Chapter Text
Adrien
There are a lot of things I never thought would happen to me.
I never thought I’d be able to go to school, become a superhero, or meet my soulmate. And I certainly never thought I’d do all three in the span of forty-eight hours.
The craziness of all that aside, I’m just not the type of person who gets to go out and do things. Mostly because of my father. My mother went missing not too long ago, and he’s been overprotective of me ever since. Most of the time I try to be respectful and follow his rules, but this year I wanted to go to school so bad. So I might have… done something about it. Something really any rational person would do.
I ran there.
-
I am huffing hard by the time the school building comes into view, a cramp starting to settle in my side. My muscles are screaming as I round the corner, but I can’t stop. Just a little further. Freedom is waiting just through those front doors, and I have absolutely no time to waste, judging by the seventeen missed calls from my father’s assistant Nathalie.
Collège Françoise Dupont, I repeat in my head over and over as my feet pound against the pavement. The name is not displayed anywhere on the outside of the building, but it doesn’t matter; I’ve known it by heart for about half a year now, along with the rest of the information on the school website. Like the name of the teacher I’d have—Miss Bustier—or the time for lunch break—one to two PM.
I also know some things that aren’t on the website. Like the fact that my friend Chloe has Miss Bustier as well. She’s been attending Françoise Dupont for several years now and knows her way around the place. Maybe I can even eat lunch with her, and she can introduce me to her friends.
But that all depends on my ability to get there and get inside. Just a little bit longer now, I tell myself, and all the little facts I have floating around in my mind will finally be real. The race here will have been worth it.
The sweet scent of pastries suddenly floods my senses as I cross the street onto campus, and I relish in it. Realistically, I know I must have just passed a bakery, but I take the pleasant smell as a good omen. A talisman, of sorts. If this pans out anything like my previous escape attempts, I’ll be needing it.
I take another sniff. Croissants, I recognize as I breathe in deeply.
Freedom smells like fresh-baked croissants.
I barely reach the first step when I finally hear the screech of car tires, loud and unapologetic. I can’t say I didn’t expect them to find me—I’m surprised they haven’t caught me sooner—but the harsh noise causes me to trip on the stairs anyways, my hands earning scratches from the paved steps. I wince from the impact, but I keep my eyes trained on the school’s front doors. I know better than to glance in the direction of the screech. I’ve pulled enough escape attempts by now to know the sound of my family car.
“Are you alright?”
The voice startles me a bit. It’s a voice I don’t recognize, and it is definitely not Nathalie’s. I look over to my right to see a girl sitting on the side of the stairs, her dark hair in twin pigtails and her face twisted in concern.
Am I alright?
I suck in a breath as I try to come up with a response. I think in these sorts of scenarios the default answer is: Yeah, I’m alright, how are you? But the girl seemed genuinely interested in whether or not I was okay.
Was I okay? I mean, I’d had worse days for sure, but running away from my father’s house staff at nine in the morning didn’t exactly make my top-ten list. Just as I come up with something to say, a second voice rings out from the street. This time, I immediately recognize the speaker.
“Adrien! Come and get in the car! Your father has requested that you come home immediately!”
Nathalie.
I stand up carefully, rubbing bits of dirt off my hands and onto my jeans. I know Father would kill me over them—they’re Gabriel brand—but at the moment, I don’t care. I continue up the stairs as nonchalantly as I can, hoping that I can just brush this off and pretend until I get to the other side of that door. That is not my father’s assistant, that is not my family car, and I am most certainly not going home today. Not after the work I put into gathering documents and sneaking off to town hall to register myself.
“Adrien Agreste.”
A third voice. This one has an electronic quality and a distinctly stern tone. My heart falls at the sound of my name as I realize what Nathalie has done.
I turn to my father’s assistant, who is grasping a tablet between her hands, my father’s angry face front-and-center. “Adrien Agreste, you are to get in the car and come home. You are not to go to school. End of discussion.”
“Yes, Father,” I say, but I am already looking around for a reason to stay just a little longer. Besides, he didn’t say I had to get in the car and come home right this instant.
And then I find the reason. Well, actually, I hear it before I see it.
A sharp groan comes from the sidewalk and I turn swiftly in its direction. A small, old man lays about a hundred feet from us, sprawled on the ground and reaching painfully out for his cane. Instinctively, I run over to the man, hand him his cane, and help him to his feet.
“Thank you. You’re a kind young man.”
I smile gratefully at the old stranger, but when I turn back around, I realize the small act was only delaying the inevitable. My bodyguard—I call him the Gorilla because he looks just like one—has joined Nathalie now, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Nathalie taps her shoe, and my father is practically growling.
