Savage Royals (Boys of Oak Park Prep 1)

If I thought too long about the amount of money I’d just spent, I’d probably barf out the car window. So I didn’t think about it.

And I wasn’t naive enough to imagine having better clothes would make the kids at Oak Park like me better—it was too damn late for that, thanks to the Princes—but maybe it would at least give them one less thing to mock. Assuming I ever went to any social events where students weren’t required to wear the school uniform anyway.

I waved to Maggie and another girl whose name I couldn’t remember as I passed through the common room before heading up to my dorm. Once inside, I dumped everything out on the bed and started hanging it all up in the closet. I saved the best for last, and when I picked up the black leotard and ballet slippers, my heart squeezed so hard it almost hurt.

Running my fingers over the fabric, I felt a sudden rush of gratitude for my grandparents.

These purchases hadn’t been cheap either, but unlike the cute, trendy outfits I’d bought, I knew the exact value of these—and they were worth every fucking penny. My old leotard was stretched and worn, the shoes battered beyond repair. So when I’d seen a specialty dance store nestled among the other fancy boutiques in Roseland, I’d pulled Leah inside like a woman on a mission.

I traced the outline of one of the slippers with my finger. I hadn’t been en pointe in a long time, not since before my legs had been broken four years ago. I was sure it would take a lot of hard training to get back there.

But maybe now I could actually start working toward it.

The rest of the weekend passed way too quickly. I spent most of it holed up in my room, catching up on the massive amounts of homework I’d been behind on all week and breaking in my ballet slippers—a process that non-dancers were usually surprised to learn was so violent.

I felt reasonably sure that I’d gotten them into good shape by the time Monday rolled around, which was good—I had a plan for them.

My second week started off just as bad as my first had left off. The Princes hadn’t somehow forgotten they hated me over the weekend, and the pranks continued, the laughter and taunts continued, making every day feel like a war.

Like true generals, I noticed they didn’t often carry out the attacks themselves, leaving that to lesser peons—probably in case they ever got busted.

Someone left a bag full of dog shit right outside my door one morning, which especially sucked because I’d sort of thought those of us relegated to the Wastelands would stick together. Maggie told me the dorms were actually really easy to sneak into, but it still made me look at everyone in Prentice Hall with a suspicion I hadn’t felt before.

But despite classes kicking my ass and Adena going out of her way to be a bitch to me after our run-in in Roseland, I kept a little flame of hope alive, carrying my shoes with me in my backpack every day.

On Friday, I finally worked up the nerve to approach my PE teacher in sixth period.

“Hey, Mr. Bowen. Can I talk to you for a second?”

The imposing man looked down at me and grunted. I had no idea what a grunt was supposed to mean, but I guessed it meant I could continue. Before I could chicken out, I rushed on.

“I was wondering if I could use the indoor studio space during gym? I know I have to participate, but I figured practicing on my own is as good a use of the time as any. No one’s ever in there, and it’s set up perfectly for dance.”

I’d peeked my head into the room on the second floor several times over the past week. It was always empty, even during my gym period, which I’d had to pretend to be late to just so I could check it out. Oak Park heavily prioritized sports over the arts, and we had a full pool, a gymnasium, a running track, tennis courts, volleyball courts, a basketball court, and a football stadium. Most of the guys spent the period playing volleyball or basketball, and the girls followed so they could watch.

But on the second floor of the athletic building, there was a dance studio. It didn’t appear to have been used much—at least, not for dance. A pile of folded up mats sat in the corner, and a few heavy bags with their chains pooling around them were stashed nearby. But one wall held a bank of mirrors with a barre running across it.

And the best part was, I’d have it all to myself. I wouldn’t have to deal with girls elbowing me out of the way so they could get a better look at the shirtless guys playing sports. And I wouldn’t have to try not to look myself, try to ignore the way my mouth went dry when Mason stripped off his shirt, revealing perfectly cut muscles shining with sweat.

I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to appreciate the sculpted lines of Elijah’s calves or to let my gaze trace over the dozens of tattoos that decorated Cole’s skin. Elijah had one too—just one, on his back—but I refused to let myself admit I was curious what it was.

I needed a break. A real haven. And that empty room on the second floor was my best chance.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, since Mr. Bowen still hadn’t responded.

He sighed. “Sure. As long as you’re in there practicing, I guess it doesn’t matter. Just keep your nose clean and don’t make me regret it.”

I nodded. “Of course. Thanks!”

Another grunt was my reward as I turned to run off to the studio. Honestly, it seemed like he didn’t really care what I did. I wondered if that extended to all the other students or just me.

Nope. Don’t question it. Don’t jinx it.

After changing quickly in the locker room, I made a beeline for the studio. A smile touched my lips for the first time in days, and butterflies flapped excitedly in my stomach. I found the studio and started to push inside when I heard a sound. I slowly slipped through the door…

And stopped dead.

Over in the darkened corner of the studio, near the pile of abandoned mats, stood Finn and some girl.