Slam Ducklings

[Opening Scene – The Arrival]

Snow fell onto the severe, neo-Gothic roofs of La Rose Académie d'Hiver. A black SUV crunched through the frost-covered drive.

Inside, Dami Adeyemi tried to look like he belonged. His new uniform felt like a costume. The Alpine silence was deafening after the constant roar of Lagos.

He stared at the Château de la Rose, its ivy-choked stone and stained-glass windows imposing. His palms were sweaty.

"You've got this, bro. It's just another school," he muttered. "Except with castles. And Ferraris."

The SUV stopped. He pushed the door open, and the glacial air hit him like a slap.

Around him, a swirl of students moved with effortless grace. Designer coats, polished boots, posh accents. They laughed about ski weekends in Gstaad while hauling monogrammed trunks.

Dami clutched the handle of his worn, navy duffel bag. It was his ghost, the only piece of baggage that wasn't brand new.

Scholarship boy.

He felt the words were invisible on his forehead. He was an anomaly here. He lifted his chin and strode toward the main entrance, his old sneakers crunching an off-beat rhythm.

[Cut to: Sofia Diaz – Debate Queen of Trouble]

Across the courtyard, Sofia Diaz was perched on a marble bench, sipping hot chocolate. Petite, with warm skin and dark curls under a white beret, she looked like royalty holding court. She was on the phone, talking rapid Spanish.

"Mamá, I'm fine... No, I didn't break another rule. Yet," she whispered. "I have to go. Te quiero."

She hung up as Dami, lost and dragging his duffel, walked straight into her.

Hot chocolate arced spectacularly, splashing across her cream-coloured cashmere jumper.

"¡Maldita sea!" she shrieked, jumping back. The stain bloomed, a horrifying brown bruise.

Dami froze. "Oh, shoot. I am so sorry, I didn't see you-"

"Obviously you didn't, mijo," she hissed, her eyes flashing. She looked him up and down, taking in the nervousness, the new uniform, the old bag. "What are you, blind or just badly programmed? Is that what the scholarship gives you-a selective field of vision?"

A collective oooh rippled from the nearby students.

The sting of her words cooled Dami's panic into a spark. A faint dimple appeared in his left cheek.

"Didn't know debate club started at breakfast, your majesty," he retorted, his Nigerian accent smooth with sarcasm.

She stared, thrown off her game.

"Didn't know clumsiness was a prerequisite for your scholarship requirement," she shot back, a cold, wicked smile on her lips.

His dimples deepened. His eyes, the color of rich earth, locked onto hers.

First spark lit.

[Scene Two – The Hall of Honour]

The entire student body was assembled in the Hall of Honour, a cavernous room lit by chandeliers that cost more than Dami's family's net worth.

Headmistress Madame Laurent, a severe woman in a granite-sharp suit, stood at the podium.

"Welcome. We expect grace, intellect, and-most of all-respect."

Dami, nursing the sting of his public embarrassment, scanned the room from the back. He