Whispers of Gray Academy

Chapter 1

"Evelyn Blackwood, can you hurry up? My grandfather doesn’t have all day to wait for you!"

With his arm casually draped over the back of the sofa and an impatient scowl on his face, Lysander Hawthorne glared at Evelyn as she fumbled around in the kitchen. He was tempted to barrel forward with an old saying: "Some girls are just trouble."

But Evelyn’s upbeat mood wasn’t shaken—if anything, it made her want to push him out the door. “If you’re in such a hurry, just go ahead without me! I can take the stagecoach; I don't need your car, Benjamin.”

Lysander narrowed his eyes, steeling himself as he stood up. He wasn’t about to let Evelyn get away with ignoring him. He strolled into the kitchen, where he saw the blue lunchbox she had prepared with care. Leaning against the refrigerator, he pointed carelessly at it. “Doesn’t the academy provide meals? Why are you even bothering to make lunch?”

Evelyn shot him a disdaining glance and snapped back, “I never said I was making it for you! What’s wrong with preparing something for myself?”

She quickly finished packing her lovingly made breakfast into the bag, her movements swift and purposeful.

Without waiting for her to catch up, Lysander strode out the front door and hopped into his sleek black car. After she locked up behind her, Evelyn got into the vehicle, greeting Uncle Tobias, who was at the wheel, with her usual cheerfulness.

“Morning, Uncle Tobias!”

“Good morning, Evelyn! If you’re any later, I won’t be able to promise you won’t be late for class today.”

Evelyn had always been notoriously difficult to rouse from bed—no different than she had been for years. Unless she was faced with the relentless teasing from her childhood friend, Lysander, she might not even be up at all.

But this past few months felt different; she felt a new sense of purpose. Lately, she had been rising at dawn to make breakfast, though it never seemed to cater to anyone but herself.

She opened her eyes wide in protest. “Come on, Uncle Tobias! I haven’t slept in late a single time recently!”

Uncle Tobias simply smiled, unbothered by her protests. Meanwhile, Lysander contemplated the amazing breakfast he had seen her prepare. He had always known she was capable of cooking, but lately, she seemed to have transformed into a different person altogether—someone who took pride in experimenting with food and rising early to whip it up.

She no longer required his gentle nudge to get out of bed.

Lysander had dismissed the changes before, but this morning he noticed the joy shining in her eyes, and he felt an undeniable certainty: Evelyn Blackwood was anything but ordinary!

As they both stepped out of the car at the academy, Evelyn turned to wave goodbye, “See you later, Uncle Tobias!” Upon turning back, she saw Lysander, who was a step behind her, and sprinted over to her friend standing a little ways off.

“Fiona Ashford! What took you so long to get here?”

Fiona, startled by her sudden approach, looked down at the shorter girl. She smiled in return, radiant as always.

“I was at another school playing basketball—so I got here a bit late.”

Fiona Ashford was a star on their school's basketball team, with a natural talent for the sport.

As the two friends fell into easy conversation, both girls had no idea that the day ahead would hold unforeseen challenges and thrilling moments that would test their resolve like never before.

Chapter 2

Evelyn Blackwood seemed lost in thought as she wandered through the bustling halls of Gray Academy. Lysander Hawthorne trailed behind her, a takeout bag of breakfast in hand—a meal she had yet to touch. He opened his mouth, intending to call out her name, but then noticed that she was happily chatting with another student.

“Wait a minute, isn’t that the transfer student from next door, Samantha’s friend?” he thought, a frown developing on his face. The name "Oliver Steele" came to mind, recalling the whispers about that charming but sly Blackwood. They looked too comfortable together, which didn't sit right with him. He squinted slightly, recognizing the telltale signs of a smooth-talking player.

With a cold scoff, he considered tossing the breakfast into the trash can but hesitated just before it was about to drop. A glance at the bag reminded him that if there was anyone deserving of a meal, it was Evelyn, who frequently forgot to take care of herself. Grudgingly, he pulled it back from the edge of the can, deciding that he’d bear the burden a little longer for the sake of their childhood friendship.

In their First Class hallway, Evelyn couldn’t hold onto her chatter with Celeste Briar, a spirited classmate who had been her friend since childhood. As they reached the entrance to their classroom, Evelyn bid farewell to Fiona Ashford, who was in the neighboring Class Three. Hardly inside, a sharp voice rang out.

