types. Rich kids mostly, which explains the cloud of Chanel No. 5 looming through the campus. The art kids thrive because arts are deemed most important, making us a pipeline straight to Juilliard. We are also one of the only academies that has a decent athletic program. Football, soccer, and lacrosse bring talented athletes from all over the country to our fields.
We have the best because we are the best.
It’s that damn simple.
Unfortunately, with that kind of mindset drilled into us since kindergarten, there is bound to be a giant heap of assholes to go to school with.
“Hey, Reed.”
And there’s Exhibit A. Dixon Decatur is the biggest asshole to walk through these halls. He’s the sneaky kind of asshole no one is ever quite ready for, but when he strikes, he strikes where it counts. He’s also a damn genius, which is even more infuriating.
“You know my name is Palmer.” I shove past him. He’s gone to great lengths to call me by my sister’s name any chance he can get.
His unwarranted disdain for me has set the tone for the rest of the student body’s hatred towards me. He’s one-fourth of the Glass House Boys.
“Yeah, sure, but when the only sister that actually matters dies.” He shrugs, a cocky gleam in his eyes. “You see where I’m going with this?” He runs his hands through his hair, checking out the ass of a freshman girl who passes by.
“Fuck off! The only reason you’re even here is because your daddy bought your way in.” I hold up two middle fingers and climb the stairs. This isn’t an insult. Most of us have opportunities given to us simply from being born into the correct bloodline. Me included.
“Is that the only reason why I got this job then, Miss Weston?” Fucking Byron Decatur. Their parents should have known to stop with one asshole, but instead, chose to spawn two of them.
His face is the last one I expect to see, especially with him wearing a teacher pin on his lapel, yet, here he stands in the flesh, a cocky smile on his lips. He’s the ruler of his world, and everyone around him bows down at his feet. With that kind of power, I’m not surprised he chose to come back here.
Reed and Byron dated when she was a freshman and he was a senior. Apparently, my parents were dumb enough to trust him based off his trust fund balance alone.
Byron Decatur is quick to fool everyone. Charming and witty are quite the cocktail. Everyone drinks him right up, and he knows it.
“Don’t you still have another year of school?” The pressure my teeth are under from seeing him is enough to crack them in half. Even when he dated my sister, I never felt quite comfortable around him. Maybe that’s why he’s never been my biggest fan, either. I can see through his bullshit, and he doesn’t like feeling exposed.
“Well, Miss Weston, a teaching assistant job opened up, and now, I get to spend the year here with you, finishing off the last part of my degree.” Just like his brother, Byron is ungodly attractive. He tosses his soft brown hair, and I’m greeted by a jawline that’s been chiseled from stone.
“Lucky us.” I plop down in the second row and flip open a blank notebook, hoping to ignore the brothers’ eyes on me.
A dark shadow casts over my desk, and two veiny hands clasp around the edge of the hundred-year oak top. These are the same desks used when the academy originally opened. They’ve been painted and polished more times than can be counted, but underneath lies a rich history. I’m sure if they could talk, they’d have stories full of toxic masculinity and girls willing to bend at a boy’s will simply to be married into the right family.
“Is there a problem, Miss Weston?” Byron’s dark eyebrows perk up when I dare to glance at him. “Because if there is, we can step out into the hallway and talk about what has your panties all in a bunch.”
“Do you honestly think you can intimidate me?” I sit up straighter to not show any weakness, running my hands over my uniform skirt. “Or talk to a student that way?”
“It’s hard to consider you a student of mine when I’ve seen your body.” He licks his lips like there’s something delicious smeared across them, then pushes off the desk.
I want to argue with him, but there’s no point. He has seen