Page 2 of Colton

I think one of the things I find most attractive about him is the way he dresses. His suits are always tailored to fit his build and body perfectly. They’re made from the finest materials and although they’re all more or less the same, I can spot a difference. Even when the difference in question is only a shade or two, it always makes me notice it.

I notice him.

And that’s a terrible fucking thing. I’ve spent the past four years here without so much as a single issue… And now, when I’m so close to finishing and graduating, I happen to start liking The Dean? Absolute madness.

“Maybe,” I smirk, a sly glint in my eyes. “It won’t happen, though. It’s too risky.”

“Hah! You know I’ll always encourage risky things.”

“Yes, but that’s because you can always throw a few hundred bucks at it and avoid any real consequences,” I retort. “I can’t do that.”

“That’s okay,” she waves me off. “If need be, Sophia and I will throw our money for you. But seriously, don’t get involved with him,” the tone of her voice turns serious, as she finally finishes drinking from her juice box. “The man is old enough to be your father.”

“He’s seventeen years older,” I sigh, exasperated.

“My point stands — teen parents exist. And as much as I adore encouraging stupid, but very hilarious shit, I don’t want you to get hurt. So unless you’ve already banged the man — which I’m assuming you didn’t, otherwise I’d be mad you haven’t told me — I say stay the fuck away from him.”

Grace’s words ring in my ears, and it’s like a broken record, playing on repeat. She’s absolutely correct because if anyone here has anything to lose, it’s me. Not Colton, not anyone else — me.

“Oh, God,” Grace mutters, and my attention falls back on her. “Would you look at that? It’s the Founding Daughter.”

I blink, eyes following Grace’s path of vision. A frown etches on my face, and there’s not a single proper thought in my head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Grace’s eyes snap to mine. “Don’t tell me you don’t know the history of this place.”

“Well,” I push the hair out of my face, straightening in my seat. “I did skim through during my research on the academy, before I took the entrance exams. Why?”

“Clearly, it’s not enough,” she scoffs, and she seems offended. “The Saint Valley Academy got its name after a town that is maybe two hours away from here. The town, Saint Valley, was created over a hundred years ago, and it has its founding families.”

“That seems dystopian.”

“It is, in a way,” she shrugs. “Five founding families. The Silvester family, the Hill family, the Monroe Family, the Elsher family, and, of course, the St. James family.”

My mouth falls open. “As in the damned dean?”

She nods. “But the girl I’m talking about,” she motions her head again towards the girl, “belongs to the Hill family. Artemis Hill.”

The girl is rather short, no taller than five feet, two inches. Her hair reaches just below her elbows, the ginger strands seemingly silky smooth, in perfect waves. Her front strands are bleached into pure white, and her green eyes — God, she’s absolutely stunning.

The shade of her eyes is light, but there's a certain darkness within that makes chills run down my body. There are darker specks around her pupils and it’s only now that I realize, she’s too fucking close.

I’m not sure when or how quickly she managed to get here, but she’s standing right in front of me, and there’s nothing on her face. I can’t quite place it — it’s not that she’s being stoic on purpose, it’s more like she’s just like that.

She has a septum piercing and a double nostril piercing, with gold chains connecting over her nose. She looks like an absolute goddess, especially with the dark, purple lipstick.

“You’re Avalon, right?” Even her voice matches her physical appearance — it’s angelic.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

She offers a smile, but even that itself is intimidating. “The project for the economics class was announced earlier. You’re my partner.”

“Oh,” I mutter. “That’s nice.”

“Here’s my number,” she pulls out a small card from the pocket of her blazer, slowly sliding it over the table. “Text me, and we’ll schedule a time and place to get started.”

“Okay.”

Satisfied with my response, Artemis turns on her heel and walks off. My attention turns back to Grace, and her eyes are squinted. She’s deep in thought, and something about the way she’s looking at Artemis’ retreating form that makes my skin crawl.