by Mercy Amare
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Friday, September 6
Saturday, September 7
Sunday, September 8
Monday, September 9
Tuesday, September 10
Wednesday, September 11
Thursday, September 12
Friday, September 13
Saturday, September 14
Sunday, September 14
Monday, September 16
Tuesday, September 17
Wednesday, September 18
Thursday, September 19
Friday, September 20
Saturday, September 21
Sunday, September 22
Monday, September 23
Tuesday, September 24
Author's Note
Other Books by Mercy
Acknowledgments
Find Me Online
Mercy Amare
Losing Grip
New Haven Academy, Book 1
Copyright © 2014 by Mercy Amare
Cover designed by P.S. Cover Designs
Edited by Janet from Dragonfly Editing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any forms or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a review—who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to anybody who has ever felt like giving up.
It gets better. I promise.
Friday, September 6
New Haven Academy — North Andover, MA
As I drive through the gates of my new home, I wonder if I’m entering prison. It certainly feels that way. Though, I’m still not sure why I’m here. After a four and a half hour drive, I’ve had plenty of time to run away. I shouldn’t be here. I belong at home. But I know my dad. If I ran away, he would inevitably find me. And somehow, the punishment for running seems worse than this.
It’s just for one year, right?
At least, I hope just one year. I really want to be home for my senior year of high school.
The guard at the gate asks for my ID, so I hand him my driver’s license. He types my name in his computer, smiles, and hands my ID back.
“Good luck, Miss Rivera,” he says, and waves me on.
I drive through the gates, and I’m shocked at what I see on the other side.
New Haven Academy sits on two hundred and fifty acres, and it’s quite beautiful. It’s still warm out, so the trees are lush and green, but I can imagine how beautiful it will be in the fall when the leaves start turning. Or in the winter, when snow is covering the rolling hills.
As I get closer to the school, I see a lake. I cringe a little when I see the water, but I have to admit, it is beautiful.
I am not driving for long when I see a huge sign saying “Welcome to New Haven Academy—home of the fighting Eagles”.
I want to roll my eyes.
I don’t have much school spirit. Even at my old high school, I never went to a basketball or football game. It’s just not my thing.
The school looks old.
Well, I guess it is old. This school has been here since 1902. But, even I have to admit, it’s beautiful.
New Haven kind of reminds me of the time that I toured Harvard with my older brother, Caleb. Except, of course, New Haven Academy is much smaller. There is a large brick building with tall white columns in the front. It’s three stories high and it has large floor to ceiling windows.
As I keep driving, I see a track, a tennis court, a baseball field, a football field, and various other actives that I definitely won’t be joining.
I drive by a group of guys playing a game of basketball. Some of the guys aren’t wearing shirts, and I have to force myself to watch the road and not the guys. They kind of look good, but the last thing I need is a crush. I don’t want to get attached to anybody here.
I get to a group of matching buildings, which I can only assume are the dorms. There are a total of eight matching brick buildings, four for the guys and four for the girls. I park my car and get out. I’m about to grab my luggage from the back when a guy wearing khaki pants and a New Haven Academy blazer comes up to me. He is holding a clipboard in his hand and he has yet to look up at me.
“Name,” he says.
“Jinger Rivera,” I answer.
Finally, he looks up. “You’re in the Wellington dorm. 11B. Second floor. At 10 a.m. today there is orientation. The directions are in your welcome packet.”
He hands me a set of keys and an envelope and I take them.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I’m Winston Graham, by the way,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Winston.” I go to grab my bags from the trunk, but he stops me.
“Don’t worry about your bags. Somebody will collect them for you,” he says, then looks at my car. “Nice car.”
“Thanks.” I love my car, though I will admit that Winston doesn’t seem like a car kind of guy. So I have to ask, “What kind of car do you drive?”
“I have a Rolls Royce,” he answers.
“What model?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. My dad bought it for my birthday last year.”
And I was right.
He’s not a car guy.
I drive a Bentley Continental GT BR-10. It’s ghost white. I wanted a convertible, but my dad argued that a convertible wasn’t as safe if I were to get in a collision, so I got a coupe. I guess I don’t mind, but it seems silly giving a sixteen year old a car that is this fast if you’re concerned about safety.
“The guys should be here soon to carry your bags,” Winston says, giving me a tight smile.
He’s very... stiff. And for a moment, I wonder what the heck is wrong with him. But then again, what’s wrong with any of us? I’m at a boarding school, full of kids with rich parents, just like me. I’m guessing I’m not the only one with parental issues. I mean, if our parents truly cared, we would be with them and not at some stuffy boarding school.