“Evelyn Blackwood! Could you hurry up and turn in your assignments? You’re the last one left in the whole class!” The Scholar grumbled, adjusting his thick eyeglasses as he peered at Evelyn from over his desk.

The wiry teacher looked overly stern, his short hair and the square frames of his glasses adding to his already serious demeanor. Evelyn scored poorly in academics and habitually copied Oliver's work, which had long irked The Scholar. He finally saw his chance to scold her, and she steeled herself for the verbal onslaught.

“Excuse me, but it’s not just Evelyn! What about me?” Celeste spoke up, her short hair framing her face as she defended her friend. “I’m here too! What do you think you are, some sort of dictator?”

The query only made The Scholar shift uncomfortably, intimidated by Celeste’s fierce reputation. Known for her black belt in Taekwondo and notorious for pulling no punches, she was not someone to irritate casually. Just a bit of provocation, and it could mean a world of trouble for even the bravest of souls.

With a few disgruntled murmurs, The Scholar returned to his desk, muttering frustrations while grading assignments. At the same time, Evelyn reclaimed her seat next to Celeste, who nudged her conspiratorially.

“You know, I don't get it. You've got access to straight-A student work, and you want to copy mine?” Celeste said, resting her chin on her hand, her tone incredulous.

Evelyn rolled her eyes playfully. “Come on! You know how it is. I got so distracted thinking about that heart-shaped breakfast I wanted to make for Oliver last night that I completely forgot about our assignments! What was the homework again?”

Celeste recalled and with a smirk, handed over her own assignment. “Here, take mine—if you don’t mind that my work’s a bit... unique. It’s not like we’re shooting for the top anyway.”

Evelyn chuckled, “Are you kidding? If I manage to copy even a fraction of your brilliance, I’d be moving up in the world! Besides, it’s not like I’m picky—a decent grade is a decent grade.”

After their banter, Evelyn felt a bit guilty but relieved. She had crafted a solid excuse that justified going to Celeste. Then again, it wasn’t like she could approach Lysander for help—he was no model student either, and digging into his work could be risky.

Celeste nodded knowingly, “You’d think a guy who lives so close wouldn’t be such a slacker.”

“And you don’t know how anxiety-inducing his smirk is until you're right there in front of him. He’s been the poster boy for chaos since kindergarten!”

Interestingly, Lysander Hawthorne wasn’t just a friend; he was the boy next door who also happened to be Evelyn’s lifelong friend and rival. But he was also the object of her crush, making every interaction a balancing act between friendship and something more.

As the bell rang and the classroom began to settle into a familiar routine, the atmosphere hummed with unspoken tensions and friendships, with Evelyn caught right in the middle of it all.

Chapter 3

Celeste Briar nodded in agreement, popping an Old candy into her mouth. The relationship between Oliver Steele and Evelyn Blackwood had always been rocky; it was nothing like the childhood friendships that Oliver had with others. Not only did Evelyn suspect Oliver of having ulterior motives, but Celeste also shared her doubts about him.

Meanwhile, The Scholar walked up to where Evelyn was seated, noticing the blatant act of her copying Celeste's homework. With disdain, he remarked, "Two underachievers copying each other's work, who do you think you are?"

Evelyn and Celeste ignored him, determined to keep their focus on the assignments. They had no interest in giving The Scholar the satisfaction of an argument—embarking on a verbal battle with someone like him would be a total loss of their composure.

The Scholar adjusted his glasses and scoffed, "Copy, copy, copy—do you two think this is going to help? Every time, it's the same. You never reflect on your poor grades, Evelyn Blackwood! Are you even remotely aware of how much you're holding Samantha back? I can’t believe someone like you made it into our First Class; it’s like you paid your way in!"

Evelyn's annoyance surged at this; she shot up from her chair, indignant. She wasn’t about to let his insults slide. She didn’t crave confrontation initially, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to take his trash talk lying down. Her grades might not be stellar, but she wouldn’t tolerate disrespect.

"Yes, my grades could be better," Evelyn snapped. "But if you’re so bothered by me, should I have to deal with your filthy mouth? Did you forget to brush your teeth this morning? Surely, that's the only reason your breath smells like that! So what if I got into First Class? Maybe I aced the entrance exam and didn’t need to pay for it like you think!"

