“How much is ten demerits?” I ask. “I mean really, in the grand scheme, it can’t be that bad.”
Molly’s eyes go wide, and I think for a moment, they might fall out of her face.
“Harlow, you can only have ten demerits for the entire year. That means one more and you’re...” She runs her hand across her throat.
“Crap,” I lament, turning in my chair to prop my feet up on my unmade bed before looking back over at her. “Any way to make demerits go away?”
“Exceptional attitude, academic excellence, or perseverance in the face of fear,” she says, raising a finger with each example.
I muse over my options.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warns, leaning in as though she’s telling me a secret. “It’s really, really hard to get a demerit removed. Ashton Avers saved a girl one time from drowning, and he only got one demerit removed from his record. One.”
I wince. This isn’t looking good for my stay-inside-and-hide plan.
“When do we need to leave?” I sigh, eyeing my robot-shaped desk clock. He marches in place and talks at you when his alarm goes off. It was a goofy gift from my dad, but I love the thing.
“A couple of hours,” Molly says before her gaze snaps up to me. “Don’t worry though. Like I said, the blue bloods never hit twice in the same day.”
“You keep saying that,” I mutter, unscrewing my pill bottle before I can think better of it. I pop a pill into my mouth like it’s a Tic Tac.
Dr. Murray would say to “control your disease, don’t let it control you.” But she’s not here, and it feels like it’s me and a bottle of anxiety meds against the entire Academy at the moment.
“Wait,” I say, eyeing her as my thumb stills on the cover of my copy of Beowulf, “aren’t you a blue blood too?”
I’m pretty sure from the bits and pieces I heard today that blue blood means old money, whereas my family would be considered arriviste a.k.a. newly rich.
Molly shrugs. “Not really. My family is wealthy enough to afford to send me here, but the blue bloods come from old money, like their families came over on the Mayflower and founded America money.”
“So if I’m an arriviste,” I say as I pick up my water bottle—God, that will never roll of the tongue—“and they are the blue bloods, that makes you?”
She smirks at me over the top of her tablet. “Part of the sovereign state of don’t give a rat’s tooty-fruity.”
I chortle, nearly choking on my water until it shoots out my nose onto my desk, which sends Molly into shock before she giggles.
I shake my head as I clean up the mess.
Molly’s got a sassy side, and I wholeheartedly love it.
5
Ian
Her glare comes at me like a cannonball, landing so hard it knocks the air from my lungs in a whoosh. Her name, although beautiful, doesn’t really do her justice. She is lava about to erupt from a long-frozen mountain. She is a shower of falling stars on a cloudless summer day. She is a hurricane minutes before it runs ashore onto miles of pristine beach.
She is…everything.
The girl walks in with the Thing, but my eyes are only for her. She wears an ice-blue dress so light it appears nearly white at first glance. The gown is satin covered by chiffon and a million sparkly things. Straps of sheer lace dip over her chest into a sweetheart neckline that I want to go lower but it’s perfect for her. She looks like the first hoarfrost of winter come to life.
Beside me, Archie whistles, and his off-again—but she would very much prefer on-again—plaything glares at him. Ivy would be pretty if she didn’t always mope about like she was three seconds from coming before her partner screwed it up.
At my side, Aurora pouts. She really needs to lay off the fillers. I don’t find it cute. I find it gross. She looks like the red-headed version of surgically enhanced Barbie, only she’s not a natural redhead. I’ve seen her naked enough to know that, though I never give her what she wants. I never fuck her because I am certain if I ever did, she would try to suck my soul out through my dick.
Aurora’s dress is a tight, shimmery thing she told Blythe her father commissioned from Donatella Versace herself. She wears the platinum tennis bracelet I got her the summer before last. What can I say? It was a rough few months when my parents briefly split, and I lost my mind just enough to think she might actually have a soul. She nearly sealed the deal one night that summer when I was drunk off my ass, but Everett saved me.
Best. Friend. Ever.
I shrug Aurora’s talons off my shoulder and stand. The Thing makes a beeline for an empty table. Smart move.
The girl scans the room, turning to follow her…her friend, when her gaze lands on me. I meet her blue eyes, and it’s like a current crackles through the distance between us. I know it’s going to hurt, but I want to grab on and feel the jolt until it fries my veins.
I intersect her path, holding onto the connection like it’s my lifeline to shore. When the tops of my polished loafers kiss her heels, I stare down at her, my lips hinting at my smirk.
“You,” she breathes, the word a curse.
“Sit with me,” I say because I want her to agree. I don’t want to go down this path.
I reach out and tuck the single black lock of hair near her temple behind her ear. If it was on anyone else, I would think they dyed it, another Hollywood trend. But not her. Instead, I am positive she refuses to cover it up.
“Do I need to call 911?” she asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
I’m thrown off kilter for
