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Savage Royals (Boys of Oak Park Prep 1)

Page 39

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Elijah’s dad narrowed his eyes, taking in my paint-covered hands and shirt. His smile was stiffer than his collar as he dipped his chin in a single nod. “Likewise.”

“Mr. Prescott is one of the biggest donors here at Oak Park,” Dean Levy continued, barely looking at me. His head was so far up this guy’s ass I was surprised he could still breathe. “The renovations on the football stadium were thanks to him.”

“That’s… awesome.” I took a step back, hating the way Mr. Prescott was staring at me. Guess I know where Elijah gets that look from too. “Sounds like a great cause.”

“What did you need, Talia?” Dean Levy asked.

“Hmm?” I glanced at him before my unwilling gaze moved back to Elijah’s dad. “Oh, um, I just had a question… but then I realized I knew the answer already. Sorry to waste your time.”

The dean peered at me curiously, his broad face falling into a frown as he finally took in my appearance. “Are you sure? Are you all right? What’s going on with the paint?”

I touched my shirt and laughed lightly. “Oh—just a dumb prank from one of my friends. Sorry. I was going to ask if it was okay to skip my next class and go to the dorm to change. I don’t want to walk around with paint on me all day.”

Levy nodded. “Just try to be back in class by next period. I’ll have your teacher alerted. And be more careful

with your uniform, please. Next time I won’t be so lenient,” he added, with a worried glance toward Mr. Prescott.

“I will. Thanks.”

Biting back my anger at having to apologize for something that wasn’t my fucking fault, I waved vaguely before turning and grabbing my backpack.

As soon as I was away from the admin office, I ran.

It didn’t matter who I told. The Princes and their families owned Oak Park. Literally. The whole semester, I’d refused to go to the dean, holding onto my trump card in case I ever needed to play it. But the truth was, I didn’t have one. There was nothing I could do to stop their torture of me.

I’m alone. Completely alone.

Chapter 14

Finals didn’t kick my ass. I kicked their asses. Hard.

It turned out being a social pariah was really good for my productivity.

After the paintball incident, I sort of shut down for a while. I didn’t hang out with Leah, Maggie, or Dan much, spending the next two weeks doing what I’d always told myself I wouldn’t—hiding like a damn coward.

But I got a shitload of studying done, so… win?

My last final was on a Friday, and even though my grades hadn’t been posted yet, I was pretty confident I’d aced them all.

The only problem was, once they were done, a gaping hole opened up in my life that I wasn’t quite sure how to fill. What now?

My phone vibrated on the mattress next to me as the screen lit up.

LEAH: Bitch, are you gonna stop ignoring me now? Finally?

I chuckled as I rolled over on my bed, typing out a return message.

ME: New phone, who dis?

LEAH: Ugh. Seriously, are we even friends anymore?

ME: Duh. How were finals?

LEAH: Kill me.

ME: That good huh?

LEAH: I don’t wanna talk about it. What I do wanna do is drink my face off. Will you come with me? Pleeeeeease?



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