by E. M. Snow
Screw.
That.
Shit.
“I’m good,” I insist. “I’m really tired, and I’m sure you both have better things to do than cart my ass around.”
“Hooray, she’s smarter than she looks,” Laurel mutters.
She misses my sneer because she instantly goes back to pouting at the text message chain on her phone screen.
“Cool, well, that’s your dorm.” Gabe absentmindedly points to the huge, red brick building right behind me, his mind clearly gravitating toward other things now that I’ve given him a pass on his obligations to me. He hands me a small yellow envelope, and I feel the imprint of a key when I take it. “And this is your welcome packet—key, room number, all that good stuff.”
“Thanks.” As soon as the driver hands me my duffle, I turn without a word.
I only make it a few steps before Laurel calls after me, her voice laced with glee and venom. “Teague Hall is the shittiest dorm on campus. Just so you know.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” I say, adding under my breath, “Hateful bitch.” I don’t look back and make my way toward the building as fast as I can without it looking like I’m running away. Unfortunately, I’m in such a hurry, I’m not paying very much attention to what’s ahead of me. Just as I reach the front of the building, the huge double doors bang open and I run headfirst into something tall, broad, and solid. My duffle falls from my hand and I let out a startled cry.
“Sorry about that, I—” But then I look up, and the world seems to come to a total standstill. I find myself gazing into the grayish-blue eyes of the most stunning boy I’ve ever seen. Ruffled blonde hair, angular face with a sharp nose and jaw, and a bronze, muscular body like a brick wall adorned in low-slung dark jeans and a white t-shirt. His glare is cold, but it doesn’t feel personal. I don’t know why, but I get the sense he’s always glaring. He doesn’t say anything to me. Doesn’t apologize or excuse himself. He just smirks down at me like he finds the situation mildly amusing and keeps on walking, his strides long and confident.
I watch him go, a strange sense of disappointment washing through me.
This place must be full of shiny turds.
Scowling, I grab my duffle and continue into the building, shoving the beautiful guy with his blue glare from my mind. I take the elevator to the third floor and wander down the corridor toward my room. Three big boxes of what must be uniforms and books are stacked outside my door, and someone has posted a sign over my peephole that reads, Welcome to Angelview Academy, Mallory Ellis, Class of 2020.
Nervous because Laurel promised I would be walking into a shithole, I twist my key in the lock, open the door and step inside. My heart instantly launches into my throat.
To people like Laurel and Gabe, I’m sure this room with its plain gray walls and standard furniture—a twin-size bed, desk and chair, dresser, and nightstand—isn’t much. But the thing is, it’s not just a room but a suite. To my left, there’s a kitchenette with a small stainless-steel refrigerator, microwave, and a single-serve coffee maker on the granite counter. When I glance to my right, I spot the entrance to my bathroom. I wander inside and flip on the light switch, my lips popping open in a silent “Ahhh.”
It’s tiny, yes, but everything I need is here—a sink, commode, and shower stall. Hell, they’ve even stocked the shelves above the commode with towels, wash cloths, and toilet paper.
Meeting my bug-eyed expression in the mirror over the sink, I shake my head. “Craziness,” I whisper through the biggest smile I’ve ever worn.
I mean, it really is crazy.
I’ve never had my own bathroom before.
Half my life, I haven’t even had my own room and was forced to sleep on couches or in sports memorabilia rooms that belonged to whoever Jenn was banging at the time.
Leaving the bathroom, I return to the hall and start moving the boxes inside. I’m on the last box when something streaks across my foot.
Something small.
And furry.
I leap up onto the desk and scream with all my might.
3
I’m still screaming when my door flies open and a very tall, very beautiful girl with light brown skin and long, curly black hair rushes over the threshold.
“Dorito!” she cries, diving under my desk. I stare in shock as she wiggles around on her belly for several moments. Suddenly, she pulls herself back out into the open, a tiny striped kitten clutched in her hands. “There you are, baby! I was so worried about you.”
The kitten mewls and nuzzles the girl’s thumb.
