Page 7 of You Said I Was Your Favorite

I can only stare at him in return, feeling caught. Ensnared in his charming trap. Arch Lancaster has never looked at me once in all the years we’ve gone to school together. And he’s definitely never spoken to me before either. But we knowofeach other. Not just because we’re seniors and in the same class. Grade point average-wise, he is my nemesis.

Myarchnemesis, ha ha.

But seriously, he’s ranked number one in our class and I’m number two and that just…infuriates me. It doesn’t seem fair that someone who is rich and good looking, whose family’s name is on all the buildings on campus, also just so happens to be incredibly smart. I work so hard to get good grades and I feel like everything comes easy to him. He doesn’t even seem to try. He barely shows up to class. I’ve had a few with him over the years and he ditches more than he attends.

But he’s always there on test day. Pop quiz day. Project turn-in day. He gets his work done, receives a perfect grade and moves on with his life.

I swear the entire system is rigged.

Resentment builds within me, my constant internal struggle, but I squash it down. I refuse to let him make me feel bad about myself.

I also refuse to fall under his spell.

Rolling my eyes, I look away from Arch, focusing on Matthews, who’s boasting about the rigorous academic program at Lancaster Prep and how it’s unparalleled. The best in the country, if not one of the top schools in the world. I wonder if someone is recording this to use to promote the school to inquiring parents.

I do consider myself lucky to attend this school. I’m one of the rare scholarship students who goes to Lancaster. They don’t have many scholarship students—the school is that elitist and snobby. Why offer a scholarship when there’s a waitlist to get in, right? In the end, it’s all about the money.

That’s life. Dad has told me more than once.Money makes the world go round.

I wish it wasn’t true, but I know he’s right. Spending five days a week with the offspring of extremely wealthy and powerful people will teach you a lesson or ten that has nothing to do with what happens inside the classroom.

Going here is preparing me for real life, I suppose. And how I don’t want to spend my time with people who are too self-absorbed to worry about the travesties in this world. The minute I graduate, I’m leaving. I’m waiting to hear back on the application I put in for a summer abroad program in France that starts a week after graduation.

I feel it in my bones I’ll get in. I’ll be gone all summer. And if I get into college—no ifs, I will definitely get in, I just don’t know where yet—then I will barely have to be here before I leave, once again, and start my new life. I’ll miss my father, but he wants what’s best for me and is encouraging me to go.

I can’t wait. I need to get out of here.

Like yesterday.

The moment the assembly is over, I’m out of my chair and ready to get on with the day. See how my classes are. I wait impatiently as everyone files out of our row of seats and I can feel Arch looming behind me. He’s tall and broad and I swear when he shifts closer to me, I can smell him. His cologne, which thankfully isn’t too overpowering.

No, of course he smells…nice. His scent is subtle yet spicy. He flat out smells expensive.

Just as I’m about to turn into the aisle and make my way out of the building, I feel someone jerk on the end of my braid, hard enough to make me yelp. Whirling around, I see Arch standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression one of pure innocence.

“Don’t touch me,” I say, hating how rattled I feel. How rattled I sound.

Ugh this boy.

“Was it true, what you said?” When I frown at him, he continues, “That your mom died on your birthday?”

I stare at him, tempted for the briefest second to tell him the truth.

Yes, she did. She died on my twelfth birthday and it was awful and traumatic and if I could forget the day ever happened, if I could have my mother back for at least one more birthday, I would sacrifice whatever I could to see her smile again. To hear her voice. To feel her arms wrap me up in a hug. Just once.

That’s all I want.

Instead, I say nothing. Not like he cares. Not really.

Sighing, I turn my back to him, exiting the auditorium as fast as I can.

It’s better that I forget all about him, I tell myself as I walk across campus and head toward the building where my first class is. Keeping up a conversation with Arch Lancaster will bring me nothing but trouble. He doesn’t like me. He looks at me only as academic competition and I feel the same way.

The same exact way.

THREE

ARCH

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