Mena walked up the cracked concrete path and jumped into the back seat.
“Morning!”
Her bright greeting made me smile. That girl had been through some horrific shit at her last school—which is why my parents were paying for her to go to Fulton with us now—but it hadn’t made her bitter or angry. Mena was the kind of person whose inner beauty oozed out of her pores, her energy infectious.
We chatted and sang along to “You Should See Me in a Crown” as I drove us to school. Even Harlow perked up and took her headphones off, the massive coffee she’d finished finally doing its job.
I retraced our path through downtown, passed the turnoff to our neighborhood, and drove up the winding tree-lined road toward Fulton Academy.
Every other day, we got up half an hour early and drove in the exact opposite direction of school to pick up Mena, because she needed someone to show her she was worth it—that she belonged with us. The other days, she took the bus to our house, and we still drove in together.
I parked in a spot near the front. Even with the student parking lot almost full, everyone knew not to park in my spot.
Glancing in the mirror, I checked my makeup and smoothed an errant strand of hair back into place. Surreptitiously, I checked on Harlow at the same time. She’d retied her hair while we drove, and as we got out of the car, I was pleased to see her socks were pulled up and her shirt tucked in.
We all knew the strict uniform rules, and my sister wasn’t an idiot, but I couldn’t help but make sure everything was in place. I didn’t want any of my girls getting in trouble needlessly.
Walking in through the grand front doors of one of the most prestigious high schools in California—if not the country—I kept my gaze trained forward. Amaya was at my side, Harlow and Mena joking and carrying on behind us. I envied how oblivious they were to all the people watching us, some wishing they had the guts to talk to us, others hoping I’d fall on my ass.
Perfection was fucking exhausting, but it was all I knew.
There was only one thing that could completely take my mind off it. The buzz of conversation around us reminded me faintly of another kind of buzz—the kind I’d be feeling reverberate through my body tonight.
Shit, I really needed this. It was the third time that morning I’d had to push the thought away. I had three AP classes on Fridays, and I needed to focus.
I got through my busy morning without incident and repressed a yawn as I shoved books into my locker at lunch.
“Cafeteria? Or you wanna head out to eat?” Amaya leaned on the locker next to mine.
Harlow appeared next to her. “Can we just do caf? I’m starving.”
“That’s because you didn’t eat breakfast after staying up all night.” I was kicking myself for not shoving the granola bar under her nose earlier.
“I second the caf.” Mena nudged my shoulder and smiled before unloading her own books in her locker.
Mena had ulterior motives. She couldn’t afford to eat out all the time and didn’t like us constantly paying for her, so she always preferred the cafeteria—the option already paid for as part of tuition.
I rolled my eyes, and they landed on an unfamiliar face.
The guy walking toward us in the busy hallway was tall, his brown hair kind of wavy and messy on top but with a precise fade-cut underneath. The gray pants and white shirt of the uniform fit his frame perfectly—probably tailored, just like all the other uniforms on all the other spoiled rich kids in this place. His teal tie hung perfectly in place, but his blazer was draped over the books he had tucked against his hip.
I leaned back on the locker and watched him as he passed, his free hand tucked into his pocket, his face blank.
He didn’t look at anyone. He didn’t have that uncertain, worried demeanor that almost always marked a new kid obsessing over where they would fit in at a new school. Which told me he didn’t give a shit about his place here, or maybe he was just putting up a brave front, a hard exterior to mask his nervousness.
His gray eyes flicked to the side and connected with mine for the briefest of moments. I didn’t smile like half the basic bitches in the hall with hearts in their eyes. I didn’t frown or show my confusion either. I didn’t react at all, watching him with as steady and cool a gaze as he was me.
He stopped at a locker near the end of the corridor. Only seniors had their locker in this hall, so that was at least one piece of the puzzle.
“Who is that?” I asked, keeping my gaze locked on him. I may have been bad with names—something I was working on—but I never forgot a face. I certainly wouldn’t have forgotten those piercing eyes, the strong jaw.
How had I gone all morning without knowing there was a new senior at Fulton? I hated not knowing things.
I wasn’t delusional. Of course I couldn’t control everything, but knowing as much as possible allowed me to be prepared for all scenarios. I had a spreadsheet with the names of each student at Fulton Academy, the names of their parents and what they did for work, any dirt we had on them, and any other pertinent information that was useful—or could be in the future. The girls were the only ones who had access to it, or even knew about it.
Information made the world go round. So did networking.
“That must be the new guy.” Harlow shrugged. “Not in any of my classes, but I heard whispers.”
“And you’re only mentioning this now?” I glared at her, but she flipped me off with a sweet smile, and I couldn’t resist smiling back. She entertained my need to know everything, and I distracted our parents from her weird online activities and less than impressive grades.
“He wasn’t in any of my morning classes either.” Mena looked at him over her shoulder. “I think I would’ve noticed that level of hotness.”
“You have a boyfriend.” Harlow laughed and smacked her.
“So? I’m only human. I can look.”
“Amaya.” I cut across their banter. Amaya would’ve already texted me if she’d known about this.
“Already on it.” She was typing furiously on her phone.
New guy closed his locker and walked out of the hallway, heading in the opposite direction of the cafeteria. I didn’t like having him out of my sight, but I chased after no man, and I certainly didn’t change my plans for any.
Looping my arm through Amaya’s so she could continue to text, I led the way into the bright, bustling cafeteria.
Tall windows lined one wall, letting in natural light, with several French doors providing access to a courtyard for alfresco dining. Along with the various seating scattered throughout the space, a lounge area in the back corner housed an assortment of comfy couches and low tables. The full-service food counter was closer to a buffet than a school lunch line and included an espresso station—complete with a full-time barista.
We waited until we were seated at our usual table, trays of sushi and berry parfaits in front of us, before Amaya leaned in to deliver her information.
“His name is Hendrix Hawthorn. He started at Fulton today but spent most of the morning in the office—something about paperwork—which is why no one’s seen him much yet. He moved here from the East Coast, but I can’t seem to get any info on where exactly he transferred from.”
Her fingers tightened around her chopsticks. Amaya liked the lack of information about as much as I did.