“Um … excuse me,” I murmur, unsure how I should respond to the intrusion.
I glance from her to the kitten for such a long time, she eventually twists her lips and stands up. “You’re not allergic, are you? My stepsister claims to be, but I don’t trust a word that leaves Twatiana’s mouth.”
“No.” Reaching out, I trace my knuckles behind Dorito’s ear. He purrs softly, cuddling the side of my hand. “I-I just thought he was a mouse,” I admit on a throaty chuckle.
And while I consider myself pretty damn resilient, I draw the line at mice and rats. We once lived in a shitty, one-bedroom trailer across from a cornfield that was infested with them. Mom just waved it off like the presence of rodents was nothing, but for the longest time, I had nightmares about the little bastards scurrying around behind the refrigerator and stove.
The girl backs away to give me room to slide off the desk. “Oh God, I can already imagine the scandal if someone saw a mouse. Angelview would go down in flames because the elite were exposed to such squalid conditions.” Winking, she plops down on the edge of my bed and fluffs her fingers through her curls that I’m already envious of. It takes a pound of hairspray for my hair to even consider holding a curl. “I’m Alondra James,” she announces.
James. It’s such a common name, but my chest still squeezes taut. For a moment, I don’t see Alondra because all I can picture is my James. The boy who was my best friend. A year ago, it was him sitting at the edge of my bed, on the most uncomfortable mattress in Rayfort, in the first real house Mom and I ever lived. I’d given him hell about his unkempt auburn hair and stinky football socks. He’d teased me about the way I looked at his older brother.
It seems like a lifetime ago. He seems like a lifetime ago.
“You’re not having a seizure, are you?”
I snap out of the memory to find concern pinching Alondra’s lips. Keeping my head down, I stalk toward the uniform boxes I left in the center of the room. “No, I’m fine. My name is—”
“Mallory Ellis,” she interrupts, then tsks Dorito when he paws at one of her dangly canary yellow earrings. At my groan, she narrows her dark eyes. “What? I passed the sign on your door about twenty times since I got here on Thursday, so it wasn’t too hard to figure it out.”
“I … I was just waiting for you to remind me that I’m a charity case,” I say, a flinch issuing from my shoulders.
She wrinkles her nose, and I mentally prepare myself to hear something rude, but then she shakes her head slowly. “Why would I do something like that?”
Is it just me, or does she sound a little stung that I would even suggest it?
“I don’t know, I just…” Grabbing a box, I take it over to my desk, sending an apologetic smile over my shoulder. “Sorry if I seemed bitchy, Alondra, just a little on edge after this girl I met tried to make me feel like crap about it.”
“Just call me Loni and hold up a second. That’s what you call bitchy?” She chuckles darkly and shakes her head, her hair bouncing around the thick white straps of her sundress. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful child, you’re in for some next level, stab-you-in-the-back-with-a-fencing-sabre-and-laugh-over-your-corpse shit.”
“That bad?”
She winks. “Only if you get in their way.”
“Good thing I don’t plan to.” Fishing a nail file from my purse, I start sawing through the tape on the box.
“So, if you don
’t mind me asking, who gave you hell about the scholarship? Just so I can know who else to avoid this year.”
“The school sent two members from the student counsel to pick me up from the airport and the first thing the girl did was point out that I’m a charity case. She was … something,” I say.
“Hmm. Sounds about right. Did she tell you about her parents and ask for your full ancestry report, too?” She points her nose in the air and says in a crisp, refined voice, “Hello, my name is Lilith. My father, Satan, is the CEO of Hell Enterprises. You might have seen him on the cover of Forbes last month where he talked about the recent layoffs in the third circle and how he played golf with Dracula last week. Daddy’s kind of a big deal. Now, tell me about your family so I can decide if you’re worthy.”
Nailed it.
Lips twitching, I tug at one cardboard flap, prying the box open. “She told me about her family, but I doubt she cares much about mine.” And what would I have said if Laurel had asked? That I’m the product of a long line of paternal abandonment, have no reliable relatives unless I counted Carley, and that my mother is a former addict turned dealer who’s wanted in two states.
