by Henry, Max
I glance over at Colt, wary of his part in that. Perhaps he kept them at bay? I couldn’t fault him if he did; he’s always looked out for me.
Still does.
“Are you ready?” He pulls into the Fellow’s underground garage to search for a spot. “Need to touch up or anything?”
I check my reflection one last time. “I’m ready.”
“Good because I need a damn drink.” Colt kills the engine and then opens his door before I have a chance to reach for my seatbelt.
Someone’s keen. I snatch up my clutch, plump my boosted cleavage, and then climb down from the Explorer. Colt waits with his hand outstretched—ever the gentleman. I take his hand and let him escort me toward the lift like the princess I am.
“You look amazing,” he whispers, leaning down as I give my reflection the once over in the mirrored lift.
“Thank you.” I look like Mum when she was my age.
My waist is trim—something she tells me is irresistible to the right man—and my legs are long, despite my short stature. I’m petite, a doll, and I feel every part as pretty and desirable as the finest China girl.
The lift doors open to reveal the Fellow’s grand foyer, filled with familiar faces as well as a few I don’t recognise. Colt leads us into the crowd and then places a chaste kiss to my cheek before he lets me go to seek out his friends.
“Lacey!” Greer squeals, a tumbler of cognac held high as she rushes through the guests. “You’re finally here!”
I wiggle an eyebrow at her. “Where is he?”
A devilish smile graces her heart-shaped face. “This way.” Arm linked through mine, she drags me through the foyer to the main sitting room.
Music thumps from the hidden speakers, unfortunately not quite loud enough to drown out the titters from people as we pass by.
“Heard they lost everything.”
“I bet she’ll wear that everywhere now they can’t afford new clothes.”
“So tragic.”
“Why is she even here?”
I lift my chin high and cling to Greer. Who the hell are they to pass judgement? They might attend Riverbourne Prep, but I am one of the Chosen, damn it. Until I’m officially told otherwise, that title stays.
“Look who’s here,” Greer cries as we near the low leather lounges. “Lacey!”
It’s been weeks since I’ve seen the girls. I smile at my friends, absorbing the details of who sits where. Libby’s legs are draped over Arthur’s lap on the sofa to my left. Ingrid, the fourth and final Chosen girl, seated on the plush chair to her right with Christian Mayberry draped on the arm. Richard and Barrett share the last sofa, disgustingly with the said first-year girls leaning on them from their perches atop the rolled arms.
“Lace,” Libby says with a small twitch to her brow. “It’s good to see you.”
I brush her strange greeting off and turn toward Ingrid. She meets me with a tight smile, yet genuinely friendly eyes.
Down to business. “Hi, Barrett.”
“Lacey.” His expression doesn’t change, and to my dislike, he doesn’t toss the first-year seat-warmer off either.
“We’ll go get Lace a drink and be back,” Greer says with a slight laugh to her tone.
Her hand circles my upper arm, and next thing I know I’m dragged toward the bar in the corner of the room.
“What the hell was that all about?” I hiss as soon as we’re out of earshot.
“What?” Greer throws her drink back and then sets it down for a refill, holding up two fingers.
“It’s good to see you?” I mimic. I shoot a look off toward who I thought was still my best friend. As she tosses her honey-blonde curls back, I wonder if I could be mistaken.
“You know her parents don’t let her associate with you. She was probably wary of who might be watching.”
“Then why invite me?” I grumble, taking the offered liquor.
“I don’t know.” Greer shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s have some fun.” Her glass clinks loudly against my own.
I take a small sip, while she throws half the glass back again in one burning gulp. I need to take my time, stay alert if I want to gain Barrett’s affection again.
I had him in the palm of my hand. After years of trying, I had him right there. And then I let my emotions get the better of me the day Dad was arrested.
I went inside that afternoon to ask Mum what was going on like Dad told me to, and instead received a verbal tirade about how I should have used the incident as an excuse to throw myself at Barrett. I could see her point, but still, it didn’t feel right.
