a hidden legacy. He’s too smart for his own damn good, at the top of our class, and on the fast track to killing the game at Harvard or any other Ivy League school he decides to grace his presence at. Unfortunately, that’s not why I don’t want to be seen next to him.
“I don’t want to be seen with someone who sold his soul to survive this place.” I stand to move seats. Marek mirrors my movements, bringing us chest-to-chest.
“Is that what you think I did?” As he stares at me, he runs the back of his finger down my bare arm, creating a path of heat against my skin. A shiver coils up my spine when his lips hit my ear. “Or maybe I’m just like them but hide it better.” I’m shoved down into my seat, and within the minimal space, he leans down, his breath tickling my lips. “Or maybe you’re afraid because you’re dying to play with us. Just like your sister did.”
Marek steps over the row and sits down in the chair right in front of me. All it would take is for me to remove my belt, wrap it around his neck, and tug it tight until his lungs give out on him. It would be that easy.
“Don’t think about it too hard, Palmer.” Marek doesn’t bother to address me, choosing to keep his attention on the board ahead of us. “Sinful thoughts like that will only get you into my bed.”
What is happening? This boy hasn’t so much as glanced in my direction, and all of a sudden, today, he’s choosing to mess with me.
I smack the back of his head. “Shut the fuck up!”
Marek turns, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. A wicked smile flashes across his face. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that.” The snarl he’s sporting tells me what I need to know. I’ve hit a nerve.
“Oh, I’m so scared.” I pretend to tremble.
“Miss Weston, please report to the dean’s office,” Byron calls out, a sternness in his tone that causes a wave of giggles from my classmates. “Now.”
I stack my books and papers, holding them close to my chest. My body pauses beside Marek’s row, and I glare down at him.
“Oh, you should really smile more, sweetheart.” His hand glides up the inside of my leg, creeping close to the apex of my thighs hidden beneath my skirt. The heat of his hand warms me.
I smack his touch away, which only makes him smile harder. “Mr. Decatur, are you going to do anything about him? He just touched me without my permission.”
“Miss Weston, quit causing trouble, and please leave my room. Some of us take our education seriously.” Byron sits down at his desk.
With a huff, I start for the door, but not before he winks at me.
Entitled bastard.
I slam my palms on the door, swinging it open for my escape. I turn in time to catch Byron leaning forward, his eyes dead set on Marek. He holds a single finger to his lips, then points directly at Marek. My stare breaks to the front row, and Marek mirrors the gesture.
What kind of band of brothers shit is going on?
“Miss Weston, why are you standing in the hallway? Don’t you have a class to be at?” Miss Hughes slides her glasses to the crown of her head.
She’s one of the younger teachers who’s always trying to connect with us. I applaud her effort, but she’s ill-equipped to crack these rich kids. A quick internet search is all it took to learn she’d grown up in a trailer park, with an abusive father and drunk mother. The kids at Glass Heart Academy have no idea what it’s like to walk in Miss Hughes’ shoes.
My trust issues are what drove me to search her background. After my sister vanished without a trace, Miss Hughes had tried to grow close to me. My mom calls them daddy issues. Maybe she’s right. Regardless, I don’t allow people I don’t know to get close to me. It’s a simple system that keeps me protected.
“I got kicked out of Byron” — I cringe at my slip-up— “Mr. Decatur’s class.”
“May I ask what for?” She slips off her dark-rimmed glasses and cleans the lenses.
“I told Marek to shut the fuck up.” No point in sugar coating my indiscretions.
“Oh, boy.” She shakes her head. “And let me guess, it was well deserved?”
“You can say that.” I nod, shifting uncomfortably from foot to