Classroom Of The Elite Year 2 Volume 4 Novels & Stories

And just as I thought, there aren't that many students in the hallway as of now. I hid a smile as I went to the fourth floor for my class. In this academy, each year level has its own respective classroom. Sort of like in Asian movies where each class is separated by their grade and year level. And each level is divided into 3 sections: A, B, and C. Section A is where most of the smart kids are. The room basically consists of nerds. But there are also kids who aren't that smart but are responsible enough to get a good grade.

shiver down Ashley's spine. "Oh, okay," Ashley replied with a slightly awkward smile. I noticed Ashley's discomfort and scolded myself internally. "Are you two finished flirting with each other?" Claudia mocked from behind. Ashley turned to face Claudia, who wore a smug, self-satisfied smirk. Ashley scanned the room and realized that everyone, including Emily, had their attention fixed on her. "Yes, I am indeed going to Elite High School," Ashley declared, prompting gasps and whispers from the gathered crowd. "No way!" Claudia exclaimed. Suddenly, the principal's voice reverberated through the school, announcing Ashley's transfer to Elite High School. "Miss Ashley Young will be transferring

Iris: He got us. We closed the door behind us and left them for the classroom. Once again we stood there but now it's different. I could feel the pressure from the other side of the door. Drake opened the door and sure enough there was pressure. This time a whole bunch of fireballs in different colors looking awesomely fatal were waiting to be shot all aiming at us. We stood there by the door and facing off to all the current members of the Elite Tier class. (Except for the two we left behind and the worn-out Franz suffering from Depression.) They were all smiling and giggling and shouted in a loud voice.

Chapter Four: The Boy From the Past Elara’s POV I hated being late. Mira and I stood just outside the classroom door, our hearts thumping fast. We could hear the professor already talking. I looked at her. She looked at me. “Are you ready?” she whispered. “No,” I muttered, holding my books tighter, “but let’s just do it.” We quietly pushed the door open. The classroom was packed—every seat taken. Heads turned. The professor frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing behind round glasses.

“There go the elites,” one of the students said sarcastically when they saw the elite class entered the classroom. They had been taking classes with them for a month but they find it hard to approach them since they acted like they have their own world. It was as if they were telling them that they are in a different league of their own. “I don’t have a problem with the other elites, so I don’t really know why I hate that green-haired guy,” Sean Jr., the eldest son of Baron Wyeth said with arrogance.

"I've always known you to be one hell of a confident girl. Why is your esteem injured this morning?" Elora adjusted the stiff, designer blazer of the Saint Jude's uniform. It felt like a costume. "It's a school for the elites, Maya. I'm not going there because I'm an elite-I'm going because I won a scholarship. You know how these rich kids behave. They bully people who aren't of the same class."

She stood on her tiptoes one last time to try to reach the book—as if by sheer force of will, she’d grow three more inches in the process—when a voice said, “Let me get that for you.” A man’s arm reached over her head and plucked the book from the shelf. Turning, Lucy was about to thank the Good Samaritan when she came face-to-face with Hayden Masterson himself. Hayden. Masterson. Standing in front of her with a book titled Seducing His Wicked Virgin. He looked as good as he had a year ago when Lucy had met him briefly: his hair fell over his forehead at the perfect angle to amplify his eyes, and his jaw seemed like it was cut from marble. When he smiled, it was like getting hit in the chest

LUTON PREP BOARDING SCHOOL MANHATTAN 11 YEARS AGO, TWO WEEKS BEFORE SPRING BREAK AND THE BENOIT AND DALTON CAR CRASH. “You’re late Elsida,” Professor Muton raises his eyebrow as she steps into the classroom. Students snicker and mumble incoherent words as she stalks to the only empty seat situated in front of the classroom. Her leg skids to a stop when she notices the occupant of the seat next to hers. Julien’s head is bowed, oblivious to the murmurs around him. His gaze rooted to the phone in his hands.