“You can try,” I retort, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my registration form. I’ll be back at Burberry Prep come hell or high water. This is my opportunity, and I won’t let three handsome faces, three pairs of hot hands, three sets of ardent lips destroy that. “Because what you don’t know …” I take a deep breath, and then bend down to grab the handle on my ratty, old duffle bag. Everybody else here has hired help to carry their luggage. Not me. Straightening up, I lift my chin in defiance and Tristan scowls. “Is that my life outside of these walls was already a living hell. This is just another level of Dante’s inferno, and I’m not afraid.” My gaze flicks past Tristan and back to Zayd and Creed. “Not of any of you.”
I move around Tristan, intent on the school gates and three months of freedom from these jerks, but he puts his hand around my arm and holds me back. Glancing down, I stare at his fingers pressed against my flesh, and then look back up at his face. He’s smiling, but it’s not a pretty smile.
“Challenge accepted,” he purrs, and then he releases me.
As I head down the path in my torn uniform, I keep my chin up and my fears pushed back.
Challenge accepted is right. I won’t be driven away from the best opportunity in my life. Not by Tristan, not by anyone.
As I walk, I can feel three sets of eyes on my back, watching, waiting, plotting.
I’ll have to make sure I stay one step ahead.The impressive stone façade of Burberry Prep hides a host of wicked souls with pretty faces. I don’t know that yet, standing at the bottom of the wide, worn steps with my heart thundering in my throat. My school schedule is clutched in my right hand, wrinkled and well-loved; I’ve been staring at it since the fourth of July.
Deep breath, Marnye. My red, pleated skirt is freshly-pressed and fluttering around my thighs as I move across the old brick walkway towards the front entrance. According to the orientation email, I should be meeting my guide just inside the inner courtyard. I wonder if I look poor? I swallow hard against my own paranoia, but it’s not easy. The dean assured me that my scholarship status would not be advertised; that doesn’t mean nobody knows about it.
I hear the trickle of a fountain before I see it, a soft tinkling sound, like wind chimes. As I come up the last step, the sound’s matched to a bronze statue of a stag, water spouting from the rocky base he’s standing on. There’s a boy sitting on the edge of the fountain, wearing a uniform that matches mine. So he’s a first year, too, I think, reminding myself that most of the students here have been attending the academy since preschool. Different buildings, same campus. So a first year guide isn’t totally out of the question. In fact, only two percent of new students enroll during their first year of high school.
Good for me, I muse as the boy stands up and I catch a glimpse of how incredibly handsome he is: silky chestnut hair with blond highlights, bright blue eyes, full pink lips. Always working outside the box. Now if I can only keep the rest of the students here from finding out just how outside the box I really am, like wrong side of the tracks sort of out.
“Tristan?” I ask hopefully as my new loafers clack across the intricate brick patio. I’m already holding out my hand in invitation, a bright smile tracing its way across my lips. I’ve decided that if anyone asks me about my family, I won’t lie. No, I’m not shamed of where I come from. Actually, I’m proud of myself. Not only am I going to be the first person in my family to finish high school, but I’m going to do it at a prestigious academy usually reserved for the filthy rich.
“Actually, no,” the boy says as he takes my hand with a smooth, dry palm. He smells like coconuts and sunshine, if that’s even possible, to smell like sunshine. “I’m Andrew Payson. Tristan should be …” Andrew trails off for a moment, and I catch the briefest flick of his eyes in the direction of a janitor’s closet. “Around here somewhere.” Andrew’s gaze switches back over to me and for a split-second, I see a flare of interest before he blinks, and it’s gone. Or maybe I just imagined it? I wonder, realizing for the first time that my dating life here … is probably gonna be pretty slim.
Guys might show interest at first, but no loaded teen wants to date someone without two nickels to rub together.
“I’m guessing he’s your student guide?” Andrew adds, dropping my hand. He gestures for me to take a seat on the fountain beside him, and I oblige, hissing a little at the cold of the bronze against my thighs. Wearing a skirt like this is going to take some serious getting used to. But I asked about wearing pants and was given a very firm no. Like in many elitist endeavors, there’s a very prevalent sense of gender roles regarding uniforms.
