She waves her hands. “All right, all right, I’m sorry! I’ll just … I’ll just miss you!”
“I’ll miss you too!”
“I don’t have all day,” the driver snaps.
I wave to her once more. The driver is still bitching and groaning about wasted time as I slide into my seat and shut the door, but I barely hear him as he pulls away from the curb because I’m too busy watching Carley until she disappears from sight.
I arrive in Los Angeles a little nauseous, but excited, nonetheless. My first experience on a plane was thankfully uneventful, but the landing was jolting, and my stomach is still an uncomfortable ball of knots. It doesn’t help that I’m nervous as hell to get to Angelview and LAX seems bigger than the whole town of Rayfort. Anthony had told me reps from the school would be at the airport to drive me to the academy, so I stop in a bathroom on my way to the baggage claim area to check my appearance.
No surprise, I look like shit.
I’ve never been a supermodel—don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty enough, but I’m short and thin and I’m still keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll eventually make it out of a B-cup—but today I look particularly godawful. My dark hair is disheveled, and my face is pale, save the large red blotches on my upper cheeks and the dark circles under my ocean blue eyes. Usually, my eyes are my favorite feature, along with my full lips, but the irises staring back at me are almost … faded. Probably thanks to my lack of sleep last night.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw James, his hazel eyes accusatory, so I stayed up, pacing my bedroom and half-listening to my favorite playlist.
I pat my hair to try and tame the worst of the flyaways, then splash cold water on my face, leaving me looking a half step up from shit. Hopefully, whoever is picking me up understands that I was just on a five-hour flight.
With a dejected sigh, I grab my laptop bag and duffle and squeeze past a mom and her three kids to exit the bathroom. Making my way down to baggage claim, I gaze around in search of my ride.
It doesn’t take long for my eyes to land on a gorgeous girl and guy, holding a sign up with my name on it. They’re way too young to be working for the school, so they must be students, even though they’re not wearing uniforms. The girl is tall and slim, with boobs that look a little disproportional to the rest of her. Her hair is a short, platinum blonde bob and her makeup looks professionally done. If she were close friends with the Kardashians, I wouldn’t be shocked. Her expression is one of sheer boredom as she swipes at something on her phone with a ridiculously long fingernail.
The guy standing next to her is jaw-droppingly good looking. Like, he almost looks fake, he’s so handsome. He’s tall and has the kind of build that screams Captain-of-Every-Fucking-Sports-Team, with cut biceps straining the sleeves of his gray t-shirt and wide shoulders. He’s got a shock of thick red hair that’s styled in that messy, sexy, bedhead way. One of his hands is tucked into the pocket of his black jeans, which must be tailored. No off the rack pair would hug his narrow hips so perfectly. In his other hand is the sign. He’s gazing around the terminal with mild interest in his bright eyes, his foot tapping impatiently.
I cautiously approach the pair, feeling even more dowdy in my yoga pants and oversize sweatshirt with my messy hair and blotchy face.
“Excuse me,” I say hesitantly. “I’m Mallory Ellis.”
The girl drags her attention up from her phone, disbelief arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow. It matches the color of her hair, but no one has hair that naturally blond. I briefly wonder if the carpet also matches the drapes thanks to professional manipulation.
Do rich people do that type of shit?
“You’re the new kid?” she demands, raking her gaze from my sweatshirt to my white tennis shoes before her nose crinkles like she smells garbage. “Admissions has really lowered the standards.”
I gape, floored at her nerve.
“Don’t be a bitch, L,” the guy says with a wide grin as he gives me a onceover of his own. The interest that sparkles in their green depths makes my shoulders stiffen. “Give Mallory here some time before you show her your full cunt self.”
“Whatever,” the girl—L?—mumbles, her eyes back on her phone, her nude-painted talons clacking against the screen. “Let’s just go already. I have things to do that actually matter.”
The guy shakes his head, his attention turning full onto me. “Forgive her, she was raised by wolves. Literally. My name’s Gabe Carlson, and this delight is Laurel Vinderpick, president of the student counsel. We’re here to take you to Angelview.”
I nod. “I figured as much.”
She glances up again, her lips pursed like she’s prepping for a bitch-faced selfie. “Did you hear what he said?”
I blink at her. Does she think I’m stupid or something? “Yeah… you’re here to take me to the school. Thanks?”
Her mouth tumbles open. “Do you not know who I am? Vinderpick? As in Vinderpick Pharmaceuticals.”
“Ah, okay.” I fight not to roll my eyes at the entitlement rolling off her slim shoulders as the name clicks into place, and I realize that Gabe was right—she was raised by literal wolves, the kind that prey on the poor and sick. I’ve heard Carley mention Vinderpick before, and she’s never had anything good to say. “That’s the one that’s been in the news for price gouging insulin and allergy meds, right?”
Laurel scoffs and looks offended I didn’t offer to kiss her feet, then pissed.
I can already tell we’re going to H-A-T-E each other.
Gabe interjects before she can say another word. He points to the bag return. “You need to pick up your luggage?”
I try not to let my embarrassment show as I dip my head toward my feet and reply, “Nope. This is it.” I hold up my laptop bag and duffle. I have a backpack too, but it’s stuffed into the bottom of my duffle bag, because I didn’t actually need to use it.
I lift my chin in time to witness his reddish-brown brows shoot up toward his vibrant hairline. “Well, shit. That’s … damn, that’s just depressing.”
I want to tell him to bend over so I can shove the silver spoon further up his ass, but I hold my tongue. No point getting off on the wrong foot with both these jerks right away. I paste on a fake smile and make my voice sugary sweet when I reply, “Can we head to the school now?”
Gabe nods. “Your chariot awaits.”
Lame.
He doesn’t offer to help me with my bags. I wouldn’t have let him, but I don’t think it even crosses his mind to try and assist me. Laurel shoots me a disgusted look as the two turn to lead me from the airport and judging by the way her gaze keeps darting from side to side, I have a sneaking suspicion she doesn’t want to be seen with me.
It would probably shock her to know that the feeling is mutual.
There’s a large, black SUV outside at the curb, the kind of car that’s used in presidential motorcades. The driver is waiting for us, and when we’re about ten feet away, he opens the back door. Laurel and Gabe pile inside without pausing or acknowledging the uniformed man standing there. This is so natural to them, but I feel awkward as hell. I shoot the driver an apologetic smile.