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In chemistry, we sit in groups of two along laboratory benches filled with equipment I don’t recognize or understand. I slump down beside a brunette in the middle of the room. She opens her mouth to say something but I hit her with my classic Mackenzie Malloy death glare and she leans back, folding her arms and staring straight ahead. At least my superpower still works and I have a partner who won’t distract me with sexy Britishness or a weird magnetic connection.
Gabriel saunters in last. His eyes meet mine and he stops by our table, flicking his head at the girl. Without a word, she gets up and walks to the back of the room, and Gabriel takes her empty seat.
Bastard.
“I guess we’re partners,” he says, flashing me that smile – the smile of a guy who isn’t used to hearing no. I desperately want to be the one to fling that word at him and make it stick, but he’s Gabriel fucking Fallen, and I’m only human. I settle for glaring at him, but all that does is make him stick his tongue out to wiggle that bar at me.
“You’re cute when you’re mad.” He opens his textbook and gestures to the glass tubey things in front of us. “I hope you’re good at this stuff, partner. Because I’m terrible.”
He isn’t lying. As the teacher leads us through a simple experiment, Gabriel mixes the wrong chemicals and creates a putrid stench that clears the classroom for a good ten minutes. Then, he measures out 50mls instead of 5mls of hydrochloric acid. I grab his arm before he pours that into our beaker and singes off his perfect eyebrows. I deserve a medal for public service for that one. Not least because touching his skin is like sticking my hand in an electrical socket, but in a fun way.
I’m not any better at the work. Every brush of Gabriel’s skin against mine sends my heart into freefall. By the end of the class we’re the only ones who haven’t completed the experiment, and I’m a puddle of fangirling mush on the floor.
“That would usually be an F on this module,” Mr. Dallas frowns over our station. “But I know you’re new, Mackenzie, and you might need some time to catch up. And Mr. Fallen, the faculty are aware that you’re dealing with certain personal situations. So if you come after class one day this week and try again, I’ll allow you to make up the grade.”
Gabriel leans over and squeezes my hand. “Our first date. Should I bring the Champagne, or are you more of a beers behind the bike shed kind of girl?”
I race from class with Gabriel’s laughter peeling behind me. I can’t decide if he’s amused by himself, or if he’s laughing at my expense. No one else laughs at me. Yet. I’m too new, an unknown. Plus, there’s the fact they all thought I was a ghost until I strutted in the door.
My next class is English, which I expect to be easy, but is anything but. Isn’t Shakespeare supposed to be in English? I glare at the nonsense in my textbook while Gabriel’s grey eyes dig holes in my back. A pair of girls in the front row with cheerleading jackets slung over their chairs keep turning around to look at me, then whispering to each other. As I fly out of class the moment the bell rings, I overhear a snatch of their conversation.
“…I heard she killed them and hid the bodies in the basement. Gabriel better watch out, or he’ll be next—”
My next class is Physics, which might as well be Sanskrit for all I understand. A bell rings for lunch, and I’m swept along in the crowd. My stomach growls, but I hesitate in the doorway of the dining hall, taking it all in. Waiters in coat and tails sweep from the kitchen doors, carrying platters piled high with gourmet food, which they deliver to a magnificent buffet where students line up to serve themselves. Steak in some kind of red-wine reduction. Broccolini toasted with pine nuts. Mashed potatoes sculpted into tiny wedges, an entire table bulging under the weight of cakes and desserts. My mouth waters – this sure beats the fried crap I scarf down at the diner whenever I can catch a spare minute on my shifts. I grab a tray and pile it as high as I dare. If school lunches are like this every day, I won’t need to worry about dinners. More money saved.
I palm a soda and turn toward the tables, and the flaw in my plan becomes apparent. All around me, students wave to their friends as they sit at their regular tables. Every face a stranger, every pair of eyes promising an interrogation.
My mind goes to all those teen movies I binged over the weekend. They always start the same way, with the new girl staring out at a sea of faces who all know each other but don’t trust her. At the last minute, she’s saved from loserdom by a hot guy or a quirky but lovable new BFF—
But this isn’t a teen movie, and I don’t need saving. I need to be left the fuck alone.
I spy an empty table in the far corner and make a beeline for it, dropping my book bag into the chair next to mine in an attempt to keep others out of it. I pull out my history book while I shovel food into my mouth. At least my afternoon classes will be more my scene – we have units on the Founding Fathers and Classical history and Tudor-Stewart England…
“Mackenzie Malloy, as I live and breathe.”
I glance up as a guy shoves my book bag off the chair and slides in beside me. He’s got the broad shoulders and cocky smile of a jock and the cold eyes of a serial killer. He looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t care enough to enquire further, especially not when he leans close and I catch a whiff of alcohol on his breath.
“Not interested.” I shovel another mouthful of food, hoping he gets the point.
He doesn’t.
“I’m surprised you don’t remember me.” He takes the fork from my hand and tosses it at a nearby waiter, who nearly drops the stack of dirty plates he’s carrying. My unwelcome table guest flashes me this smile that’s all white teeth and menace. Behind him, I notice a couple of other jock-looking dudebros watching the scene with interest. “I’m Alec LeMarque. We went to junior prep together. You slammed my hand in a classroom door.”
“You deserved it.” I don’t remember, of course, but it’s a solid guess.
Alec LeMarque… that name sounds so familiar… I’ve seen it written somewhere recently… I sneak another look at him through the corner of my eye and realize he’s one of the stars from a dorky teen movie I watched. He plays the obnoxious jock that gets his ass kicked by the geeks in the end. Justice at its finest.
“I believe that’s what you told our teacher. But look at you, all grown up now. An ass like that, you don’t belong in this corner all by yourself. Come join my friends.” Alec pops a shoulder in the direction of a rowdy table at the end of the room – a prime spot in front of the French doors opening out into a sunny courtyard lined with palms. Gabriel Fallen sits at the end of the table, telling a story to three model-thin girls who are hanging on every word. He sees me and waves. Beside him are the other two guys from my locker this morning. The dark-haired one stirs his food around his plate, but the golden-god, Elias, stares at me with this intense look, like he’s reading my secrets from my skin.
Nope. Not happening.
“Pass.” I angle my chair away. Alec still doesn’t take the hint. He places both hands on my shoulders and starts rubbing in circles. It’s fucking gross. My skin crawls under his touch. It’s the exact opposite of what happened with Gabriel. I flinch away as he leans in close to coo in my ear.
“You know, the hard-to-get act is old, Malloy. I’m king at this school, and my friends are like a royal court. You’d be well advised to take this offer before it’s rescinded and you end up another one of the plebs. I know for a girl like you that’s a fate worse than death.”
He hisses the last word, the death. He wants me to feel it. His hot breath curdles my skin, and it takes me back to another night, another guy’s hot breathing on my ear, another set of hands on me that I didn’t ask for. Stale air. A satin-lined box I couldn’t escape…
I’m done.
