AFTER LUNCH I HAVE A BREAK, though it’s actually a study hall period. I go to the library and find a spot in the back of the cavernous building, settling in at a small, unoccupied table. I pull out my math assignment, working through it hurriedly, distracted by the beautiful architecture. It’s old, with soaring ceilings and gothic windows made of gorgeous stained-glass. Something you’d see out of a movie about witches and warlocks.
I receive a text notification and I check it to see it’s from Mother.
Are you settling in?
I don’t bother answering yet. Not that she cares. She’s already on her way back home, to the apartment she inherited upon Jonas’ death. No more fifth floor walkups for her. She’ll be taken care of for the rest of her life. If I’m lucky, she’ll leave a little bit for me when she dies.
Knowing how much she enjoys spending money, I probably won’t be so lucky.
There are other people in the library, and they talk in hushed tones, their heads bent close together, gossiping and smiling and laughing. Seeing them makes me long for my friends at my old school. I miss them. But when the scandal broke out about Yates and me, just before the fire happened, I couldn’t show my face there ever again. Everyone knew what he was doing to me.
And not a single damn person did one thing to stop it.
Shoving my anger back down, I focus once again on my math homework, oblivious to the sound of footsteps until a soft, female voice says hello.
I nearly jump out of my skin, my head jerking up to find a girl standing by my table.
She smiles shyly, her long, dark blonde hair flowing far past her shoulders. Almost to her waist. Her face is pale, her eyes a haunted blue, and she smiles with rosebud lips, vividly red compared to the snow white of her skin. “You’re new.”
I can’t help but smile in return. “I am.”
“May I sit with you?”
I wave my hand at the three open chairs at my table. “Be my guest.”
She settles into the chair closest to mine, dropping her backpack on the table with a loud thump. I watch as she digs through the contents, pulling out a history textbook and letting it land on the table with an echoing slap. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear a faint, “Shush!” that I’m sure came from the front desk.
“She hates noise,” the girl tells me with a faint smile.
“Who?”
“The librarian. Miss Taylor. She’s as old as this building.” The girl laughs and I can’t help but join in. It’s an infectious sound and I immediately feel at ease with her. Far more at ease than with the other two at lunch. “Notice how there are a bunch of spinster teachers who work here? I think this is where virgin educators go to die.”
She laughs even harder. She reminds me of an angel, but she definitely has a devious mind.
I warm up to this girl even more.
“You like it here?” she asks me.
“It’s nice,” I say with a shrug, glancing at my math paper yet again. I have one more problem to solve, and then I’m done.
She leans in close, her voice a harsh whisper. “It’s easy.”
I raise a brow. “You think?”
“I know.” She glances back, as if making sure no one’s around, before she returns her attention to me. “I’m a junior. You’re a senior?”
I nod, wondering how she knows. “I am.”
“Went to Billington?” She whistles low when my eyebrows shoot up. “That place is fancy.”
“And this place isn’t?” My voice is dry, my heart racing.
How does she know where I went to school?
She shrugs. “It’s nothing.”
Her words are so dismissive. Obviously, Lancaster Prep doesn’t impress her.
“Have you always gone here?” I ask her. That’s the only explanation as to why she doesn’t see the beauty of this place. The old buildings, the gothic chapel with the spire that rises high into the sky. The lush green grounds, the forest behind the campus, and the ocean just beyond, crashing against the shore.
It’s like a dream.
“My whole entire life.” She rolls her eyes. Blows out an exaggerated breath. “That’s what it feels like, at least.”
“How do you know so much about me?” I ask, curious. But not put off. She has a way about her that’s nonthreatening.
“I have my ways. And access,” she says mysteriously. “I know your name is Summer Savage. Cool name by the way. Very—primal. You’re from Manhattan. You were enrolled at the last minute, even though Lancaster was far past the enrollment drop dead due date.”
It’s the way she says drop dead. As if she relishes the words.
“A single dormitory was assigned to you. Rather impossible, considering the enrollment situation, so you must know someone higher up. Dear old Augustus, maybe? Plus, I hear you made an appearance in honors English this morning, which I’m sure infuriated many. All those girls work so hard to be in Figueroa’s class, desperate to get close to him. He’s messed around with a few, though you never heard that from me. So yes, you definitely know someone.” She smiles, her light blue eyes sparkling. “Friends in high places take you far.”
Recognition dawns and I sit up straight, hating the dread slithering down my spine. This girl should hate me. She probably already does.