As Winston is walking off, two other guys are walking towards me. They both have huge, goofy grins on their faces and they’re joking with each other. They definitely seem friendlier than Winston.
“Nice car,” the blond guy says, then he looks at me. “You’re not so bad looking yourself.”
The black headed guy beside him bumps him with his elbow. “Excuse my friend, Drew. He’s been in Europe all summer with his family and he seems to have forgotten his manners while he was away.”
“European women, man,” Drew says. “What can I say? I miss it already.”
I motion towards my trunk. “So, um... you guys are supposed to help me with my stuff, right?”
Drew bows jokingly in front of me. “At your service, madam.”
“It’s... Jinger, actually. Just call me Jinger,” I say.
“Isn’t your name kind of an oxymoron?” Drew asks, his blue eyes sparkling with humor.
“What do you mean?”
“Your name is Jinger, but your hair is dark brown,” he answers.
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask my parents,” I
say sarcastically.
“I can see copper tones in it,” the other boy says. “In the sunlight, it definitely has a red tint.”
I smile at him.
“I’m Sebastian Cruz, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand.
I accept it, but feel weird about shaking the hand of somebody my own age. “Jinger Rivera.”
“Rivera? As in Rivera Industries?” Drew asks.
I nod my head.
“Your dad is Preston Rivera?” he asks.
I nod my head again.
Crap.
I shouldn’t have said my last name.
“Wow,” he says, with his mouth open slightly. “I’m Drew Watson. It’s nice to meet you, Jinger.”
They grab my bags, except the one with my laptop inside. I carry it. Mostly because I never let anybody else touch my MacBook. Ever.
“So, what’s up with that Winston guy?” I ask them as we walk toward my dorm. “Does he always act as if he has a stick up his butt?”
Drew and Sebastian both bust out laughing.
“Winston is... intense,” Sebastian answers. “His dad is the senator of Massachusetts and the rumor is that he’s running for president in the next election. Winston definitely plans on following in his dad’s footsteps. He always runs for class president, and his focus is always on school.”
“He never comes to parties,” Drew says. “Two years at this place, and I’ve hardly had a conversation with the guy. Except at election time. He can turn on the charm when he wants.”
“Then I suppose he will make a great politician,” I say.
Sebastian laughs.
Drew doesn’t.
“My dad a politician,” he says, sounding offended.
“Um... sorry...” I bite my lip.
Great. I’ve been here two seconds and I’ve already offended somebody.
“I’m kidding. He’s a lawyer.” Drew playfully slaps me on the back.
Like a lawyer is any better than a politician...
When we get to my dorm, I use the key Winston gave me to open it.
Inside, it’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be. There are two twin-sized beds, which means I will definitely be sharing a room with somebody.
Sebastian and Drew set my stuff down by the bed farthest from the door.
“Thanks for your help,” I tell them.
“No problem,” Sebastian says. “I’ll see you around, Jinger.”
“Later,” Drew says.
They both walk out of my room, and once the door shuts I can’t help but feel alone.
My mom and dad didn’t even care enough to drive me here today.
The only thing that keeps me from bursting into tears is the fact that I get to talk to my big brother tonight.
I miss him like crazy.
10 a.m.
Orientation.
I don’t have time to unpack before orientation, so I quickly get dressed and ready to head over.
Class doesn’t officially start until Monday, so I don’t have to wear my school uniform. I’m putting that off until I absolutely have to.
Today, I decide to go casual. I put on a hot pink sundress. It has spaghetti straps and cuts off mid-thigh. I wear a pair of black leggings under it, just because I don’t like showing off my legs. I also put on a pair of matching Vans and leave my wavy hair down. I haven’t done anything with my hair today, but I usually don’t. It looks good natural.
I also don’t wear makeup.
Or jewelry.
I leave my dorm room and head to orientation. I’m just hoping there are a few other juniors in there. I don’t want to be the only new kid in this school who isn’t a freshman.
“Want me to walk you to orientation?” a voice asks, once I am outside.
I look up to see the blond guy from earlier, Drew, standing there.
“Um... no thanks, I’m good,” I say.
“I’m just trying to be a good friend,” he says. “You’re new. I thought you could use a friend.”
“I could... can... I just don’t want you to think I’m helpless. I’m capable of going to orientation without any help from you,” I say, and then start walking as if to prove my point.
“It’s the other way,” he says.
I turn around. “Right. I knew that.”
I so didn’t know that.
“Well, since you don’t need my help, I will see you around, Jinger,” Drew says, then walks towards another dorm room.
Drew is... kind of weird.
