AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This is temporary, Sorrell. Only temporary. You’ll be back home before you know it.
Down on the ground floor, the polished marble, the fifteen-foot-high walls, and the stunning abstract paintings on the walls make the academy look more like an extravagant hotel than an institute of higher learning. At first glance, I think the flowers in the vases dotted all over the school’s entranceway are fake, but the smell of lilies and gardenia flooding the back of my nose is something that cannot be imitated without reeking of chemicals.
Cut crystal chandeliers overhead cast a warm glow over the vast foyer, giving it an opulent feel that I can’t say I’ve ever experienced first-hand before. Angry orphans with a history of violence don’t often land themselves in places like this. Still with my head bowed, I navigate the madness of the lower level, making quick progress through the strum of chatter as I head for ‘The Rosewood Room.’ Ruth made sure I’d memorized the layout of the school before I left Falcon House. I know exactly where I need to be, and how many steps it will take for me to reach my destination. Unlike other schools I’ve attended, the classrooms here aren’t numbered or organized by department. They’re named after flowers or trees, and each one has its own theme.
Magnolia. Redwood. Bluebell. Gerbera. Pine.
I pass the doors to all of these rooms, ignoring the teenagers who spill inside, all amped up on the kind of excitement that comes with a new school year and the reuniting of friends. I have no friends here. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t bother making any, but Ruth was very clear when I left the house. “Fit in. Find your niche. If you ostracize yourself from the other girls there, you mark yourself as a target, Sorrell. People—especially teenagers—are very sensitive to the unknown. Make yourself one of them. Make them trust you. Make themlikeyou. This whole plan depends on it. The community at Toussaint is tight knit, once the students get to know one another. You can’t afford to have them hold you at arms’ length.’
This is wisdom, of course. It makes sense. But I’ve been a closed book for so many years that I don’t really know how people make friends and forge allegiances in a place like this. I’m going to do it. I have to. But for now, all I want to do is find ‘Rosewood’and make myself as inconspicuous as I can. The classroom is bustling with life when I walk through the door. A couple of heads turn toward me, small frowns on the students’ faces, but for the most part, no one pays me any heed. I sit down at the back of the room and take a notebook and a pen out of my bag, the cold sweat that coated my palms now making my skin feel clammy all over my body.
What the hell am Idoinghere? How the hell did I think I could dothis?
One by one, the chairs surrounding me fill—polished girls with perfectly blow-dried hair and perfect make up. Clean-cut guys with broad shoulders and boy-next-door smiles, cuffing each other on the shoulders as they congratulate each other’s numerous recent sporting victories.
I hunch down in my chair, trying to make myself small. If only I could just disappear…
The door opens one last time, admitting two new people into the room; the first is a dour looking man in his forties, wearing a neatly pressed white shirt and grey suit pants. No tie. No blazer. There’s no mistaking that he holds a position of authority here, though. It radiates off of him, the same way Ruth’s authority radiates off her. His hair is dark brown, but the full beard he’s rocking is tinged a deep auburn. Black-rimmed glasses. His eyes are the color of a cold, overcast winter morning.
The student following directly behind him—
My pulse kicks into overdrive when I see his face.
Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, holy fucking shit.
Suddenly, it’s difficult to breathe.
I remember very little from the night of the accident. Rachel and I had drunk a fair amount (my tolerance had been zero, it being the first time I’d ever experienced strong liquor) and the details of what transpired are hazy at best. I have one single memory of the boy with the coal-black hair walking toward me from that night—a single brief snapshot of him laughing, his face reflected in the rear-view mirror, as he sat in the driver’s seat of the car. His handsome features—proud cheekbones, and strong jawline, full mouth and intriguing golden-chocolate eyes—all transformed by his broad smile. I remember thinking that he was the most beautiful guy I’d ever seen in my life. Everything is blank after that.
Theo Merchant’s shoulders are broad. He’s taller than most of the male students who just filed into Rosewood. He’s also inked to hell and back. His long-sleeved grey shirt covers most of his skin, but I can make out the hint of intricate designs cuffing his wrists, extending out past his sleeves and climbing up his neck, peeking over the top of his shirt collar. There’s something very magnetic about him, as he saunters through the desks toward the back of the room. All eyes follow him; it’s as ifheis the reason everybody came here, and now the seniors surrounding me are all patiently waiting for him to enact some sort of miracle that they came here to witness him perform. For some bizarre reason, I feel like I’m mirroring their reactions to him, too.
“Glad to see you all made it through the break,” the guy at the front of the classroom announces. “We have at least five new faces here with us today.” He casts an even look around at us, as Theo Merchant plants himself down into a chair two rows over from me, dumping his bag down onto the floor at his feet.
“I’m Mr. Garrett. I’ll be taking some of you for Math. If I don’t have you for Math, then you’ll at least have me here during homeroom each morning. Aside from that, I’m not going to torture any of us by forcing you to introduce yourselves. You’re old enough to conduct that kind of social nicety on your own time. Be nice to each other. Don’t be dicks. If I find out any of youarebeing dicks, there’s gonna be hell to pay. We good?”
The students around me chuckle. I crack an uncertain smile, faintly entertained that he’d use a curse word straight out of the gate. Sarai despises bad language. She’s no fool. She knows we all swear like sailors, but heaven fucking help us if we curse in front of her. Even Ruth and Gaynor moderate their language so as to avoid her wrath.
Mr. Garrett takes roll call, and I’m surprised by the archaic method he uses to tally us. No smart pad. No keycard scanner. Toussaint boasts brand new laptops for its students, and there are online portals dotted all over the place, where emergencies or issues can be reported by students and teachers alike. There’s a digital dashboard where I have to submit my work. I can also leave notices there for my yet-to-be-made friends, and open chat windows with any of my teachers. But Mr. Garret’s going old school. In his hand, the ancient clipboard he’s holding looks like it’s about to fall apart. Its blue plastic is cracked all over the place, and the metal rivets on the back are bounded by an orange ring of rust.
Garrett reels off name after name, and the drone of his voice blends into the background hum of chatter, as I unashamedly starerightat Theo Merchant.
This bastard killed Rachel.
He may not have clamped his hands around her neck and snapped the bone on purpose, but his recklessness ensured that she didn’t get out of the car and walk away that night. He was drunk. High. Obliterated. And now here he is, walking around like the second coming of Jesus Christ himself.
He grins at his friends as he unpacks his shit from his bag, muttering something under his breath to the blond guy with the chin dimple sitting to his right. He should be rotting behind bars for what he did. If I’d had my way, he would have been tried as an adult and sent to jail for a very long time. That didn’t happen, though. He didn’t even get sent to juvie. Not even for a fucking night.
His father stepped in and ‘handled’ the situation, and Theo Merchant was released from the police station less than three hours after the accident, never to suffer any further inconvenience from the whole affair thereafter. The whole thing is fucked is what it is. Fucking criminal. Money has always been able to buy guys like Theo their freedom, and the Merchants don’t just have money. They haveoldmoney, and the reputation to go with it.
I hate him.
I fucking despise him.
I’m going to enjoy dismantling his life, one tiny piece at a t—
I go very, very still. Theo’s stopped talking to the blond guy with the dimpled chin. He’s whipped around…and he’s staring right at me.
With a cold and creeping horror, I realize that he’s not the only one; every single person in the room is staring at me.