“My name is Sylvie, by the way. Sylvie Lancaster.” The moment she takes a good look at my face, she throws her head back and laughs. So loudly, I hear Miss Taylor shush her again. “We’ve never met before, yet I feel like I know everything about you.”
“Same,” I admit, my voice hoarse. Talking to her is like fraternizing with the enemy.
Dangerous.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I don’t care about what your mother did with my father.” She waves a hand, effectively dismissing all the lurid stories about our parents. “Our mother was hellbent on making our father’s life as miserable as she could throughout their marriage. This was his only way out.”
“You really believe that?” I ask her incredulously. It’s as if it doesn’t matter to her, whereas her brother treated me like a common prostitute when we were just kids. Barely teenagers.
I think of what the girls said about him, and how he likes to choke girls when he kisses them. Despite the depravity, I’m intrigued. I wouldn’t mind knowing what it felt like, to have Whit’s large, warm hand closing around my throat, pinning me to a wall as he tormented me with his mouth?
God, I’m sick. Seriously.
“I lived with them my entire life. A witness to the disaster they called marriage. Yes, I believe that,” she says solemnly. “My older brother thinks your mother is the devil incarnate, and he puts all the blame on her. Our baby sister believes our father is the one who wrecked everything, and used to battle with him on the daily over the frail condition of mother dearest before she found her way out.”
“And what do you think?” I ask.
“They’re all responsible for their actions, are they not? They’re adults. Was anyone thinking of the children? No. But when do any of them think of the children?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “They’re all selfish. Wrapped up in their own little worlds. Why do you think there’s a boarding school with our family name on it? So they can shove us all out here and forget we exist.”
Sylvie explains all of this in such a logical manner that it makes complete sense. I’m sure she’s right. When do they ever think of the children?
Never. My parents neglected me and Yates when it mattered the most. Why else was he so brazen in how he pursued me? He knew he’d get away with it.
Well, I showed him.
“Does your brother know I’m here?” I ask her, hoping my voice sounds casual.
“No. Yes? I’m not sure. We haven’t discussed you, and your name has never passed his lips to me. Though Whit and I don’t talk much. He finds me a nuisance,” she says. She doesn’t sound the least bit offended.
“How did you find out so much information about me?”
“I hacked into the school’s files.” She grins while I gape at her. “It’s an archaic system. My grandma could hack into it, and she’s been dead for two years.”
I can’t help but start to laugh. “Does anyone know you hack into the school’s computer system?”
“Only a select few. You being one of them now.” Her smile is small, her eyes sparkling. “You ever have a grade issue in class, let me know. I can fix it for you.” She snaps her fingers.
“I get good grades,” I reassure her.
“Now.” She smiles, her expression never faltering, while my smile slowly fades.
I’m sure she’s seen my entire file from Billington and read over every little detail greedily, soaking up all of those suspensions with barely repressed glee. Drugs and backtalk and sex on campus. I was a nightmare. The first two years of high school were difficult. I was acting out. It was a cry for help. I wanted attention, whether it was good or bad.
But no one listened. Worse, they were ready to send me far, far away, to military school, as if that would fix me.
I suppose getting away from Yates would’ve fixed everything, but I didn’t want to do it like that. One of the last nights we were all together as a family, long after everyone went to bed, he held me close afterward and told me how much he would miss me once I was gone. I realized then he believed I didn’t want to leave because we would be kept apart.
And that wasn’t the case. Not even close.
At least, that wasn’t the case for me.
“You seem like someone with a lot of secrets,” Sylvie says, interrupting my thoughts.
I blink her into focus, to find she’s watching me with narrowed eyes. “I’m an open book,” I lie.
She says nothing. She doesn’t have to.
Because she doesn’t believe me. She shouldn’t. I have all sorts of secrets.
And every single one of them is awful.
I hurry into American Government just before the final bell rings, sending an apologetic look toward the teacher sitting behind his desk. I lingered too long in the library, enjoying my conversation with Sylvie, feeling guilty the entire time because of my connection with her brother. I never brought it up. She never brought him up. Only that one time.
And I preferred it that way.
The classroom is full, every desk occupied, save for a couple in the very back of the room. I scurry toward them, not paying attention to where I’m going when I trip over a backpack directly in my path, sending myself sprawling to the ground.
It feels like the entire classroom witnesses my fall from grace and erupts into laughter.
I lie there for a moment, my cheek resting against the cool floor, knees throbbing from my hard landing. Cool air brushes against the back of my thighs and I realize my skirt flipped up, exposing my black booty shorts that I am so damn grateful I wore instead of just my underwear.