But I think I’m going to like him.
He’s nice.
It only takes me about three minutes to walk to orientation.
There is only one other junior inside. His name is Isaac Miller.
Isaac is really artsy. He told me how excited he was that he is going to be working at the school radio station. I didn’t even know the school had a radio station. Not that I would. I only listen to music on my phone or computer. I can’t remember the last time I actually listened to the radio.
While we are listening to the dean go over the rules, Isaac sketches some pictures in a notebook and I watch. He’s really quite amazing. He sketches a picture of me. He lets me keep that one. And he draws one of the dean, but he does it in more of a comic style drawing.
I also find out that the dean’s name is Dean Tolken.
After orientation comes to an end, Isaac and I walk to lunch together.
“I can’t believe the dean’s name is Dean,” Isaac says. “How weird is that?”
“Extremely.”
We get our food and then pause as we look out at the cafeteria.
“Augh, the dreaded moment,” Isaac says. “Where do we sit?”
“Jinger!”
I look to the left and see Sebastian is waving me over.
“Well, I guess you know where you’re sitting,” Isaac says, his head hanging down slightly.
“Come sit with me,” I tell him. “I don’t really know him. He just helped me earlier with my bags. I’m sure he won’t mind, though. He seems nice.”
“Somebody helped carry your bags in?” he asks, as we walk towards the table. “Nobody helped me.”
I smile and take a seat at the table. Isaac sits beside me.
“This is Isaac,” I tell Sebastian and Drew.
“I’m Sebastian.”
“Drew.”
They both give him head nods, which is very different from the greeting I got earlier.
“So, Jinger, where are you from?” Drew asks me.
“The Hamptons. New York,” I answer.
“What brings you to boarding school?” he continues. “We don’t get many juniors.”
Crap.
Why am I at boarding school?
I really, really don’t want to answer that question.
Thankfully, I don’t have to.
“I’m a junior as well. I’m here because my dad took a job in South Korea. He will be there for two years and he couldn’t take me. So, here I am,” Isaac says. “A school, nanny, and cook all in one.”
“What Drew isn’t telling you is that he was new here last year,” Sebastian says. “He burned down his school gym and this was basically the only school that would take him.”
Drew shrugs. “It’s true. Though it was an accident.”
“I’m surprised they let you in here,” Isaac says. “Arson seems like it would be frowned upon.”
“My dad knows the dean,” Drew says. “What about you two? I hear it’s next to impossible to get if you’re not a freshman.”
“I had no problems,” I tell him.
“Of course not. Your dad is like the third richest guy in the world,” Drew says.
“What?” Isaac’s eyes grow wide.
“It’s really not that big of a deal.” And it’s not. Not to me. Most of the time, I wish I had a normal family. One that lived in a happy house in the suburbs. Maybe my sister would still be alive, and we’d be a happy family. Instead, we are all miserable.
“It is a big deal,” Drew says. “Most of the kids at the school are very rich, but you will make the richest person here look poor.”
“Don’t tell anybody my name. It’s not anybody’s business,” I tell them. “I just want to be treated normal.”
“He won’t tell,” Sebastian says, looking me in the eye. I can tell he’s trying to read me.
Ha, good luck with that.
“Thanks,” I say, then look down at my food. I’m really not hungry, but I force myself to eat a little bit.
I haven’t had much of an appetite over the past three months. Not since everything happened with my brother. I don’t know how much longer I can run on three hours of sleep a night. How much longer can I live on energy drinks, coffee, and minimal food.
Not that I had that much of an appetite before, either.
Really, the past eleven years have been a blur.
“Are you going to the school mixer tonight?” Isaac asks us.
“What mixer?” I ask.
“There was a flyer in your welcome packet. Did you not see it?”
I shake my head.
“Every year, there is a ‘welcome back to school’ mixer,” Sebastian says. “It’s kind of fun. We all just hang out, eat food, catch up.”
“The real fun is after the mixer,” Drew says. “We all have a party after curfew and get drunk and high. It’s quite fun.”
“Well, you have fun with that. I definitely won’t be at the after party,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
I don’t drink or do drugs. Ever.
I used to... but that was before.
“You don’t have to drink or do drugs,” Sebastian says. “I don’t. I just go there to hang out with my friends. An eleven o’clock curfew is kind of ridiculous on the weekend.”
“It’s ten on school nights,” Drew says, clearly annoyed. “I haven’t had a curfew since I was twelve.”
“So what time is this mixer?” I ask, changing the subject from the party.
“It starts at six and goes until curfew,” he answers.
But my brother will be calling at eight.