With that, she let out a mocking laugh and thrust her homework into his hands. "Here, take this! Ugh!"

Without looking back, she gathered her bag and stormed out of the classroom, leaving a very disgruntled The Scholar behind. His face flushed with embarrassment; how dare she speak to him like that? An underachiever had the audacity to challenge him, and she wasn't scared of his threats about telling Mistress Beatrice.

Laughter erupted from their classmates, sending The Scholar into a rage as he barked, "Laugh all you want! What’s so funny about it?"

Returning to his desk, he simmered in humiliation.

Across the aisle, Lysander Hawthorne maintained a perpetual scowl as he watched The Scholar fume. Victor Gray, sitting beside him, felt a sudden chill in the air. It was summer, but the drop in temperature felt dangerous.

He looked at Lysander, eyebrows raised. "What's going on with you, man? You look like you just saw a ghost—or worse, did Clara arrive?"

Lysander didn’t even glance his way but kicked his chair back hard enough to make a scene, silencing the clamoring Class Guild instantly.

Uh-oh, Willa Lockwood is likely to set him off today, Victor thought. Everyone knew about Lysander’s unpredictable mood swings. Right now, it felt like dark clouds were rolling in—the calm before the storm. Victor tried to focus on his work, glancing over at The Scholar, who was now blazing with fury.

Lysander had a direct line to where The Scholar sat, and he marched toward him, likely ready to confront the basis of this whole mess.

This could get ugly, Victor mused. The Scholar better watch out.

Chapter 4

The atmosphere was tense, and Oliver Steele couldn’t help but shiver under the watchful gaze of a figure cloaked in mystery. It wasn't surprising that Lysander Hawthorne looked that way, given the unfortunate exchange with The Scholar moments before when he had publicly disparaged Evelyn Blackwood. The words had been harsh and completely uncalled for.

The relationship between Oliver Steele, Evelyn Blackwood, and Lysander Hawthorne was as close as old friends could be, practically siblings who had grown up in the same neighborhood, but how could The Scholar be so reckless with his words?

Sure, The Scholar had connections and influence, but even those couldn’t shield him from the anger of a determined Lysander Hawthorne. Inside, The Scholar was a bundle of nerves, yet he forced himself to appear calm. “What… what do you want from me?”

“Who gave you the audacity to speak about my Oliver Steele that way? Do you plan to ruin your time here at this Academy?” Lysander Hawthorne’s reputation as a notorious tough guy preceded him.

The Scholar gulped hard. “Don’t think you can just intimidate me because of your family’s power! This is still the Academy; you can’t just do as you please here!”

But those words were courage borne of ignorance, and as Lysander’s mocking laugh echoed through the classroom, it felt the way one does when facing down a grim fate. Wasn’t The Scholar the same age as Lysander? How could he feel so intimidated by a fellow student?

Lysander wasn’t interested in a lengthy exchange. In one swift motion, he shoved The Scholar’s desk aside, sending scattered papers flying, and he landed a punch that left The Scholar reeling.

Dazed, The Scholar sputtered, “Did I say something wrong? With someone like Evelyn Blackwood, who likely paid her way in, it wouldn’t be surprising that your money got her here!”

Lysander narrowed his eyes and retaliated with another solid punch. How had he never noticed before that this guy ran his mouth so much? It was unbearable. Wasn’t he even aware he shouldn’t be using Evelyn Blackwood’s name tritely?

With every hit that landed, Lysander felt a build-up of frustration. The Scholar had no right to utter Evelyn’s name as if it was a curse.

“I must have hit a nerve, huh? If Oliver Steele is mad enough to want to take me out, just remember—Evelyn may be a childhood friend of yours, but I'm not scared of you. Did I say she did anything wrong? It’s just that her head is stuck in the clouds! She’s a walking disaster!” The words were a challenge, and with that, he lunged forward, engaging in a scuffle.

Celeste Briar had reached her limit. The Scholar’s foolishness was exhausting. She couldn’t take it anymore and rose from her seat to cheer for Lysander, “Knock him out! How dare he be so mouthy! Who does he think he is? Just because we’re on the same struggle level doesn’t mean he’s any better than us!”

