“So, he punched you?” my friend, Ingrid, asks.

“Yup.”

Ingrid stands up loudly from her seat.

“What are you doing?”

“What, I’m just going to walk to his class and beat the shit out of him.”

“What?!”

I grasp her wrist, not letting her leave the class.

Sensing my reluctance, she swung my arm down and kicked my shin.

“OWW!”I scream with pain.

Our classmates look back, see it’s the two of us doing our regular shenanigans, and quickly turn around minding their own business.

You see, Ingrid and I are peculiar friends. I’m the bright, cheerful guy who does my own thing. If I have to pick my clique in school, I will say I don't have any. I don’t stick to one group, I move around and make friends with actors, dancers, influencers, etc. Do I sit at one table? No. If I have legs, I’ll move wherever I want to be. If I have a mouth, I'll talk to whoever. I don’t see the point in categorizing myself in one simple box. As for Ingrid? Well, she’s different.

Ingrid, daughter of Astrid O’Neill. Model of the Year from early 2000s to late 2010s. A woman is known for her sharp nose, pale blue eyes, and sophisticated yet confident appearance. She held the name Icy Queen. Now, I know what you’re thinking, what a cliche name. But, honestly, Astrid Tuner was a woman no one could approach back in the day. Not because she was mean or anything. She was simply an unreachable woman standing at the top alongside five women only the best of men could marry. My mother included, of course.

When people found out she got married, everyone demanded to know who the lucky bastard was.

Not only a week later, someone, without consent, released pictures of the husband.

Men, women, and even children gasped at the photos. Their expectations were far from reality.

A redheaded man with a nasty scar from his eyebrow to his cheek (just beside his nose bridge), a murderous aura, and wound cuts on his arms. Aiden O’Neill, a police officer (now Captain O’Neill), with a fiery temper and an extraordinary sense of justice.
Of course, with these photographs came nasty comments under Mrs. O’Neill’s social media posts.

“Wow, I thought you'd have someone better.”

“Aster, please it’s not too late.”

“ If he can get her, I have a chance, then?”

With every comment came a legal letter to take down their comment as it shows defamation.

When the public asked where's the defamation, Mrs.O’Neill posted at the time, “I don’t go for someone lower than me. You are defaming my standards.”

With that people held their tongue back and learnt their place.

Then came Ingrid O’Neill, my best friend and one of the few who knows my real identity. Ingrid was a perfect mixture of both parents. Wavy long red hair tied up in a high ponytail, pale blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a sharp nose. With her mother's poisonous tongue and the fiery temper of her dad, it was difficult for kids our age to befriend her.

Except for me, obviously.

Pointing at my bruised nose, “ Why’d you let him punch you anyways? What are you a wimp?” she angrily asks as she rolls up her sleeves. “Fucking insane if he thinks he is going to mess with my friend like this.”

She quickly stops to look around her surroundings, with everyone avoiding eye contact. She then leans and whispers next to my ear, “Even if he's your Amoritic, you shouldn't let him treat you like that.”

Amoritic.

Amoritic is your destined soulmate connected to your red string. Nobody knows when it all started. Some say it happened centuries ago.

Others say we had it since the beginning of time.

“Unless,” she steps back scanning me, “did you do something to him?”

“ What?! No! I just said Hi, I’m Luke. What’s your name? Simple as that. I swear.”

Sighing she slumps back to her seat, “ I just don’t understand why would he punch you for something as simple as that?”

“Everyone, sit down,” a middle-aged man commanded sternly.

As he approaches the podium, Mr. Garcia stares down at us to quiet down.

“As you all know there is an assignment to be done this Friday. The theme is Love at First Sight. You are now at the age where your red string will appear, but don’t let that ruin your grades.”

Most of us giggle, at the thought of what our partner will look like. Who they are. What they do. Daydreaming.

“I hope he’s tall,” says a girl in front of me

“I just want a cute girl, ” says a boy beside me.

“I want some peace and quiet,” Ingrid said out loud for both to hear.

