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The legacies might run this school, but Cain, Maverick, Rowan, and Jason run the legacies. In a world where money and connections are the most important thing, they hail from the richest families.
I don’t envy most of my peers. I don’t wish I had their money or their connections. Those four, I’m insanely jealous of. Their confidence is staggering. If I could bottle it and sell it, I’d be as rich as any of them.
They’re just five seats away from me. I look away, staring at the headmaster. At least any bystander would have thought I did. From the corner of my eyes, I ogled. I ogled hard.
The four kings are thoroughly ignoring our headmaster, entertaining themselves. A couple of girls giggle at whatever joke they started. I shake my head. It’s not like they’re dumb either. They just know that his speech isn’t for them. Whatever they do, they’ll land in a cushy job that leaves plenty of time for their hobbies, their mistresses, weekly golf, and regular beach holidays.
Lucky assholes. They don’t mind being spotted disrupting the assembly because Mr. Bone is, for all intents and purposes, their employee. I wish I could do just about anything other than wasting an hour listening to drivel, but Mr. Bone’s approval is a necessity to me. My entire transcript needs to sparkle so hard it looks like a unicorn farted all over it.
It would be nice to just have fun. Maybe in another life.
I redirect my eyes firmly toward the front of the room and listen to the rest of the lecture in silence.
CHAPTER TWO
Half running to catch the bus, I pull my phone out of my blazer, unsurprised to find a series of texts on my screen.
Where are you??
So help me god, if you’re not coming this year and you didn’t tell me…
Did you get kidnapped?
Tell me you’re not in a ditch somewhere.
WHERE ARE YOU???!?
My best friend has no chill. Never one to be late to anything, Sophia seldom fails to panic when I don’t show up where I’m supposed to, when I'm supposed to. Which admittedly is often.
I shoot her a quick answer, still jogging through the familiar corridors. I’ll be late to my first class, but it beats showing up late to the assembly. Mr. Bones has a stick up his ass and warped notions of his self-importance. Most teachers can be reasoned with.
Cross and Roses is one of the world’s most coveted boarding schools. Uncle Lucius enrolled my cousin Lucas in ninth grade to get him away from the influence of some of his junior high friends in the city. Impressed by the school, he offered to pay for my tuition starting my sophomore year.
The modern campus is tucked away in upstate New York, protected by high walls and higher entry requirements. This is a prep school reserved for the ultra-rich or the ultra-talented. I’m not either, but when Uncle Lucius suggested enrolling me, I jumped into his arms and begged my parents to accept his generosity. Graduating from here is the one highlight of my otherwise average transcript. I know it will change my life for the better.
I’m proud of my father’s achievement. His dad, my grandfather, who died before I was born, immigrated from Italy, and became a cliche: his family ran a criminal group doing god knows what. Dad and Uncle Lucius both walked away from organized crime. All that matters to my father is sharing his Nonna’s recipes with the world. Uncle Lucius is more ambitious; he opened a now-successful PR company in the city.
They’re both remarkable in their own ways, but I don’t want to walk in either of their footsteps. I like cooking well enough, but it’s not my vocation. PR sounds like a bore to me. I have to make my own mark in the world, cultivating my own passions. And that means going to college. This school is just a pit stop. My application to Tisch is going to be well padded thanks to the school’s reputation. My advisor has been helpful from the moment I told him I wanted in the art school.
This is my third year here; I know the corridors well enough to take a few shortcuts on my way.
I’m approaching the entrance of the underground state-of-the-art gym when a commotion begins prickling my ears. I’m late enough as it is, I should just be on my way, but something bothers me.
There are half-whispers and sharp noises—like someone kicking a metal locker, maybe.
A girl whimpers. “I promise, it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t do that. You know me.”
I still at the top of the stairs. I know that voice.
“Oh, yes, Jude. We know you, all right.” This is delivered with venom and accompanied with another shove of metal.
I’m late already, but this is important. Bullying is a major problem here. The entitled pricks of this school think they can get away with murder and most of the time, they’re right. I’m not relevant enough for anyone to have attacked me yet, but it could be me down there, getting shoved by some guy. I have to do something.
Spotting the phone still in my hand, I load my camera app. The school closes their eyes to most shenanigans so long as money keeps rolling in, but when there’s tangible proof, they’re obliged to act, if only to preserve their reputation.
It's not my business, but as far as I’m concerned, knowing indifference is just as bad as bullying. Resolved, I walk down the stairs, holding the phone up high.
Jason, Cain, Rowan, and Maverick corner Judith Cushman.
