roommate and—”
I laugh, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re gonna say, you can stow it,” I scoff. “Don’t go doing me any favors just because we got stuck living in the same room together.”
She scowls at me, baring surprisingly straight white teeth. “Believe me, I’m not doing it for you,” she replies. “It’s for me. Roommates in Havers don’t get switched. We’re program students. We just have to deal with it—whatever comes. Which means if you get in trouble, I’ll be stuck in the crosshairs. I don’t fucking care about you at all. I’m doing this for me,” she repeats.
“Well then,” I say with mock seriousness. “Please, proceed.” I gesture for her to continue, earning another whip sharp glare.
Rylie shakes her head, the waves of her purple hair sliding across her shoulders. “You can't smoke on campus. Or drink. Or cause problems. Do what you want off campus, but unless you’re given permission, you keep that shit away from Eastpoint.”
I wave a hand. "If you're worried about the dorm lady, don't. She can't do shit outside—"
"I'm not talking about Lowery," she interrupts with a frustrated growl. "Jesus, you really don't fucking get it, do you?"
I pop my neck and give her my undivided attention. "Apparently not," I say with careful enunciation. "Why don't you spell it out for me?"
Rylie stares at me. Our eyes meet and hold, and I wait. This was one of those things people like us did. You face a monster and wait to see which of you breaks first. Hint. I never break first.
Finally, she glances away with clenched teeth. "Listen," she says again, beginning this time in a quieter, though no less frustrated tone. "I'm not trying to be an asshole."
I snort. “Could've fooled me. First time we met, I thought you wanted to cut me down to size. Not that I’d let you, of course, but you’ve got the perpetual resting bitch face under control, for sure.”
Rylie’s eyelashes flicker as she glares at me out of the corner of her eye. She blows out a quick breath. "That was for Lowery’s sake," she snaps. “I don't know if you’ve noticed it yet, but she couldn’t give a shit less about the students in her dorm. She’s there to keep us in line and nothing more. She’s a watchdog, not a friend.”
I’d noticed, but I don't say anything, waiting, instead, for her to continue.
"Eastpoint is a private university," she says after a moment, "and the families that run it all have a stake in it. They accept only the elite of the elite.” She pauses, looking at me fully once more. "Do you get that?"
I frown. None of this is new information. I’ve heard it all from Bairns, but coming from Rylie, it sounds less like a marketing ploy and more like disturbing intimidation. "I get that we're charity cases." I shrug. “Something to write off on their taxes or make them look good if they were up for any promotions or elections. Why does that matter?"
"We're not charity cases," Rylie says. "We're recruitments."
"Yeah," I reply flatly, "for the university. What? Does that mean their rich kids are too dumb to keep their grades up and they need smart poor kids to boost their general intelligence?"
Rylie inhales and then releases a breath. "No, we're recruited to come here and take classes with the children of the elite because after we all graduate, we're going to be offered an opportunity."
"What kind of opportunity?"
"The kind to work for the richest people in the world," she says. “They recruited people like us for a reason and it's not just because of our backgrounds. A lot of us in the program have nowhere else to go, it’s true, but we’re also not dumb. I don’t know why you’re here, but soon enough you’ll realize that everyone in the program was selected for a reason.”
Scoffing, I take a step back. I can only guess what their reason is for wanting me. Whatever the case, though, I'm not going to bow and scrape to their needs and wants. No matter what they expect, I don’t blindly follow anyone. “Yeah, they can fuck off,” I avow. “I’m here for the education and because, yeah, you’re right, I don’t have a place to go otherwise, but I’m not here to work for anybody.”
I turn to go and Rylie reaches out once more, latching onto my arm. Pausing, I look back and give her hand a pointed glare. "That's fine," she says. "You can do