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With a sigh, I feign subservience, dip my chin, and lazily prowl forward, hoping to waste enough time that class will be almost over by the time I get there.
“I suggest you hurry, Mr. Winslow. I’ll be checking with Madam Allard to ensure you made it there and that you’re up to date with all of your classwork.”
“Of course, Principal Smith,” I say, knowing we can both hear the mock deference in my voice.
I hate it when she calls me Mr. Winslow. I have a fucking name, which I know she knows, but yet there isn’t a single teacher in this school, including her, who will use it.
Me and my friends are Elite, which is the GAA equivalent of prefects or head boys. The tradition of Elites at Green Acres Academy dates back to the school’s inception, and it’s a role I’m incredibly proud to have been chosen for.
As each group of Elites graduate, they handpick their replacements from the junior class, except a few years ago, the system fell apart when instead of juniors, a group of freshmen were unprecedentedly picked to become the new Elites. Sebastian Lockwood, Hunter Rossberg, Clay Jansen, and Evan Morris ran GAA for three years. The four of them were a powerhouse even at fifteen, so despite it being unusual, it makes sense that they were singled out to rule. They’re all about to graduate college now, and three of them are married, but their reign here was legendary, and their names are still reverently whispered in the halls even all these years later.
When my friends and I were selected to act as Elites, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. The four of us have a lot in common with Sebastian and his friends, although we use influence and power to rule, rather than intimidation and fear.
Being Elites elevates us above the other students. We have a defined role within the school, and when we’re doing our job well, it means the teachers don’t have to deal with spoiled little rich kids who have zero respect for a faculty who earn less than their parents’ housekeepers.
It’s why the Elite system works. Me and my friends were chosen because our families are part of the upper echelon; we’re rich, successful, and well respected. Everyone at GAA knows who we are, they know who our families are, and they know that in a few years time, when petty arguments over parties and girls become business deals, acquisitions, and mergers, it’s better to be our friend than our enemy.
It only takes me a couple of minutes to get to my French classroom. Pushing through the door, I don’t bother to offer Madam Allard any explanation as to why I’m late. I just ignore her rapid-fire French tirade and make my way to my seat.
All eyes are on me as I march between the rows of desks, but I don’t care. Davis Aldrich, one of my closest friends and fellow Elite, lifts his eyebrows at me, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth as he watches me approach. Before I sit, I spy Penelope fucking Rhodes sitting in her seat in the middle of the room with her laptop out on her desk and a page full of notes open on her screen.
How the fuck did she have time to get to class, set up her laptop, and take that many notes before I got here? Tilting my head to the side, I watch her, but she looks just as polished and confident as ever; nothing like the nervous girl I saw sneaking out of the darkroom only minutes ago.
“Monsieur Winslow, please take your seat,” Madam Allard orders in her thickly accented voice.
Sighing loudly, I slump down into my chair, prop my feet up on my desk, and close my eyes. If I were any other student in any other school, I’d probably be kicked out of class, given a detention, and maybe even suspended, but at GAA, I’m practically untouchable.
No matter how influential Principal Smith might think she is, she’s dirt on the shoes of the families of the kids who attend this school. Green Acres Academy might be an outstanding educational facility that people fight to get into, but the place only exists because of the tuition fees our families pay and the donations they make when we graduate. Smith might think she’s in charge, but she’s nothing more than a puppet, and we all know it.
Davis shoves my leg, and I crack my eyes open and turn my head to look at him.
“Why are you here? You never come to French,” he asks, amused.
Closing my eyes again, I slouch down a little further in my seat. “Smith found me in the hallway.”
“Bro.” Davis chuckles, the sound low and infectious.
“You know she uses every fucking opportunity to denounce the Elites, so I figured I’d come to class and take a nap.” I yawn widely.
The sound of Madam Allard’s melodic accent, combined with the cool air pumping from the air conditioning duct over my head, has me drifting off to sleep until the bell rings and forces me awake again.
It takes me a minute to move, my limbs heavy with sleep. “Fuck,” I groan, stretching my arms up and over my head.
“I can’t believe you just fucking slept while I had to learn shit,” Davis whines, pouting like a little bitch. Davis Aldrich is the son of a British earl who defected to America, invested his family’s millions in tech, and turned them into billions. His father and mine are business associates, and Davis and I have been friends since we met in kindergarten.
Following Davis out of the classroom, I offer Madam Allard a smirk as I pass her and step into the busy hallway. From the corner of my eye, I spot Penelope sauntering away, her shoulders pulled back, her head held high. Even the way she’s walking is completely different. Right now, she’s strutting with a group of two girls and a guy circling around her like she really is the queen she pretends to be.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say the Penelope I’m looking at right now is a different person than the one I saw creeping from the old darkroom. That Penelope was trying not to be noticed, disguising her face and curling in on herself, trying to look smaller and unnoticeable.
A part of me really doesn’t give a fuck what the hell she’s up to, we’re not friends. But the girl I watched sneak out of that unused room captivated me, and now I need to know why she was acting so differently from normal. Our families are in the same social circles, and her parents have been throwing her into my path since the marriage clause in her stupid inheritance came to light.
But no matter what her family or mine want, I’m never going to marry her because she’s everything I hate. On the surface, she’s shiny and perfect. Straight A’s, the classic all-American sweetheart, but beneath the veneer of perfection, she’s a fucking leech, latching on to every powerful person around her and refusing to let go.
Penelope is a very convincing actress, but I don’t believe she’s anything like the pretty little StepLong wannabe she pretends to be. I’ve seen the calculating gleam in her eye when she thinks no one is looking. I’ve seen the way she flits from one guy to the next, smiling coyly while her viper of a mother coaches her, practically pimping her daughter out to the highest bidder.
The entire Rhodes family are the worst kind of assholes. Before their daughter’s name appeared on that will, they were old money nobodies. Now they prance around expecting everyone to be desperate to befriend them because Penelope comes with a billion-dollar dowry.
“Bro,” Davis says, interrupting my internal diatribe. “Summer just texted me a picture of her pussy. I’m going to go and get my dick wet. I’ll meet you in algebra,” he says with a wink, slapping me on the shoulder before sprinting off in the opposite direction.