Even now, as I watch the first-year drag her fingertips up Barrett’s arm, there’s a weird confliction brewing in the pit of my stomach. A niggling doubt that I’m not at all comfortable with.
You’re a Chosen for a reason. I shove the insecurities this shift to the country has birthed to the back of my mind, and open-throat my entire drink.
Greer lifts an eyebrow and then claps her hands before her with a huge grin.
“Shall we dance?” I toss my clutch over the bar for safekeeping and offer a hand toward my friend.
“Hell, yes!”
My skin is alive. The music shakes through every cell of my body as I twist and writhe on the dance floor. Greer laughs somewhere around me, but I can’t pinpoint her with my eyes closed like this. The contact of my hands against my body—it’s electrifying.
I’ve never drunk this much at a party, always the one to keep her composure, but seeing that girl’s hand on Barrett and having him brush me off like that. Ugh. It awoke a vengeful side of me that I didn’t know existed.
“Can I have the next dance?” a deliciously low rumble asks from my right side.
I open my eyes to find the so-called head of the boys, Richard Shepcott, watching me with hunger in his eyes. A strange tingle erupts between my legs, my nipples painfully hard against the soft fabric of my party dress.
Richard has never, not once, ever spoken to me directly. Damn. I must be doing something right.
If Barrett were an achievement, then Richard would be a lifetime award.
“Of course.” I turn to face him, decidedly delirious when his firm palm settles against my waist.
I barely register the slap to my arse from Greer; I’m lost in Richard’s mysteriously dark eyes. The depth of the brown is incredible, like burnt chocolate tinged with honey.
I decide right there and then in my liquor induced state that I want to taste him before the night is through.
The song changes to a much slower and sultrier beat. The fleeting thought he may have chosen this for us passes through my mind, and my alcohol-affected rationale decides that yes, of course, he picked this for me. I mean, duh.
My hips sway, my back arched. I move closer to Richard as he guides me in with his hand on my waist like a fisherman bringing in the catch for sport: careful and measured. Not too quick, but without a chance for the prey to get away.
I’d take whatever he offered me as bait; the reward of capturing Richard’s heart is too great to worry about the potential pitfalls. Mum will lose her mind when I tell her this.
“You move well,” he purrs, adding his other hand to our union.
I glance down at where it rests under my arm, against my side. That close to my breast. Oh, my God.
“Just for you,” I reply in my sexiest voice.
Whether or not it works, I have no idea. I’m merely happy I didn’t slur the words with the way my head swirls.
“It’s crowded in here, don’t you think?” He leans down to bring our faces closer together, his luscious black locks falling into his eyes. “Want to find somewhere quieter?”
Do I ever. I chance a look toward where Barrett sits to find him eyeing us with an undeniable intensity. I started this dance to reel in the boy I want, yet I seem to be finishing with more than one set of curious eyes on me. Play it, Lacey. Play it to your advantage.
“Sure.” I drape my arms around his nec
k, squeaking when he lifts me into his arms.
My legs find their way around his trim waist; my calves rest against his tight athletic arse.
I can’t believe my luck. I remember my fascination with Richard starting when I first watched him rowing as a pre-teen. He was everything Disney promised a prince would be: dashingly handsome, charming, and loved by everyone. And as he carries me out onto the back patio, he’s most definitely the prince come to rescue me from the party.
I sigh, my focus on him and him only as he jerks his head toward the partygoers already out here. They flee indoors, leaving me in a cognac-addled love-bubble with the ultimate prize.
“Have you had fun tonight?” He smiles gently at me, setting me on my feet.
My God, he’s everything. I reach up and run my fingertips through the lush ebony locks above his ear. “I have.”
“Good.” His hand circles my wrist, setting my arm back at my side.
Richard turns, reaching out to catch the object Christian tosses from the doorway. My clutch. The head of the Chosen boys presses my belongings to my chest, forcing me to take hold before it falls to the floor between us.
