Love Is A Dangerous Game

Zara's the new girl with a curiosity for adventure and discovery. When she meets art teacher Mr Smith she knows something is up with him. Meanwhile she is falling for someone whose past is darker than she could've ever imagined.


1. The Dark Haired Boy

I should've been there.

It's all my fault.

He'd be here now, if I was there.

If I had just stayed, that second longer.

How did this happen?



Diaries always end up getting found and your deepest darkest secrets suppressed to the world. So I'm doing this a different way; a way I can be secretive.

Let's call this a letter. But since I have no one to write to we'll choose a name. I'll write these letters to him, if he ever gets them. He felt so real in my mind but now I'm not sure. Anyhow, we should begin.

My name is Zara Mackshire. I'm 16 and I am always letting my curiosity take me too far. My curiosity has led me places I never knew existed and the consequences have been extreme.

Let's begin at the beginning.


It was Monday. My hair felt like a bear's cave and my tummy rumbled and ached like hell. I pulled the covers up slightly, squinting at the light and slowly clambered up.

I padded over to the shower, turning the hot water on and making sure I felt as refreshed as possible because on Monday morning, there usually wasn't many light and refreshing joys.

I hurriedly paced back to my room, drying myself and looking at myself in the mirror. My face looked tired and red and my hair was all over the place. I grabbed my blue jumper and jeggings and put them on carefully. I felt comfy and warm and headed over to my dressing table to put some light makeup on.

For school I always only put a bit because I didn't want to look like

A) a chav

B) someone who doesn't know how to use makeup

C) over the top

I popped some light coverage foundation and mascara on and grabbed my minty blue satchel, smelling the fresh air of toast.

'First day of school ZaZa, how are we feeling?' my Dad asked, smiling. My dad's nickname for me had always been ZaZa and I never complained because there's nothing wrong with silly nicknames once in a while.

'Eugh. Fine just tired. Don't you think moving into Year 11 like half way through the year is kinda-'

'Odd? Yes, just a bit. But unfortunately it's the only way,' Dad said.

The house was very pretty with flowers blooming outside on the front garden and a thatched roof. When my mum and dad had split up, my dad got a job he really loved and got us the comfiest little cottage he could find. I especially loved the kitchen/dining area. It had a plain wooden table and chairs, an old radio on the counter and lots and lots of room for baking goodies.

I sat down, the smell of toast washing over me. The toast felt warm, light, crunchy in my mouth.

'Eat up fast because the bus will be outside any minute now. Remember to text me if anything happens and I left some change in your purse,'Dad reminded me.

'Thanks. I'm nearly finished anyway,' I said as I finished slurping up my orange juice.

I hugged my Dad, feeling his tight protective squeeze on me and smiled as I ran out of the door to the bus.

It was a dark blue that looked like it had carried enough kids through the years. I walked up to it awkwardly, showing my bus pass to the bus driver who grunted and started the engine again.

There wasn't that many kids on the bus, maybe like 15 so far but they were so loud and annoying and I slotted myself in somewhere near the front to get away from their noise.

Almost a seat away was a boy with thick, dark hair and pale skin with his earphones in staring at the ground. He was quite tall and slender and looked different to the other boys at the back of the bus wearing football jackets and hair with way too much hairspray or gel. This boy was wearing a black jumper and black jeans. His eyes told it all. Dark brown eyes, sad and gloomy like they'd seen too many bad things in life.

He knew I'd be looking and spun around to stare. He didn't recognise me of course, I was new. He just looked for a while and slightly raised his eyebrows and then turned away, like it had never happened.

More people filled up the bus but I didn't feel like I belonged. Everyone had already been together and knew each other whereas I was a weird new face no one had seen.

As the bus neared school, a line started to get off and I joined it. The dark haired boy edged over to get off the bus and one of the weird too-much-hairspray-boys shoved him to the sight, giving him a smug look which clearly indicated: I'm so much better than you.

I watched the dark haired boy as he walked on like nothing had hurt him but it had, I knew it had.

As I rubbed my tired eyes and entered the building, I headed to the front office to get my map and class schedule. I was taking art, English, photography, maths, science and music.

The woman at the front desk had dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. She wore a black blazer and blood red lipstick and a stern gaze.

'Are you Zara Mackshire?' the woman asked.

'Yes, that's me,' I said.

'Your form room is B11 and this is your time table with all your classes, times, teachers, rooms etc. If you get lost or need anything just come here or ask another student. There's a map in your time table as well. I'll take you to your first lesson because I've registered you here,' she said.

I followed her as we walked through doors and rooms and blocks. She walked with superiority and confidence.

'I am Miss Blackwell. Deputy head teacher. You will probably meet the head teacher later; Mr Bronwell. He's finishing the Year 8 trip to Isle of Wight today.'

We stopped by the room B11 and Miss Blackwell knocked and gave me a gentle nudge to walk in. The room felt cold and I hung on to my sweater like it was my best friend. The faces of the students sitting stared at me and then looked away bored. But his didn't. The dark haired boy kept on looking and he looked shocked I had somehow made my way into his classroom.

'Ah Miss Blackwell. Thank you for dropping off Zara. Welcome Zara, this is your form who will happily be helping you around this week. I hope you will feel welcome here. I'm Mrs Clockshen, your form tutor,' she said.

She was quite small and plump with a happy grin and fair, short blonde hair in a messy bob style. Her glasses were laid on top of her head lopsidedly.

I got the seat at the back of the class right next to the window which was quite lucky. No one was on my right but on the left was the dark haired boy staring down at his desk in a bored manner. In front of me was a girl with blonde plaits and a pretty flowery skirt, she turned around to smile at me and whispered she would be my little tour guide, which made us both chuckle.

'Quiet ladies and gentlemen. I am taking the register,' Mrs Clockshen said.


'Yes miss,' said the girl in front of me.


'Yeah miss,' the dark haired boy mumbled.

So that was his name. Finn. He was so mysterious, so different from all the others, like a book character.

The bell sprang alert and my thoughts were lost in the blur of everyday school chaos.

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