The teacher rushes forward. I can hear his squeaky footsteps on the floor. “Are you all right?” he asks me.
My audience has calmed some, but I still hear laughter. Furious whispering, all of them talking about me. A boy asks straight out, “Who the fuck is she?”
I gather myself up quickly, rising to my knees, smoothing my hair out of my face. I hear someone suck in mouthfuls of air, as if in shock, and when I glance to my left, I realize I’m literally face to face with the fallen angel of my dreams.
The devil of my nightmares.
Whit Lancaster. Who’s staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost.
Gripping my backpack strap tightly, I stand, averting my head and sitting in the closest empty chair.
Directly behind Whit.
Fuck.
The teacher sends everyone a stern look, effectively shutting them up before he starts speaking, but I have no clue what he’s saying. I can’t hear anything thanks to the rapid beat of my heart. It roars in my ears, through my blood, and I try to hold my breath. Until I can’t take it anymore and exhale in a stream of mint, thanks to the gum I chewed in the library.
God, I hope he doesn’t notice.
I glance down at the floor in front of me, grimacing. I tripped over Whit’s goddamn backpack. Of course I did. I sit there as if in a trance, my entire body shaking, my knees stinging from the fall. I stare at my desk, scared to lift my head, afraid I’ll find him watching me. When I finally dare to glance up…
I’m looking at the back of his head.
As another shaky breath leaves me, I pull out my binder and notebook, along with my favorite mechanical pencil, my hands still shaking. Fully prepared to take notes, though the teacher is leaning against the front of his desk, his arms crossed as he talks about himself and what he expects from us this year.
He passes out a syllabus and my heart threatens to fly out of my body. Whit will have to turn around to pass me the syllabus. I wait, my hands clammy, my legs knocking together, and when my row starts passing the copies of the syllabus back, I watch as the small stack reaches Whit.
But he doesn’t give me my copy. He holds on to both, his shoulders straight, his attention directed at the teacher. Irritation fills me, and I have the urge to poke him in the back with my pencil and demand the syllabus.
Instead, my hand shoots up in the air.
“Yes?” the teacher acknowledges me with kind eyes.
I’m sure he feels bad for my earlier fall.
“I didn’t receive a syllabus.”
He frowns. “Well, that’s strange. I counted them out.” Grabbing an extra from his desk, he approaches me and hands over the single sheet of paper.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
The teacher drones for the rest of the period, but I’m not listening. I can’t concentrate on anything else but the fact that Whit is sitting directly in front of me, purposely ignoring me, thank God. I can smell him. Warm and spicy and inherently male. I study his hair. It’s a dark blond, almost brown but not quite. Short, neatly trimmed, and a little longish on top. It looks soft. I’m sure if I ran my fingers through it, the strands would cling.
Finally the bell rings, signaling the end of the class—the end of the day. I sit there, immobilized as everyone around me gathers their things and practically runs out of the classroom. There are practices happening for all of the fall sports. They made an announcement over lunch. I’m trying to wait out Whit, so I can leave after he does, but he’s slow too.
As in, he slowly turns around to face me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low, his eyes sharp.
“I go here,” I say breathlessly.
“The fuck you do,” he retorts, leaning away from me. As if he gets any closer, I might give him the plague.
I hate him. I do. But I’m drawn to him, too. The pull is there, tugging me closer to him, and I wonder if he feels it too.
“I’m enrolled,” I say, grabbing my backpack and putting away my stuff. “Whether you like it or not.”
He glares.
I do too.
He finally speaks first.
“Nice fall earlier. Landing on your knees like that must’ve hurt.” He smirks. “Though I’m sure you’re used to being on your knees.”
His insult cuts me like a knife, slicing me open. “Fuck you,” I say, rising to my feet.
Whit stands as well, blocking my path. He’s far more formidable than he was over three years ago. Taller. Wider. Stronger. But I refuse to let him scare me.
“I’m sure you’d love it if I fucked you,” he says, his voice low and taunting. I don’t know how the teacher doesn’t hear, but the man must be oblivious. “You’re a cheap whore, just like your mother.”
I dodge around him at the last second and make my escape, never looking back. I can hear his laughter follow me, all the way down the hall, and it’s not until I completely exit the building that I realize it’s just in my head. My thoughts.
Filled with his laughter. Reminding me that yes, I am my mother’s daughter.
Nothing but a cheap whore.