“No more free rides, Lacey.” His previously dashing smile has taken on another vastly cold meaning. “Goodnight.” He steps back to where Christian waits. “And goodbye.”
Wh—what? My lungs stutter, all the alcohol I’d consumed rising to the back of my throat as my stomach knots.
“Peasant.” Christian steps aside to let Richard past, and then shuts the door on me.
The snick of the lock undoes the last of my hope that this was all some playful joke. I stumble back, my arse colliding with the stone balustrade, and watch the people who I thought were friends for life while they go on about their evening.
Worse still, I watch the people who would once vacate seats for me, give me room to pass in the hall, and do damn near anything I wished, eye me with a mixture of pity and curiosity as they continue to party indoors.
My phone sings from inside my clutch, reigniting my fading wish that this is just some prank. I retrieve it with trembling hands and glance down at the screen. Colt.
C: Where are you? We need to go.
“You have to get up for school, Lace.” Colt leans in my doorway, dressed in his new Arcadia uniform.
I roll away, snuggling deeper in my goose-feather comforter—one of the few things I have remaining from my old life. Lord knows I don’t have my friends anymore. Although, Greer has messaged non-stop wanting to know why I left so suddenly on Saturday.
I guess no-one has told her what the boys did. Some things don’t change.
“Come on,” Colt urges softly.
My bedroom door rubs across the carpet as he moves it wider and presumably enters. The dip of my mattress tells me I was right.
“New start. New school.”
I twist at the waist to face him. “I don’t want a new start.” I want what I had: status, a future.
Options.
“What are you going to do then?” He leans one hand on the far side of my legs. “Skip the first day? How do you think that would look?”
“Nobody would miss me.” I resume staring at the faded drapes.
“Lead from the front,” he snaps. “You get your arse out of this bed, and you put the damn uniform on. And then you march your pretty butt into that school and show them who they deal with: Lacey. You were Chosen for a reason.”
I hesitate to gather myself before I whisper, “I’m not Chosen anymore.” Richard made that blatantly clear.
“These idiots don’t know that.”
I roll to my back at his devious tone. “What are you proposing, Colt?”
“I’m saying, sis, that you can walk into this school today and have them believe anything you want. They don’t know anything about us, who we are, what we lost.” He pauses, frowning. “You be who you want to be.”
He has a point …
“What’s for breakfast, then?”
Colt rises with a chuckle. “Low-fat muesli for you. Mum still wants you to keep some habits.”
Like ensuring my body-fat percentage is in her acceptable range. Still, she hasn’t steered me wrong yet. My mother can be harsh at times, but she’s always made me the best version of myself I can be.
“I need privacy.” I wave a hand at Colt before sitting up. “Let me change.”
“We leave in fifteen.”
Shoot. “I need longer than that!”
“Then, in the future, you better wake up when your alarm goes off.” He leaves, pulling my door shut behind him.
My alarm wasn’t the issue. It was the fact I stayed up until well after midnight scrolling through my Instagram with a new perspective. How long had my so-called peers felt this way about me? Why not cut off Colt and I back when Dad was first arrested if that was how they felt about our decline in status? Why wait until now?
Regardless, as Colt says, I have a chance to start anew. And even if I only have fifteen minutes, I can make sure I’m a force to be reckoned with when I step foot in Arcadia College’s campus.
^*^
“Perfect,” Colt appraises before continuing with his egg whites. “You’ll have the girls quaking in their boots.”
Yeah. I glance down at my Gucci ankle boots. “I try.”
My school shirt is unbuttoned to my breastbone, the jeans tight enough to showcase my hourglass figure. I opted to leave the scarf behind today, my blazer hanging undone to draw attention to my lean collarbones. Due to the lack of time, I went with a basic half-up half-down straight style for my hair, the silky lengths draped over my shoulders and teasing the top of my breasts. The uniform schedule didn’t say anything about makeup. So, I figured if I can’t wear my lash extensions every day, I’d have to rock the natural palette. I think I’ve managed to pull off the cute-as-a-button-but-don’t-fuck-with-me look pretty damn well.
