I reach into the back pocket of my ripped jeans and pull out the pamphlet detailing everything new students need to know to “adjust and acclimate” to campus life. A handy little map is laid out on one page of the pamphlet, telling me where to find the administration building.
It’s a Friday afternoon, and classes won’t start until Monday, so the campus is pretty dead as I walk across the manicured lawn.
No complaints here.
I suppress a snort. I know I’ll have to meet the other students eventually, but I imagine that none of these rich shits with their fancy cars and trust funds will look favorably upon the dyed-haired, tattooed stranger who’s invaded their precious school grounds.
Not like I actually give a shit what they think.
Pocketing my map since I have a good idea of where I’m going, I’m about to veer left toward a large stone building when a wave of dizziness hits me hard. The breeze shifts, carrying the heavy scent of lilacs to my nostrils, and the cloying, potent fragrance only makes the dizziness worse.
My feet stumble to a halt, and I sway slightly, wishing I had something to fucking hold on to for balance. I may not give a shit what these rich assholes think of me, but life has taught me not to show weakness around people I don’t trust—which is pretty much everyone.
Fuck.
Can’t I have an episode somewhere else?
Preferably in solitude, where the potential blackout won’t gain me an unwanted audience.
My chest hurts. My head feels like it’s going to split open. I swallow down the metallic taste of bile, trying to close my nostrils off to the too sweet, too cloying scent.
Shit. First the episode on my last day at the McAlisters’ house, and now this. I don’t like how off-kilter I feel at the mercy of my fucked up brain.
The breeze shifts again, and I manage to force my feet to carry me forward. A few more yards and the floral smell fades from the air, allowing me to drag in deeper breaths. I clench my hands into fists as I force my head to clear, dragging myself away from the edge of an attack.
Suddenly, a body slams into mine.
My already not-quite-there balance is thrown off entirely, but a strong arm wraps around me before I can go down like a sack of bricks.
“Whoa there, my bad. Was on my phone and didn’t see you there.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t listen when someone tells you to watch where you’re going,” a second deep voice chimes in.
I pull away from the first speaker’s hold, steadying myself through sheer willpower alone. My vision is still a little blurry, but when it settles and clears, I turn around to find myself looking at two guys close to my age.
One is blond and built like a fucking linebacker, like he could go toe-to-toe with Jason Mamoa himself. His light brown eyes gleam with amusement, as if something funny just happened, and a goofy grin quirks his lips, showcasing twin dimples in his cheeks.
Beside him stands a guy with messy dark hair and eyes that are such a deep brown they look almost black. He’s surprisingly tatted up for a school like this—honestly, I sort of expected to be the only person on campus with any ink. The design on his left arm emerges from under the sleeve of his T-shirt, snaking all the way down to his wrist.
He looks vaguely familiar, although maybe it’s just because I’ve seen his I don’t give a fuck expression on so many faces before.
“Anyway, sorry.” The linebacker speaks up again, drawing my attention back to him.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.” I stand a little straighter, shaking my head a little to test it. The world doesn’t spin in my vision, and I breathe a little sigh of relief that I managed to stave off a full-on attack.
“My name’s Elias, by the way.” His grin widens as he holds out his hand like he expects me to shake it. “You? Never seen you around here before—and I always know who the ladies of Hawthorne are.”
“She’s obviously a freshman.” His friend shrugs. He’s still got that disinterested look on his face, but the intense way his gaze is zeroed in on me tells a different story. “I’m Declan.”
Unlike Elias, he doesn’t hold his hand out, just jerks his chin up in a half nod.
“Why is that obvious?” I ask, brow shooting up. Challenging.
Elias laughs. “Spunky. I like that. But don’t take it the wrong way. The only new faces at Hawthorne are first-years. The school doesn’t take on transfers.”
“Why? Does it spoil the elite breeding gene pool the school’s founders are trying to cultivate?”
Elias laughs again; his dimples deepen.
“Nah. Maybe? Probably. But it’d be hard to spoil everyone’s good genes.” He winks at me. “Mine are particularly impressive. So. Where’d you come from?” He cocks his head. “That hair… those gorgeous grey eyes… You a Weston cousin? Or maybe a rebel from the Clairemont family?”
“Avery does have a thing for tattoos. Maybe it’s genetic.” Declan eyes my ink appreciatively.
I can’t help the bemused laugh that falls from my lips. Are these rich guys really standing here contemplating what other ridiculously rich people I may or may not be related to?
“No. Jesus, I’m not a Weston or a Clairemont or a… whatever.” I shake my head, interrupting them as they list increasingly pretentious-sounding surnames. “I don’t even know who any of those people are. I’m one of the new scholarship students. I’m from LA.”
The shift in the two men in front of me is like a lightning strike against a night sky—sudden and ominous. Their voices break off, their features darkening as they stare at me for a moment.
What the fuck?
“You’re one of the new scholarship students?” Elias asks slowly, his dimples nowhere to be seen now.
Well, so much for all that cordiality, all the easy-going charm and high-bred flirting. I expected to be given some shit for being the charity case among the elite, but I’m honestly a little taken aback by how instantaneous and intense the change in them was.
A second ago, they were both looking at me with an appreciative sort of hunger in their eyes.
Now their expressions are completely shuttered, closed off and hard.
At least I don’t care enough to be offended.
“Yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m one of the scholarship students. Is that a problem?”
6
Elias blinks, as if my words have startled him out of some private thought. Then he gives a half-smile, although it has nowhere near the wattage of charm his earlier grin held. “Nah, it’s not a problem. It’s just…”
“Unexpected,” Declan finishes when Elias trails off.
“Yeah.” Elias shrugs, shooting a glance at his friend before looking back at me. “Since there are so few of you, we don’t usually meet the scholarship kids so randomly outside of classes…”
Sure. That’s why they both just went from hot to cold like someone flipped a damn switch.
Bull-fucking-shit.
They’re acting weird, and irritation rises inside me—not so much at them as at myself. I actually got taken in by their charm and easy good looks for a second. I let my guard down more than I should have, forgetting lessons I’ve spent years learning the hard way.