“Silence!”

Everyone stays still.

He looks over at us. “If I see grades slipping,” his eyes meet mine, “you will never attend my class.”

A few students gasp, saying he is too cruel to destroy their love stories that haven't even started. Most had no reaction, only determination filled their eyes. We know without Mr.Garcia’s expertise, you can say goodbye to your dreams. If you’re not a student of his, without him in your resume or transcript, there is zero chance to be a top actor.

“And if you fail your first assignment, you will leave the acting department. Some of you are already at risk.”

Feeling sweat running behind my back and hands I frown knowing he is talking about me. I barely made it into the acting department. If it wasn’t for my passion to improve my skills, I wouldn’t have made it in.

My red string thugs.

He’s close.

“As for my last announcement, there’s a transfer student from abroad. Come in!”

It’s him.

The same boy from this morning.

The one who punched me.

“ Ingrid, Luke, you’re the only one with a two-man group. Let Oliver join you.”

There’s no way I’ll let him join.

"Ehh, Mr. Garcia but we’ve practiced the scene multiple times late at night. We'll have to move our lines around to fit him in," I said with all my heart.

"Oh no, I’m so sorry, my dear. Practicing so late must be tough."

I nod extensively.

"Yes, and tell me, my dear, what rank did you get?"

"Platinum"

"..."

"Sit"

"Yes, sir."

"Introduce yourself"

"Hello, my name is Noah Alwood."

The class disrupts with commotion.

"Alwood? He means the Alwood?"

"There's no way!"

"Of course not! Maybe it's a common name."

"A common name?! You know what a common name is, Johnson, Smith, Jones. Not Alwood."

He smiles brightly, one dimple predominantly sticking out.

"You might know my older brother Oliver Alwood."

WHOAH

"He is an Alwood."

"That's ridiculous I've never heard he had a younger brother."

"What are you? A fake fan? Don't you remember he previously said he had a younger brother in an interview?"

"Oh! That's right! After his parents passed away, he stepped up to raise him. How could I forget?'

"Everyone forgot, he keeps his life private just like Stella Campbell."

"You can't compare an Alwood with a Campbell," a classmate, Charles, says with disgust.

"An Alwood has history hundreds of years back practicing and honing their acting enough for them to gain an honorable title from royalty. Stella Campbell rose up out of nowhere from her grandma's farm. A peasant cannot be compared to nobility."

"A peasant! Stella Campbell has the title of Film Empress for 20 years!" I yell.

"And? That doesn't compare to a royal title," says Charles.

"Oh yeah? And where is that royalty now?" I ask.

"That royal title is as worthless as a piece of toilet paper you can wipe your ass with," Ingrid states.

"Shame on you for disgracing Stella. What have you done? You're not even an actor, yet you act so greater than her."

Shortly, students begin to pick on him. Insulting him as a student should not act like he knows better than an established and successful actress.

"Whatever! At least Alwood has a famous son to carry their name. Who knows about Stella's? They're nothing compared to Oliver and soon next to Noah."

"ENOUGH!!"

We flinch at the loud noise.

"Mr. Charles, you should never disrespect your seniors. If you continue to be like this, I will notify Dean Jenkins to personally expel you from this school. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," he says with defeat.

Ingrid smirks.

"As for Ms.Ingrid, the royal title is a reputable honor to have in your family. Even if there is no royalty the title will still hold the same respect as the modern awards of today. Do you understand?

"Yes, sir," she says hesitantly.

"Noah, go ahead and join your classmates."

Noah walks with faint steps, delicately, smiling at the girls left to right. Some girls blush. Others ignore him like a cold girl that will only melt if he chases after them.

As he approaches our table, his facade wears out. He scowls and smacks his teeth lightly enough for Ingrid and I to hear.

Ingrid baffles at the total 180 change.

"Let's just get this over with."

“Agreed. I wouldn't like to spend more time with you outside of class.”

"Likewise."

We stare piercing daggers at each other.