She wasn’t the only one standing up; a group of other classmates echoed her sentiments, bashing The Scholar’s name relentlessly. He had already positioned himself poorly in the eyes of everyone. In moments, with a powerful blow from Lysander, The Scholar was brought crashing down to the floor.

Lysander stepped onto his chest firmly. “Shut your mouth, or I swear I’ll see to it you get expelled from this Academy.”

The Scholar could only cough in response, the realization dawning on him that he was utterly outmatched, unable to formulate an appeal for mercy, only managing to spit out some blood.

Just then, Samantha Everwood entered the room, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of The Scholar sprawled out on the floor, looking completely defeated.

Chapter 5

After Old and Young exchanged shrieks, Evelyn Blackwood had Oliver Steele escort her to the faculty office. Meanwhile, the main culprit, Lysander Hawthorne, had vanished into thin air.

Evelyn stared at the bento in her hands, a grin plastered across her face. "Hee hee, this is my lovingly prepared breakfast! I wonder how he'll like it." Excitement bubbled within her.

Young sprinted over to the Class Guild where Fiona Ashford was sitting. As soon as she entered, her eyes landed on Oliver Steele, the epitome of charm. She called out to the girl by the window, "Hey, could you let Fiona Ashford know I’m here?"

The girl merely glanced her way before shouting to Fiona, who was deep in conversation with Oliver Steele, "Fiona Ashford! Oliver Steele is looking for you!"

Fiona turned her head at the sound of her name, and her eyes widened upon seeing Evelyn Blackwood. Evelyn beamed with delight—Fiona really was stunning, just as she remembered.

Fiona nodded at Evelyn, apologizing to Oliver for a moment, before stepping outside the Class Guild.

The chatter erupted like a wildfire. Everyone turned their curious eyes toward the duo. Fiona’s charm points were well-known, and it was no secret that she'd received countless love letters since the semester began. Now here came another girl who, by the looks of it, got along rockingly with Fiona. Was there something going on between them? It wouldn’t be surprising if the new girl was Fiona's girlfriend, either, given her beauty.

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "What brings you here?"

Evelyn giggled and pulled the breakfast hidden behind her back, revealing it with flair. The aroma wafted into the air, making both of them smile. “Here, I brought you breakfast!”

Fiona blinked, slightly overwhelmed. "I… I've already eaten this morning."

Old's gaze fell on Evelyn Blackwood, who he also recognized. Evelyn’s father was Lord Edward Blackwood, and her mother was Lady Margaret Blackwood. They had met long ago during a corporate gathering of both families. It felt surreal that they would share a school now.

Evelyn rolled her eyes playfully. "Come on, eat something. You know you're gonna need the energy, especially since you mentioned you were playing at The Tournament today. That's gonna take a lot out of you..."

But before she could finish her thought, a loud voice interrupted, full of authority and irritation.

“What are you two doing here?”

They turned sharply in surprise, and stood face-to-face with Headmaster Gregory.

Evelyn's expression shifted as she realized the trouble they were in. Without missing a beat, she quickly turned to Fiona. “You should go inside! I… I’ll handle this!”

With that, she sprinted away in the opposite direction.

“Hey! You can’t just run away!” Headmaster Gregory huffed, his ample belly bouncing as he chased after her, a bright red phone case bouncing against his side. “Stand still! Classes are about to start!”

Evelyn felt her heart race as she glanced over her shoulder to see where he was. But in doing so, she unknowingly collided with Oliver Steele.

“Whoa, watch where you’re going!” he exclaimed, steadying her as she stumbled backward.

“Running like that, do you even realize how heavy you are?” he teased.

Familiarity sparked in Evelyn’s mind with that voice. She swallowed hard, recognizing him. Didn’t he sound just like…?

She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. “Lysander… Lysander Hawthorne?!”

“Stay! Right! There!” Headmaster Gregory declared, panting heavily as he finally reached her. Evelyn couldn’t waste any time. She darted behind Lysander, seeking refuge.

Lysander glanced around, smirking at Oliver who remained rooted in place.

Evelyn’s expression conveyed her plea: “Help me.”

Lysander furrowed his brows, clearly amused. “So you got yourself into another mess, huh?”

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