“That’s enough, Adrien. Let’s not make this a spectacle. Come home now.”
I climb into the car dejectedly and press my face against the window. As I wait for the Gorilla and Nathalie to get strapped in, I stare out at the sandy exterior of the school building and the clay-colored pattern of bricks running across its front. It’s a nice building. Not as nice as my father’s mansion, I guess, but nice in the way that you know something great happens there. Learning, making friends, goofing off—that kind of thing. The only thing that ever happens in my house is work. Father’s designing and my studying. Nathalie and the Gorilla keeping a watchful eye over me.
The Gorilla starts the car, and I take a few last glances at the place. I notice that the girl with pigtails is no longer sitting on the steps, and I get a little sad. I never really got the chance to answer her question. I sigh a bit. I’m sure she came to her own conclusion about whether I was okay after seeing all of that. Still, it was nice to hear her ask about me. I could’ve made friends with her, if I’d just been able to walk through those doors. I could’ve met all sorts of people and maybe I could’ve joined a club and had lunch with my classmates.
For the rest of the car ride home, I try to imagine walking the school grounds and taking classes and making friends with all of my classmates. It’s a little easier to picture, now that I’ve been to the campus. In my little make-believe world, Chloe is there, and the dark-haired girl, too.
The thought of the girl on the steps lifts me a little, and I smile. It’s kind of nice to have another face to add to the daydream.
-
Beep! Beep! Beep!
I groan as my alarm clock jolts me from sleep. I take a look at the clock, even though I already know what it will say. 5:00 AM , it reads in sharp red lettering, bright enough that it sears an afterimage of the numbers behind my eyelids. I squeeze them tight even though I know I won’t be able to go back to sleep.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Slam! I reach out and smash the off button on the clock, and I’m up.
I yawn and kick off the layers of sheets and blankets I’d managed to cocoon myself in overnight and shiver as the cold of the morning wraps itself around me. I’m wearing an oversized black sweatshirt with a large, gray “G” decal gracing the front—the logo of my father’s fashion line. I got to take it home with me after a shoot for the teen’s athleisure collection about a month back. I’d asked for it specifically out of all the things I’d tried on that day—not because I’m a particularly big fan of my father’s merchandise, but because I am a particularly big fan of comfy clothes.
I trudge over to the sink and start to get ready for the long day ahead of me.
School starts at 9:15 AM for the students at Collège Françoise Dupont. My day starts a whole lot earlier.
First, it’s up at 5:00 to start getting ready for the day. The next thing I do after I wake up is brush my teeth. Then I start my beauty regimen. I wash my face every morning and every night, but that’s just the bare essentials. I exfoliate a few times a week and apply toner, moisturizer, and a coat of sunscreen, even if I’m staying inside all day. ‘Tis the life of a model.
Then, of course, after that come my lessons. My core classes are taught to me by Nathalie, but I also take Mandarin, piano, and fencing. And then after that comes whatever my father has planned for me. Usually something for the Gabriel brand. Then it’s a few rounds of video games—Ultimate Mecha Strike 3’s been my favorite lately—and off to sleep, and repeat the same thing all over again the next day.
I squirt a ball of toothpaste onto the toothbrush and scrub away at my teeth, thinking about the agenda for today. Likely more French history from Nathalie, brushing up on mathematics, then off to a modeling shoot early this afternoon. I’m never sure what the photoshoots are for until I get on set. My father is very secretive about that sort of thing, even with me. As if I could spread confidential information about the new clothing lines to the hundreds of friends I have. But no, all I know are the dates, I just have to make sure I’m ready the day of.
I spit the paste into the sink and watch it mix with water as it runs down the drain. The paste leaves my breath cool and minty, and having wiped my face, it’s time for skincare. I pull the products out of my cabinet and line them up on the counter. Next, I roll up the giant sleeves of my sweatshirt and pump cleanser into my hands.
And that’s when I see it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and almost jump. At first glance I think it’s a spider, or maybe a row of spiders crawling all the way up and down my arm. Now, I’m not really afraid of spiders—I kill them for the Gorilla all the time—but you have to admit it would be freaky to see a whole line of them up and down your arm when you’re not expecting it.
Quickly realizing there is no crawly feeling, I peel open my eyes carefully.
No, this is certainly not a line of spiders. That isn’t what this is at all. What it is makes my eyes widen and my heart beat faster—with what, I’m not sure. Excitement? Glee? Nervousness?
Examining my arm under the bright vanity lights, I can make out the markings. I suck in a deep breath. Three words had been scribbled onto my skin in a loose, handwritten script.
Are you alright?