the building as fast as I can without it looking like I’m running away. Unfortunately, I’m in such a hurry, I’m not paying very much attention to what’s ahead of me. Just as I reach the front of the building, the huge double doors bang open and I run headfirst into something tall, broad, and solid. My duffle falls from my hand and I let out a startled cry.
“Sorry about that, I—” But then I look up, and the world seems to come to a total standstill. I find myself gazing into the grayish-blue eyes of the most stunning boy I’ve ever seen. Ruffled blonde hair, angular face with a sharp nose and jaw, and a bronze, muscular body like a brick wall adorned in low-slung dark jeans and a white t-shirt. His glare is cold, but it doesn’t feel personal. I don’t know why, but I get the sense he’s always glaring. He doesn’t say anything to me. Doesn’t apologize or excuse himself. He just smirks down at me like he finds the situation mildly amusing and keeps on walking, his strides long and confident.
I watch him go, a strange sense of disappointment washing through me.
This place must be full of shiny turds.
Scowling, I grab my duffle and continue into the building, shoving the beautiful guy with his blue glare from my mind. I take the elevator to the third floor and wander down the corridor toward my room. Three big boxes of what must be uniforms and books are stacked outside my door, and someone has posted a sign over my peephole that reads, Welcome to Angelview Academy, Mallory Ellis, Class of 2020.
Nervous because Laurel promised I would be walking into a shithole, I twist my key in the lock, open the door and step inside. My heart instantly launches into my throat.
To people like Laurel and Gabe, I’m sure this room with its plain gray walls and standard furniture—a twin-size bed, desk and chair, dresser, and nightstand—isn’t much. But the thing is, it’s not just a room but a suite. To my left, there’s a kitchenette with a small stainless-steel refrigerator, microwave, and a single-serve coffee maker on the granite counter. When I glance to my right, I spot the entrance to my bathroom. I wander inside and flip on the light switch, my lips popping open in a silent “Ahhh.”
It’s tiny, yes, but everything I need is here—a sink, commode, and shower stall. Hell, they’ve even stocked the shelves above the commode with towels, wash cloths, and toilet paper.
Meeting my bug-eyed expression in the mirror over the sink, I shake my head. “Craziness,” I whisper through the biggest smile I’ve ever worn.
I mean, it really is crazy.
I’ve never had my own bathroom before.
Half my life, I haven’t even had my own room and was forced to sleep on couches or in sports memorabilia rooms that belonged to whoever Jenn was banging at the time.
Leaving the bathroom, I return to the hall and start moving the boxes inside. I’m on the last box when something streaks across my foot.
Something small.
And furry.
I leap up onto the desk and scream with all my might.
3
I’m still screaming when my door flies open and a very tall, very beautiful girl with light brown skin and long, curly black hair rushes over the threshold.
“Dorito!” she cries, diving under my desk. I stare in shock as she wiggles around on her belly for several moments. Suddenly, she pulls herself back out into the open, a tiny striped kitten clutched in her hands. “There you are, baby! I was so worried about you.”
The kitten mewls and nuzzles the girl’s thumb.
“Um … excuse me,” I murmur, unsure how I should respond to the intrusion.
I glance from her to the kitten for such a long time, she eventually twists her lips and stands up. “You’re not allergic, are you? My stepsister claims to be, but I don’t trust a word that leaves Twatiana’s mouth.”
“No.” Reaching out, I trace my knuckles behind Dorito’s ear. He purrs softly, cuddling the side of my hand. “I-I just thought he was a mouse,” I admit on a throaty chuckle.
And while I consider myself pretty damn resilient, I draw the line at mice and rats. We once lived in a shitty, one-bedroom trailer across from a cornfield that was infested with them. Mom just waved it off like the presence of rodents was nothing, but for the longest time, I had nightmares about the little bastards scurrying around behind the refrigerator