I wave a hand. "If you're worried about the dorm lady, don't. She can't do shit outside—"
"I'm not talking about Lowery," she interrupts with a frustrated growl. "Jesus, you really don't fucking get it, do you?"
I pop my neck and give her my undivided attention. "Apparently not," I say with careful enunciation. "Why don't you spell it out for me?"
Rylie stares at me. Our eyes meet and hold, and I wait. This was one of those things people like us did. You face a monster and wait to see which of you breaks first. Hint. I never break first.
Finally, she glances away with clenched teeth. "Listen," she says again, beginning this time in a quieter, though no less frustrated tone. "I'm not trying to be an asshole."
I snort. “Could've fooled me. First time we met, I thought you wanted to cut me down to size. Not that I’d let you, of course, but you’ve got the perpetual resting bitch face under control, for sure.”
Rylie’s eyelashes flicker as she glares at me out of the corner of her eye. She blows out a quick breath. "That was for Lowery’s sake," she snaps. “I don't know if you’ve noticed it yet, but she couldn’t give a shit less about the students in her dorm. She’s there to keep us in line and nothing more. She’s a watchdog, not a friend.”
I’d noticed, but I don't say anything, waiting, instead, for her to continue.
"Eastpoint is a private university," she says after a moment, "and the families that run it all have a stake in it. They accept only the elite of the elite.” She pauses, looking at me fully once more. "Do you get that?"
I frown. None of this is new information. I’ve heard it all from Bairns, but coming from Rylie, it sounds less like a marketing ploy and more like disturbing intimidation. "I get that we're charity cases." I shrug. “Something to write off on their taxes or make them look good if they were up for any promotions or elections. Why does that matter?"
"We're not charity cases," Rylie says. "We're recruitments."
"Yeah," I reply flatly, "for the university. What? Does that mean their rich kids are too dumb to keep their grades up and they need smart poor kids to boost their general intelligence?"
Rylie inhales and then releases a breath. "No, we're recruited to come here and take classes with the children of the elite because after we all graduate, we're going to be offered an opportunity."
"What kind of opportunity?"
"The kind to work for the richest people in the world," she says. “They recruited people like us for a reason and it's not just because of our backgrounds. A lot of us in the program have nowhere else to go, it’s true, but we’re also not dumb. I don’t know why you’re here, but soon enough you’ll realize that everyone in the program was selected for a reason.”
Scoffing, I take a step back. I can only guess what their reason is for wanting me. Whatever the case, though, I'm not going to bow and scrape to their needs and wants. No matter what they expect, I don’t blindly follow anyone. “Yeah, they can fuck off,” I avow. “I’m here for the education and because, yeah, you’re right, I don’t have a place to go otherwise, but I’m not here to work for anybody.”
I turn to go and Rylie reaches out once more, latching onto my arm. Pausing, I look back and give her hand a pointed glare. "That's fine," she says. "You can do that when you get out, but while you’re here, you have to respect their authority."
The corner of my lips curl up. "I didn't see any authority figures out there," I point out. "There's no reason—"
"Just because you didn't see them doesn't mean they didn't see you," she says, cutting me off. "The Sick Boys know everything and if they think you're disrespecting them, you'll regret it. Trust me."
"The who?" I laugh as I brush her hand away from my arm. "Anyone who goes around calling themselves the ‘Sick Boys’ are probably just a bunch of preppy assholes playing at being badasses. I can handle dicks like that any day."
Rylie sighs. "They don't call themselves the Sick Boys," she says. "Everyone else does. Because they are sick. They're cruel. The last time someone got on their shit list, he left the university and hasn’t been heard from since. They can make people disappear.”
"What?" My smile drops away.
Rylie takes a step back, moving as if she's about to leave. "They're not just regular people," she says. "They're the richest of the rich and if you think they don’t have connections to some bad people, you’re wrong. Pretty much all of the wealthy in this country are corrupt in some way or another. These people are no different. If you're anything like me, then a shared room in a rundown dorm is probably one of the best places you've ever lived. If you don't want to lose that, if you don't want to lose your freedom, you'll be smart. Keep your head down and don't piss them off.”
6
Avalon
Keep my head down and don’t piss them off? What is it with people thinking they can tell me what to do? Rylie's words are still filtering through my head days later. I feel my lips curve upward as I shoulder my backpack and trek across campus to my first official class, drawing curious looks. Don’t piss them off? It’s laughable. Whoever these preppy rich boys are, they should be warned not to piss me off. Because I’m sure, unlike them, I’m the kinda psycho that goes bump in the night and they wake up with their house on fire.
As soon as I turn into the auditorium-like room, I feel eyes on me. New girl. New school. Same fucking bullshit. I pause and contemplate where to sit.
Strangely enough, though most of the class has already been filled, at the back of the room there's an entire row left empty. One that looks down on the rest. As much as I like the idea of sitting above these people and watching them, I like the idea of being able to put my back to the wall even more. I don't hesitate, taking the steps two at a time until I reach the row of desks and slide into the seat on the end, dumping my bag into the empty space next to me to ensure that if anyone thinks to come up and join me, they'll get the message. The message being do not disturb.
I steeple my fingers under my chin and yawn. It's only been three days since I arrived at Eastpoint, but I'm still getting used to the rooming arrangement. At the trailer, I'd just locked myself into my room, shoved a door stopper I’d stolen from the school beneath the wood, and turned on the piece of shit radio I'd kept in the corner of my bedroom before nodding off for a few hours at a time. With someone else in the room, however, sleep has become an elusive fucking bastard.
As I wait for the teacher to arrive, I let my eyes slide shut and listen to the bustle of the other students in the classroom with me. The sound of whispers hit my ears, making them prick with interest as I realize they're talking about me. I sigh. Things never change.
...think she's doing...
...new, she's got no clue...
...can't wait to see what they'll do...
The door opens and the whispers die. Not the normal natural slowing of conversation that announces the teacher's entrance and the beginning of class. No, instead, it goes from annoyingly loud and almost too obvious gossiping to dead silent. My eyes open. The teacher has arrived, yet for some reason, I get the feeling that the dead silence now perpetrating the room is not because of her, but the two guys who walk in immediately after her.