The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,6
this dinosaur of an academy. Everyone here is weird and rude and so privileged, they've got silver spoons stuck up their asses. I hate it here.” I throw my napkin down on the table and stand up so quickly that my chair screeches across the shiny wood floors.
“You've hardly given it a chance, Charlotte,” Dad says, his voice firm but low in volume. I've spent years trying to get this man worked up into an angry frenzy, but to no avail. He never shows passion for anything, no matter how much I defy him or how irate I get in response to his never-ending well of calm. “It's been two days.”
“Yeah,” I snap, getting snarky. It's that California Valley Girl in me coming out in spades. “Two shitty, miserable days.” I put my hands flat on the table and lean down, staring at my father past the flickering of a candelabra. It sits so pretentiously in the middle of the table. Like, who eats by candlelight unless they're on a romantic dinner date or something? “Let me go back to California, Dad. I can stay with Aunt Elisa until Mom—”
“Charlotte.” That one word, as firm as an ax in my skull. The pain of a migraine takes over me, making me grit my teeth in anger.
“Why not? Elisa said I could stay on her couch until Mom was able to get a place. Monica even offered to let me move in with her. You wouldn't have to do anything, but get me a plane ticket.”
“We're not discussing this any further,” Dad says, putting his napkin on the table and standing up with much less screeching of his chair legs on the floor. He picks up his plate and glass, and gives me a look. “Finish your dinner, and I'll walk you back to the dorm.”
My eyes narrow to slits, and I feel anger burning like a white-hot star inside my chest.
“I don't need you to walk me back,” I snap snarkily, glaring at him in his perfectly pressed brown suit with the cream pinstripe. His old-fashioned outfit matches his slicked back 1920s hair, and the attitude he has to match. “I'm a boy now, remember? I can do anything.” Read: sarcasm.
I spin on my heel as he calls out to me, but I'm already racing toward the door. Flinging it open, I dart forward, only to slam into a broad body. Again.
“Whoa there,” a calm voice commands, and I look up to see that prince guy, Church Montague, standing there with a binder under one arm, his amber eyes taking me in with piqued interest.
My breasts aren't bound! I remember with a violent shock, shoving past him as hard as I can. He's tall as hell, and if the pain in my nose means anything at all, hard and muscular, too. But he's so surprised by me that he ends up stumbling, losing his binder over the edge of the railing as I clomp down the steps and take off along the curving path. There are little solar lights on either side, giving me plenty of illumination to see by.
I run right past the boys' dorm and keep going, enjoying the freedom I feel as I cut across the campus and into a copse of woods, coming out the other side to find the half-constructed girls' dorm.
My feet come to a shuffling stop, and I bend over, putting my hands on my knees and struggling to catch my breath. I only left California a few weeks ago, and already, I feel like I'm out of shape. I need to find some outlet for my emotions, but I can't exactly go surfing here.
All around, there are patches of snow here and there, and the air is frigid and ice-cold. Still, I'm not quite ready to go back to my room, and I most definitely am not going back to Dad's place. Instead, I straighten out the front of my jacket and move toward the front door. It's locked, of course, but the windows on the bottom level are boarded up, and one's already come loose.
I lift it up and peer inside, expecting a construction zone, some abandoned paint cans, piles of lumber, and so on. Instead, I find a surreal scene, like a moment trapped in time. There are couches covered in plastic, coffee tables stacked with dusty books, and paintings on the wall that are just as nice as the ones hanging in the boys' dorm.