful.
"What about you?" she asked. "Why did you apply?"
I leaned my head against the window. The glass was still warm but bearable now that we'd crossed onto the bridge. The ocean stretched out beneath us, blue and endless.
"Quiet life," I said. "Get a degree. Keep my head down. Graduate without incident. Maybe find a nice desk job."
Belle tilted her head. "Normal?" She reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "With eyes like those? I doubt it."
I blinked.
Most people stared at my heterochromia for approximately three seconds before looking away, embarrassed. The polite ones pretended not to notice. The rude ones asked if I was wearing contacts.
Belle Fox looked directly into my mismatched gaze like she was reading fine print on a contract.
"They're just eyes," I said. "Genetic lottery. Nothing special."
"Hmm." She didn't sound convinced. "Well, I think they're beautiful. Like a storm and a forest had a baby."
What does that even mean?
"Thanks. I grew them myself."
Another laugh. She shifted again, and her knee pressed against my thigh. I was beginning to suspect these "accidental" contacts were about as accidental as a premeditated murder.
"What about you?" I asked, mostly to change the subject. "Why Athelgard? You look like you could've walked into any university in the country and they'd have built a statue in your honor."
Belle smiled. "I want to make friends."
I waited for the punchline.
It didn't come.
"Friends," I repeated.
"All of them." She nodded enthusiastically. "My goal is to become friends with every single person in our year. Can you imagine? A school where everyone gets along! Where there's no drama, no cliques, just people supporting each other!"
Her hands were clasped together now, pressed against her chest like she was delivering a sermon. The action did things to her bust that I was desperately trying not to notice.
"Every person," I said. "In our year."
"Every single one!"
"That's... ambitious."
I'd met her type before. The student council president. The prom queen. The girl everyone loved because she made loving her convenient.
She'd remember your birthday, ask about your sick grandmother, laugh at your terrible jokes. And the whole time, behind those purple eyes, a calculator was running.
What can this person do for me? How do they fit into my network? What's their value?
I respected the hustle. I really did.
"Sounds exhausting," I said out loud.
"Oh, it is!" Belle laughed again, lighter this time. "But I think it'll be worth it. Don't you think a world where everyone gets along is worth a little effort?"
Sure. And I think unicorns would make great transportation if they existed.
"I guess we'll see."
The bus had emptied out considerably since Belle sat down. The regular commuters, the ones heading to ordinary destinations, had gradually filtered off at various stops along the bridge. Now only a handful of passengers remained, all of them wearing some variation of the Athelgard uniform.
The silence was louder somehow. More noticeable.
"Excuse me, miss?"
The voice came from somewhere behind us. Nasally. Presumptuous. Dripping with the kind of unearned familiarity that made my skin crawl.
I didn't turn around immediately. Years of survival instinct had taught me to assess threats before acknowledging them.
"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."
Translation: I've been eavesdropping like a creep for the past ten minutes.
Belle turned in her seat, which caused another round of "accidental" contact with various parts of my body. "Oh! Hello there!"
I finally glanced over my shoulder.
The guy was maybe five-six, on the pudgier side. Brown hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb since the Obama administration. Skin that glistened with the particular sheen of someone who considered deodorant optional.
He was staring at Belle like she was a piece of art in a museum.
He was staring at me like I was the security guard blocking his view.
"It's rare to find such a pure ambition in this day and age." His voice pitched lower when he talked to her, dropping an octave when his eyes flickered to me. "Most people are so... self-interested."
The glare he shot in my direction could have curdled milk.
"I'm Charles." He puffed up his chest. "Charles Leone. If you need someone to show you the ropes at Athelgard, I've done extensive research on the campus layout. The architectural history. The optimal routes between buildings based on class schedules."
This guy researched optimal walking routes. Before even arriving. Who does that?
"Is this individual disturbing you?" Charles continued, jerking his chin toward me like I was a piece of furniture that had wandered into the wrong room. "You don't have to feel obligated to speak to strangers just because they hoard the empty seats."
I opened my mouth to respond, but Belle beat me to it.
"Oh!" She clasped her hands together, that campaign-poster smile returning at full wattage. "You're so sweet to offer! But Xavier and I were just having such a fascinating talk about normalcy. About what we want from our time at Athelgard."
She paused. The smile didn't waver.
"You should join us! The more the merrier!"
I watched Charles's expression go through approximately six stages of grief in two seconds.
Charles sputtered for a moment. "I... yes, of course. That's... very hospitable of you."
He shuffled across the aisle and dropped into the seat directly across from us. His eyes kept darting between Belle and me like he couldn't decide who he hated more: me for existing in her proximity, or her for refusing to condemn me.
"So, Xavier, was it?" Charles's voice had that fake-friendly tone of someone who'd rather be measuring my body for a shallow grave. "What exactly are your qualifications for Athelgard? You don't look like the academic type."
"I got in through my personality," I said. "They have a quota for charming bastards."
Belle giggled. Charles's eye twitched.
"I see." He adjusted his collar. "I, myself, was recruited based on my analytical capabilities. My entrance essay on the philosophical implications of meritocratic education systems was apparently 'paradigm-shifting.' Their words, not mine."
"Impressive."
"It really is." He missed the sarcasm entirely. "Not everyone can approach academia with the proper rigor. Some people just coast through life on looks and luck."
Another pointed glance at me.
"Charles." Belle's voice was warm, diplomatic. "What do you think about my goal? Becoming friends with everyone?"
"I think it's admirable. Truly admirable." He was practically vibrating. "In a world of cynics and self-serving opportunists, your optimism is refreshing. Like a cool breeze on a summer day."
"But," Charles continued, raising a finger, "I would caution you about the people you choose to associate with. First impressions are crucial at an institution like Athelgard. Aligning yourself with the wrong elements could damage your social standing irreparably."
Another look at me.
Buddy, I am sitting right here. I can see you.
The bus began to slow.
Through the window, I could see the end of the bridge approaching. Massive gates loomed ahead, wrought iron twisted into elaborate patterns that probably cost more than my entire previous existence. Beyond them, the spires of Athelgard rose against the afternoon sky like the fever dream of an architect with an unlimited budget and a god complex.
"Oh!" Belle pressed her face toward the window, temporarily reducing the pressure on my arm. "We're almost there! Look at it!"
Charles tried to lean across the aisle to share her view, which just resulted in him awkwardly contorting himself in his seat.
I stayed still, watching the gates grow larger.
Three years. Just three years. Get the degree. Get the connections. Get out.
The bus rolled to a stop at a security checkpoint. A guard in a pristine uniform boarded, scanning each student's welcome box with some kind of electronic device.
When he reached our row, his eyes lingered on Belle. She smiled at him. He nearly dropped his scanner.
"Welcome to Athelgard Nurturing Academy." His voice was rehearsed. "Please proceed to the main courtyard for orientation. Representatives will direct you to your assigned dormitories."
The gates swung open.
Belle turned to me, those purple eyes bright with something that might have been excitement or might have been calculation. Probably both.
"Ready for our new lives, Xavier?"
Behind her, through the window, I could see students already gathering on the grounds.
I thought about my $4.52.
I thought about the weight of the box on my lap.
I thought about thigh-high socks and vanilla perfume and a smile that promised everything and meant nothing.
"Sure," I said. "Let's see what this Elite Academy has to offer."