The house is quiet save for the muted tones of the music Colt streams from his phone. Mum won’t rise until after ten, and Dad is already at work by the time we need to get ready for school. The table seems empty, not having all of us together, but I guess it’s one more thing I’ll get accustomed to after a while.
“You don’t have time for that.”
I set the bowl in my hand back in the cabinet with a sigh and reach for an oat-filled muesli bar instead. “I don’t even know what we need to take with us today.”
“Nothing.” Colt shrugs. “If they can’t give us definite instructions, then they can’t be disappointed if we fall short, can they?”
I guess not. Still, I have my MacBook in my satchel and a handful of pens. Aside from the usual necessities, of course: makeup, hair brush, phone, and cash.
Colt stashes his empty plate and snatches his keys from the hook by the door. “Come on, sis. We’ve got some kids to school on who’s in charge now.”
I give him a half-hearted smile and traipse out to the vehicle behind him after calling goodbye to Mum. I don’t know if she hears me, considering I get no response. But that’s not unusual either. Alicia has never been a morning person.
The oats settle my stomach somewhat, the bar lasting our entire drive to Arcadia College since I can’t manage more than a small nibble at a time. I don’t know why I’m nervous. I’ve never been the nervy type. Perhaps Richard had more effect than I thought?
The road into town is narrow and flanked by a wide berth of overgrown grass. Typical farm fences line the journey toward our future, the odd windbreak casting a shadow over our vehicle. I crack the window of Colt’s Explorer and lean my face against the glass. Sweet, fresh undertones of earth fill my nostrils, the smell somewhat comforting.
“I’ve got no idea where we’re supposed to park,” Colt mutters, leaning over the steering wheel as we slow and take the final corner before the school.
The view takes my breath away. I push off the window and straighten in my seat, mesmerised by the display before me. I knew after a little research that Arcadia High was a heritage
listed school, but seeing it in the flesh as opposed to a few dated images on the web? Wow.
The sprawling campus lies at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac; enormous oaks cascade over the roadway providing a contrasting shock of green against the dark grey of the stone buildings. What I assume to be the administration stands at the forefront; an extensive building that spreads its wings either side of the ornate iron gates. Three stories high and dressed in lush ivy, the first impression Arcadia High presents is that of a proud heritage.
“There seem to be a lot of vehicles out here,” I murmur, eyeballing the dirty trucks and compact sedans.
“I’ll ask at the office,” Colt states with a frown. He navigates the large SUV around the circular drive, bringing the vehicle to a stop outside the broad stone steps of Arcadia. “Stay here.”
Carved into the slab of stone over the entrance are the words Superbia et Contumacia. I frown, wracking my brain for the Latin lessons I took last year. Pride and … Nope. Gone. Still, if pride is one of the key words in their motto, perhaps the change won’t be such a huge one after all?
Hands folded in my lap, I note the staggered stream of students who pass through the gates and into the belly of the grounds. Girls with full, naturally sun-kissed hair. Boys with neatly shaven short back and sides. And every one of them wearing the uniform impeccably.
A truck pulls into a vacant park several down from the gates, five year-threes piling out of the doors in unison. I watch a girl with white-blonde hair as she barrels forward, drawn to her larger-than-life enthusiasm. For such a small girl, she sure seems to hold her ground.
“You’re right. We need to park on the road out there.”
I snap my gaze to Colt, oblivious to the fact he’d returned. “Great.” The girl has gone, enveloped by the incredible stone arch that leads through to the courtyard.
Colt starts the car, edging forward before he abruptly applies the brakes. “What the hell?”
My chest constricts, heart stuttering at the sight before me.
The same enormous bay horse that I saw in town with Mum strides through the gates, the boy who rides it ten-times more handsome up close.
