“Shut up,” I growl, and he snickers. “Do not.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Bodhi says, and I move, socking him in the arm. “Is this our first fight?” Bodhi asks, and I can’t help but grin at him.
“So … you and Trixie, huh?” I turn the tables on him.
Brock chuckles, and I swing my gaze to him before he goes quiet again.
“Nah, she has a boyfriend. One who isn’t this freak.” Corbin hooks a thumb toward the front, and Bodhi turns around to give him the finger. “Ah, they had a thing freshman year. Then, she ghosted him, and he has never recovered.”
“She didn’t fuckin’ ghost me.” Bodhi pouts.
I lean forward. “Tell me more,” I say, really getting into the story.
“We’re here.” Brocks gruff tone cuts into the fun.
I look outside. It’s a very remote and woodsy-looking area.
Pulling up in front of a gate, much like the one guarding the Montgomery house, Brock pushes a button on the key fob in his car, and the gate rolls open. I wonder if all the students get one to be able to open the gate.
We pass the guardhouse, the officer inside giving a small salute to the boys as we continue through. After a short drive down a paved road with large trees looming on either side, the school rises in front of us, huge and Gothic-looking. It reminds me of a cathedral with the way the stone building looms over us. The spires reach to the sky, and the arching stone windows down the length of it lend a haunted quality. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.
I shiver a little, and Corbin glances over at me.
“It’s worse than it looks,” he says.
I shiver again. I’m not sure I’m ready for Almadale Prep.
“Oh, shut up. Quit scaring her,” Bodhi says, and I turn wide eyes on him. “It’s not that bad.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” Corbin shoots back.
“We are the kings,” Brock says.
My eyes open wider. “You are what?”
“The Three Kings.”
“You call yourself the Three Kings?” I scoff.
Brock finds my eyes in the mirror. “No. Everyone calls us the Three Kings. Girls’ dorm. Get out,” Brock says, holding my gaze.
I square my shoulders. “Someone should teach you some manners,” I mutter.
He shoves open his door, stalking to the back. He pulls out my bags and throws them on the ground. Corbin and Bodhi are silent, and I nod, realizing who they will side with. I open the door, climbing out before Brock can speed off with me hanging halfway out.
Douche bags.
“Hate you too,” I say to their taillights, and then I stare up at my dorm.
Two girls walk out and give me a once-over. I’m standing there with my bags in the dirt, and they raise their eyebrows at each other before walking away, glancing over their designer-clothing-clad shoulders to study me again. I lift my hand in a little wave that they don’t return.
I sigh and bend down to pick up my bags, shuffling them around until I realize I can’t get all three of them at once, so I decide to take two in and come back for the third. I pull the key I received in my welcome packet from my pocket and note the door number—312. I shoulder one bag and pull the second behind me as I make my way inside. I look around the ornate interior, and it seems more like I’m in a creepy mansion than a dorm.
“Thank fuck there’s an elevator,” I say to myself as I spot the silver doors, the one modern-looking thing in this building. I climb on, hit the number three, and rest my shoulder against the wall with a sigh.
The ride here was normal until Brock threw his little fit. I wish I knew why he didn’t like me. But I think I won’t find out until he’s ready to tell me.
So, maybe never.
The elevator dings, and the doors open to my new home. I am met with a lounge full of posh furniture, presently occupied by who I figure are my new classmates. They turn to look at the door, staring when they meet a face they don’t know. Mine.
“Um, hi,” I say to the entire room and … crickets.
Great.
I struggle to get my bag off the elevator, and not a manicured hand is lifted to help me. I quickly stride past the lounge and find my door. I forcefully insert the key and then push.
“Oof,” comes from behind the open door.
I panic as my hand wraps around the edge, and I slowly inch it forward. I just attacked my new roommate.
“Oh my—oh no, I’m so sorry.” I drop my bags and step around them to open the door more.
My eyes widen as I take in who I assume is Beatrice. Even with a red mark starting to blossom on her forehead, she’s beautiful. Her blonde bob looks edgy and fun on her pixie face that somehow holds the exact perfect ratio of eyes, nose, and lip size. No wonder Bodhi is in love with her.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you’d be behind the door, or I wouldn’t have pushed that hard. Um, why are you back here?”
“Promise you won’t laugh or run away, screaming?”
“Nope,” I say, smiling.
“Good enough,” she replies, a grin stretching across her face.
She closes the door, and I snort, catching sight of what she has set up. A doll that rivals Chucky in looks is sitting behind the door, propped up on a small little box, and I grimace.
“That’s terrifying,” I say.
She covers her mouth, giggling. “I know, but I can’t get rid of it. It’s my good-luck charm.”
“Really?” I turn her way, and she nods solemnly. “We are going to have to sleep in here with that thing staring at us?”
“I’ve got to keep it here,” she says adamantly.
“Okay. Why are you putting it there?”
She pauses a moment and looks the doll over, cocking her head to the side before giving a curt nod.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I think I’m going to hide it in the closet,” she says, picking the hideous doll up.
“Good plan.” I cross my arms around my stomach and shiver a little.
“It’s harmless though,” she says, laughing and holding the doll out.
“I don’t even want to touch it. I think it might be possessed.”
I watch her delicately set it in the closet, and then she turns around, holding her hand out.
“Landry, right?” she asks.
I nod, sticking my hand in hers, giving a firm handshake. “Beatrice?”
“Oh, call me Trixie. Everyone does. Beatrice was my grandmother,” she says, releasing my hand and moving to sit on the edge of her bed.
“Cool, Trixie.” I stand there awkwardly, fidgeting with my hands.
“So, you are the twins’ new sister?” Trixie leans back, pulling a pillow across her stomach and hugging it.
“Word travels fast,” I say.
She laughs. “We have a phone tree.”
“Seriously?”
“No.” She snorts.
I cross to sit on my bare mattress. Third bag be damned, this might be my chance to get answers to my questions.
“So, the guys, they are kind of mysterious,” I prompt, gauging her reaction … and I’m not disappointed.
She busts out laughing and doubles over. “Says you and all the girls here. Make no mistake, every female in this place would kill to be in your shoes.”