Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

chapter four | the homing device

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"Sometimes we need fantasy to survive reality."
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Carrie

MASON FOSTER REMAINS stuck in my mind as I enter the gates of my new school, darting and dodging clusters of girls and boys huddled altogether around the entrance. The strong British accent which helps create his arrogant, cocky edge. Black hair falling over his ocean-blue eyes, touched by storm clouds, holding mine in a captivating stare. His muscled, tall physique, full lips, arched eyebrows and prominent jawline.

Why do all hot boys have to be egotistical jerks? I suppose they say that you gain one value, you loose another.

As I mount the stairs leading up into the large beige building, it hits me I have no idea where the office is. I whirl around and tap the shoulder of a girl standing off to the side underneath the shade of a tree with a group of friends.

"Excuse me." I cough loudly, trying to gain her attention. The moment she turns around I wish I hadn't. Perfectly arched eyebrows, flawless tanned skin and dark eyes, her beauty makes her intimidating.

"What?" she snaps, pursing her glossy lips as she rolls her eyes.

"I'm new here," I explain, keeping my voice steady and controlled, "and I was wondering where the office is."

"Get a map." She shares an irritable glance with her sniggering friends and rolls her eyes for the second time in less than a minute.

"My map is at the office," I say, frustration creeping into my tone.

"And how is that my problem?" she demands, checking out her manicured nails, her eyes once again lifted up to the sky with an exasperated sigh.

"God, are all British girls such bitches?" I snap, my hands clenched.

My anger seems to surprise the girl because she finally gives me the decency to look up, her eyes widened ever so slightly. "Are all American girls rude whores?" she retorts, chin held high.

I stand my ground, folding my arms across my chest. "Where the fuck is the office?"

"Ask someone who cares," she sneers, turning around with her back facing me.

"Illy!" someone shouts out and I turn my head to see a girl with flaming red hair, shocking green eyes and a face full of freckles running towards the rude girl, Illy.

"Piper," Illy exclaims, "what's wrong?"

The red-headed girl smiles and turns to me, looking curious. "Just wanted to say hi. Whose this?"

"New girl," Illy mutters, avoiding my glare as she turns to face me again.

"Can you please tell me where the office is?" I ask Piper nervously, bracing myself for another rejection or verbal attack.

"I'll show you if you like," Piper says. "I'm Piper. Piper Morgan."

"Yes, please." I smile, relieved to find there's at least one decent person in this school.

"You're too nice," Illy grumbles.

"Or maybe you're too mean," Piper calls over her shoulder as she leads me into the school. "I'm sorry about Illy."