"Everyone!"
Once the teacher for the first period took the stage, he looked at the students sitting below and said: "Starting today, we are welcoming a new classmate, an exchange student from Canada."
Locke saw Liz sitting not far away, already face-palming and rolling her eyes.
"Let's give her a hand."
The teacher gestured toward the door. "Come in, Miss Megan Walsh."
Accompanied by applause, the exchange student from Canada walked into the classroom.
At that moment.
The applause died instantly.
A second later.
A few high-energy basketball players in the class couldn't hold back their laughter.
Liz clutched her forehead and turned to Gwen with a look that said: See? Now you know what I meant!
Locke looked at the exchange student on stage, his expression also turning a bit strange.
Let's put it this way.
This girl named Megan Walsh definitely had the looks; if you were scoring her, she'd be around an 80.
But...
The outfit was a disaster.
Even Cinderella needed to put on the right clothes to catch the Prince's attention.
But this Megan Walsh gave Locke the first impression of someone who might have some mental issues, or perhaps someone who had just come out of a deep primeval forest and had no idea how the world worked, dressing herself in a complete mess.
Good grief.
This girl is likely going to become part of a vulnerable group.
Locke thought to himself.
The so-called "vulnerable group" in school, to put it bluntly, were the targets of exclusion and bullying.
Midtown High had them.
In fact, even back in Texas, they existed.
However, whether in Texas or here, Locke was neither part of the vulnerable group nor the dominant group. He was just himself—a loner. If you spoke to him, he spoke back.
Furthermore, Locke's physique was right there. Once, during afternoon sports, his tank top highlighted his eight-pack abs and powerful arms, immediately making anyone thinking of bullying him drop the idea.
They probably felt that if Locke landed one punch, they'd be crying for a very long time.
So, they didn't dare provoke Locke, and Locke didn't bother hanging out with them.
Locke didn't pay it much mind.
But this Megan Walsh?
Sure enough.
Since Locke's second period was different from Gwen's, he heard Gwen's complaints by lunchtime in the cafeteria. She said that because Megan Walsh's first impression was similar to a savage just coming out of the mountains, she had been mocked by many people.
As she spoke.
Gwen looked at Locke, somewhat curious: "What do you think?"
Locke raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
Gwen nodded. "Mhm."
Locke smiled. "I never judge a book by its cover!"
Just like how he made friends—he never cared if the other person was rich or beautiful. As long as they clicked, he didn't care what their profession was.
It was the same as how he looked at Gwen. It was fine at the start, but now, Locke didn't even consciously think about whether Gwen was beautiful or not.
That was just how it was.
Gwen laughed, then her eyes lit up as she saw Megan Walsh just entering the cafeteria. She waved: "Megan, over here!"
She was the ninth-grade student assistant; helping every newcomer adapt to school life quickly was her job.
Just as it was when Locke first arrived.
A moment later.
Gwen led Megan, who had her tray of food, to the table and introduced her to the guy sitting there: "Locke Broughton!"
Megan extended her right hand to Locke like an adult and said happily: "Hello, Locke. I'm Megan, the exchange student from Canada."
Locke smiled, stood up, and shook her hand.
His eyebrow twitched!
This hand...
Something's not right.
Locke withdrew his hand without a sound, nodded, and sat back down.
Megan Walsh from Canada also sat down excitedly. One couldn't see a trace of frustration on her face despite being excluded in the morning or mocked for her clothes.
Either she was thick-skinned, or she didn't care.
Locke leaned toward both.
This Megan Walsh...
Is not simple.
A normal person's hand—Gwen's, for example—felt soft to the touch and even looked like it would smell nice.
But Megan Walsh's hand?
Locke felt as if he were shaking hands with Victoria Knox, or Arthur the Mechanic, or a famous old hitman. Those calluses on her hand were so familiar.
It's not to say all calluses on hands are caused by firearms, but those specific locations for calluses are only possible through handling guns.
But...
At sixteen, to have calluses like that... wouldn't that mean she started learning to shoot at age five or six, with a daily minimum of a hundred rounds? Only then would it be possible to have calluses of that degree.
Good grief.
Locke raised an eyebrow, watching the two. Their school life conversation was basically non-existent, but Gwen didn't mind and continued answering Megan's questions. A thought seemed to occur to him.
"So..."
Locke took a bite of his burger and asked as if casually: "Megan, which school were you at in Canada before?"
"Trent High School."
Megan, who was talking to Gwen, spoke subconsciously upon hearing Locke's question. Then, she looked at him: "Yes, Trent High. Have you heard of it, Locke?"
Locke shook his head. "No."
Megan seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
In the afternoon.
Locke, who was preparing to pack his things and head home, watched expressionlessly as a classmate named Gucci tried to flirt with Megan. Gucci reached out to pat Megan's right hand, but without even turning her head, Megan executed a backhand joint lock, pinning Gucci's face directly onto the desk.
Locke's eyebrow shot up.
Megan snapped back to reality, a look of panic appearing on her face: "Oh my God, sorry, Gucci! I didn't mean to. You shouldn't sneak up behind people like that."
Gucci, feeling like his right arm was dislocated: "..."
Locke walked over, grabbed Gucci's right hand, took a look, and looked up at him: "Bear with it?"
Gucci was stunned. "Wha—OOOHHH!"
Locke released Gucci's hand. "There."
Gucci immediately started jumping around happily like a monkey, tears nearly streaming down his face.
Megan seemed to look at Locke with some surprise.
Locke walked toward the door. "Don't thank me. Just call me Cowboy!"
For a cowboy, various injuries were a common occurrence; a long illness makes a good doctor.
As the number one youth cowboy in Texas, it was perfectly normal for Locke to know some skilled first-aid techniques. It followed basic logic, just as a mechanic would have a wrench in his pocket.
But Megan—a sixteen-year-old female classmate—having those calluses and that beyond-human, almost subconscious defensive technique... if she were truly just a student, that would definitely not follow basic logic.
This Megan Walsh is suspicious.
Could it be...
***
Read 30 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666