I mean, I guess I could have churched it up and claimed Mom is a shady businesswoman.
Alondra leans back, plucking the blinds over my bed apart to peer down into the courtyard. “So, who was it? Carrington Lively? Saydi Marlow? Jessica—”
“Laurel Vanderpick.”
“You met the Laurel Vanderpick of the House Vanderpick, first of her name, the unfeeling, spreader of gossip and other nasty bullshit?” Snapping the blinds back in place, she spins toward me so fast, Dorito tries to leap from her lap, but she pulls him close to her chest. “Laurel is, and excuse my basic bitch lingo, the worst.”
“Sounds about right. In the thirty minutes I was forced to spend with her, she told me that the academy has lowered its standards, whined about the cleaning service she’s hired for her dorm, and vowed to have ICE arrest her stepmother.”
She blinks several times, then throws her head back and roars with laughter. “God, I can’t….” Tears of merriment glint at the corners of her eyes when she lowers her head. “I think Dorito and I need to make a trip to Jacoby House so he can roll around on her bed.”
I draw a stack of neatly folded uniform shirts, complete with tags, from the box and take them to the dresser. “Why? Is she allergic—” When it hits me, my heart drops all the way to my kneecaps. “Oh no, please don’t tell me she’s your—”
She confirms with a groan and a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Lucky me, right? Of all the nasty mean girls in this school, I end up with that thing as a stepsister.”
“Ugh, I’m so sorry,” I mutter. “How’s your mom?”
“Fine.” But she makes a face. “I mean, other than being married to the greedy old bastard that spawned Lilith, she’s fine. Mom was born in Brooklyn, plus she’s Puerto Rican, so ICE essentially told Laurel to suck a dick.”
A bark of laughter bursts from my throat. “No shit? That’s amazing.”
“It was pretty great.” Alondra nods. Then, her gaze turns serious. “Look, you should avoid Laurel because she’s a hateful bitch, but you should definitely avoid anyone associated with Hot Draco.”
Up goes my eyebrows. “Wait, who?” Because I’m pretty sure Draco Malfoy’s not going to pop out from behind a corner and start firing unforgivable curses at me.
“Gabe’s tall, blond, and evil bestie,” she clarifies. “Laurel will ruin your day. That boy and his friends will ruin your life.”
“That sounds … ominous.” And extreme. Gabe was a sarcastic, shallow ass, but he didn’t seem like someone who goes around ruining lives. Who are these people?
I open my mouth to probe her further, curiosity eating at me, but her phone buzzes. Grabbing it from the pocket of her dress, her eyes light up in delight.
“Sorry, Mallory, it’s my dad. I gotta take this.”
“No problem,” I tell her, though I’m dying to know more about these guys she’s warned me about. “I’ll see you later maybe?”
“Definitely,” she confirms, standing up with Dorito clutched in one hand, and her phone in the other. She hurries to leave my room, and I hear her gush, “Hey, Dad…” as she wanders back down the hall.
I sigh. Must be nice. Then I remember that I need to call Carley. She’s probably going out of her mind wondering if I died on the ride to the school. I grab my phone from my bag and sit on my new bed, punching in her number.
When I find the dining hall across campus a few hours later, I’m floored by the utter opulence of the huge space. It looks like a five-star restaurant—well, at least what I think one should look like—complete with cloth covered tables and real silverware. I wander inside, scanning the room for a seat, a little lost as to what exactly I’m supposed to do. Do I sit and order? Do I go pick out my food myself? Where the hell are the trays?
Maybe I should’ve sucked up my pride and taken Laurel and Gabe up on their offer for a tour. Then I wouldn’t feel so clueless.
“Mallory! Hey, over here!”
I look to my left and spot Alondra waving at me from a table by the wall. Relief sweeps through me as I make my way over to her. She’s alone, but it doesn’t appear that’s been the case the whole time. There are dirty plates at a few of the other seats around her.
