"Wonderful," she says without inflection. "Just don't touch my shit and we'll be fine. I gotta get to class. Later."
I smirk after her as she practically sprints out of the room. “Nice chick,” I comment dryly to no one in particular before turning back to my things.
I reach for one of my bags and unzip it, reaching inside for a bundle of clothes, getting ready to begin the unpacking process. As I do so, I wait to feel Ms. Lowery's presence disappear, but as I start pulling clothes from the duffle, I continue to feel her watchful eye on my back and it’s starting to piss me off.
Lifting back up, I turn and meet her stare head on. "Got something to say?" I ask.
Her gaze hardens and in a movement that looks vaguely like one of protection, she crosses her arms over her ample chest and glares at me. "I'm sure Ms. Bairns warned you, Ms. Manning," she says slowly, "but I feel I should also extend my own word of caution."
I tilt my head to the side and wait. From the expression on her face—the twisted lips and the narrowed slits of her eyes—she expects me to respond. Silence unnerves a lot of people and it's clear, she doesn't like it much either. I blink slowly and continue to wait her out. I don't have a watch to accurately time how long it takes, but it feels like several long minutes pass before she finally speaks again.
"Eastpoint University is an old and respected institution, Ms. Manning," she begins. "And you would do well to remember that you are here by the grace of the founders and their families—who pay for your tuition, room, and board. It's in your best interest to keep your head down and your mouth shut about anything you may do, see, or hear here. Is that understood?"
Fighting back the smile that threatens to curve my lips upward is difficult. Word of caution, indeed. "Sure thing, Ms. Lowery," I tell her.
She continues to examine me as if trying to peel back the layers of my skin and see into my head. The thing about my head, though, is that no one has a key to that place but me. I'm not about to let some bitch with a warning on her tongue even glance inside—what she might see would shock and horrify her delicate sensibilities. And quite possibly send her running straight to Ms. Bairns, demanding that I be institutionalized and kept far away from the general, law-abiding, non-fucked up public.
She turns to go, but stops and glances back over her shoulder. "Welcome to Eastpoint University, Avalon." For some reason, it sounds more like a threat than a real welcome, and that's just fine with me. I deal with threats the way I deal with everything in my life—in my own, savage way.
5
Avalon
I hold the cigarette to my lips and inhale as the smoke drifts up. Several students pass by, scowling my way. I ignore the looks and focus on what’s right in front of me. This shit is the only thing keeping me chill right now when what I really want to do is something dangerous. My foot taps restlessly against the sidewalk as I glare at a girl who dares to scoff in my direction as she strides by. As if I’m beneath her.
The hierarchy of this place is laid out neatly. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who's on top. Their stain free, name brand clothes say it all. The Gucci belts and Chanel bags mark the students who wear them as above the average classes—their attitudes and how they carry themselves pretty much does the rest. They think they're invincible because they have wealth and wealth comes with power. I smirk at them as I let the ash on the end of my cigarette fall where it may. Inside my head, a pounding starts.
Then there are the ones like me. Program kids and scholarship students. They sink into the background in old jackets and torn up jeans that are frayed from use, not fashion. I see them too, much as they don't want me to.
This place fucking sucks. I hate to admit it but there was a small part of me on the drive here that contemplated the idea of a fresh start—a personality makeover. It looks like no matter where I go, though, appearing weak in any way is not a choice. The need to wreak a little havoc presses against my pulse like a goddamn chokehold—I want to get away.
I force my thoughts onto something else—trying, if only for a brief period, to distract the darker inner workings of my own mind.
Just in time, too, I think as a shadow falls across my front. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" a vaguely familiar voice snaps.
Lifting my head slowly, I meet a pair of glaring hazel green eyes. My roommate. "I'm not doing anything," I say, lounging back, feigning relaxation when all I feel is anything but. "Just hanging out. Taking in the scenery." I take another drag from my cigarette before snuffing it out against the pretty white brick sidewalk. A dark smudge marks the area, scarring it. I toss the butt into a nearby trash can.
She shakes her head. "No, I mean with that," she gestures to the black mark I'd left on the ground. "Marking your territory? What are you, a bitch?"
I shrug, casting a glance back to the surrounding walkways as more and more students spill out of their respective buildings and make their way across the campus. "I had a nicotine craving."
"Well, don't," she replies tersely. "Kick the habit. It'll kill you anyway."
I grow still and look at her again. "What the fuck do you care?" I say with an arched brow.
Instead of answering me right away, she seems to finally realize just how many people are watching us. Her shoulders tighten, lifting as she tries to sink into the far too skinny body—seriously, her metabolism must be through the roof. "Come with me," she says suddenly, taking a step back.
I stare at her in confused, albeit amused interest. When it becomes clear to her that I'm not going to get up and do as she says on my own, she reaches down, snagging my wrist in her hand, and pulls me along. Normally, I’d break someone’s face just for touching me, but I find myself curious. So, I let her drag me behind her, interested to see what she'll do or say, when we turn a corner and she pushes me into a secret alcove so we’re cut off from the prying eyes.
"Listen," she says, spinning back to me once she's made sure we’re alone. “Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit and I’d just let you learn the hard way, but you’re my roommate and—”
I laugh, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re gonna say, you can stow it,” I scoff. “Don’t go doing me any favors just because we got stuck living in the same room together.”
She scowls at me, baring surprisingly straight white teeth. “Believe me, I’m not doing it for you,” she replies. “It’s for me. Roommates in Havers don’t get switched. We’re program students. We just have to deal with it—whatever comes. Which means if you get in trouble, I’ll be stuck in the crosshairs. I don’t fucking care about you at all. I’m doing this for me,” she repeats.
“Well then,” I say with mock seriousness. “Please, proceed.” I gesture for her to continue, earning another whip sharp glare.
Rylie shakes her head, the waves of her purple hair sliding across her shoulders. “You can't smoke on campus. Or drink. Or cause problems. Do what you want off campus, but unless you’re given permission, you keep that shit away from Eastpoint.”