“Hey,” I say, smiling as I reach her. “Are you finishing up?”
Blowing a loose curl out of her face, she shakes her head. “Nah, I was waiting for you. I figured you had to come down out of hiding eventually.”
I laugh, sliding into the only seat with a clean place setting left at the table.
“So, how’s this work? Don’t tell me there’s waiters for the cafeteria.”
“This place is pretentious as hell, but it’s not that pretentious. There’s a serving line through that door over there.” I follow the path of her pointed finger and nod. “You can grab a plate and pick what you want. I will warn you, though, there are crab legs and a sushi bar.”
“No fucking way!”
“Oh, man. I’m gonna like you, Mallory,” she laughs.
I move to stand up in order to grab food, but I pause when a group of guys approach the table, their eyes alight with excitement and their gazes locked on Alondra.
She heaves a heavy sigh from behind me, and I hear her grumble something that sounds suspiciously like, “Here we go again.”
“Hey, Baby Juggernaut,” one of the guys, a big, beefy dude with short-cropped black hair, says with a wide grin. “Hell of a fight last night.”
Curiosity furrows my brow, and I glance toward her, but she doesn’t appear fazed by the comment. “Yeah, it was a good one.” She gives a curt nod, though she doesn’t seem overly thrilled by the conversation.
“He’ll be able to compete for a title again soon, yeah?” another of the guys asks. He’s shorter and blonde with baby cheeks.
She releases another deep sigh. “Next month, hopefully.”
“Awesome,” the first guy gushes like a fangirl.
“Okay boys, trying to hang out with my new friend here.” Alondra waves her hand at them, shooing them away. “Be gone.”
The group moves on, chatting excitedly among themselves. Nibbling on my bottom lip, I stare at Alondra, silently asking for an explanation. She peeks at me before letting out an exasperated breath. “So … my dad’s kind of a big deal with the sports groupies at this shithole.”
“How so?”
She glances around, as though afraid to say it out loud. “He’s a pretty popular MMA fighter, so after every fight, the guys usually—”
“Hold on!” I slam my hands flat on the table as I replay the bigger guy’s comment in my mind. “Is your dad Titus James? The Juggernaut?”
Her brown eyes widen with obvious surprise. “Uhhhhh … yeah, actually. How the hell do you know that?”
Because I’m a huge fan. One of the only decent boyfriends my mom ever had used to watch MMA on Pay-
Per-View all the time and would let me join him. I’ve been hooked ever since. Not that I’m going to tell Alondra any of that. People at this school may know I’m here on scholarship, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let them find out about everything else.
My drug-addled, missing-in-action mom.
The accident.
James.
Don’t think of that now. Once the memories break free, you can’t put them back in their box.
“One of my uncles is a big MMA fan,” I say, erring on the side of just enough truth so she can’t tell I’m full of shit. I mean, that’s what Mom always called her boyfriends when they were doing us favors like buying me new school clothes or paying our light bill. Uncles.
Clearing my throat, I shrug and add, “I used to watch with him when I was a kid and have had a small obsession ever since. Your dad is my favorite.”
“Well damn, I didn’t expect that.”
I want to ask more about her dad, but her expression suddenly darkens and her eyes lock on something behind me.
My eyebrows tug together. “Loni? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t look now, but two of the gods have arrived.”
“The gods?”
“Hot Draco’s minions.” Nostrils flaring, she scowls. “They just walked through the door with their usual throng of thirsty admirers.”
I can’t help myself; I turn around because I have to see what all the fuss is about. Who are these gods? The way Alondra acts, they seem larger than life, but they’re just other students, right? What could be so scary about a couple of rich boys?
Gabe is strolling through the dining hall with a cocky smirk, looking for all the world like he owns the place. The boy walking next to him looks a little less arrogant, but a lot moodier. He has that tortured rock star vibe—lankier body draped in a black long-sleeved shirt and dark worn jeans, lips thinned in a brooding line, a swagger in each step he takes. His artfully disarranged black hair and dark eyes only add to the air of angst that seems to radiate off him.
