When Sinners Play (Sinners of Hawthorne University 1)

It’s one thing for students to be bitches to the “poor kids” who’ve invaded their rich little bubble. But I’m starting to get the impression that the entire campus—students, staff, and professors alike—all look at us like we’re second-class citizens.

That’s ironic as hell, considering I’m pretty sure it’s only the scholarship students who’ve actually earned their place here. After all, it’s not like we have the luxury of relying on our parents’ insane amounts of money to buy our way into school.

Intro to American Lit is followed by European History 101. Same shit, different teacher. I try not to let my eyes glaze over as I listen to the introduction of some doctorate-level professor who probably bought his degree, followed by the not-so-subtle implication that I’ll be the weak link of the class.

By the time lunch comes, I’m well acquainted with my teachers’ and peers’ expectations for my performance as a student, and my hand is cramping up from gripping my pencil so damn hard as I try to suppress my anger.

Same as at breakfast, I’m good with finding an unoccupied table and keeping to myself. Hawthorne University has a fairly structured scheduling system, but most people seem to go off campus for lunch; it’s a lot less crowded than it was this morning.

Thank fuck.

I get a slice of pizza because it’s the most normal-looking thing on the menu, then plop my ass down at the same table I claimed this morning. As I’m digging into my food, I look up and catch sight of the only friendly face I’ve encountered on this campus so far.

Max.

She sees me too, and her face lights up. I’m honestly not used to people having that reaction when they see me. It throws me a little, but I don’t think she notices as she changes direction and starts making her way across the cafeteria toward me.

She’s on her way past one of the tables when a guy’s hand shoots out and pops her on the ass. She stops, her body going rigid with shock for a second. Then her lips press together and she rounds on the guy.

“Hey! What the hell?”

The guy laughs, holding up his hands. As he does, his buddy rises from the table and stands up behind Max, blocking her in. Before she can slip out from between them, the guy behind her grabs her by the shoulders and whispers something in her ear.

She wriggles in his grasp, elbowing him in the side as the first guy laughs.

Fuck.

They’re drawing attention, people swiveling in their seats to catch the latest drama.

I could just put my head down, finish my lunch, and let Max deal with this shit herself. She’s a big girl; she can take care of herself. And I should do what I promised myself I would and keep my fucking head down.

Tell that to my feet though.

They’re already carrying me across the cafeteria, long strides eating up the space between me and the two assholes who’ve become my sole focus. What the hell, right? Clearly I’m not gonna be able to stay under the radar like I hoped, so I might as well get my hands a little dirty.

When I reach their table, I grab the guy who has Max boxed in. My fingers dig sharply into his shoulder as I yank him to turn him around. He grunts, releasing her from his grip as he spins to face me—he’s got at least seventy pounds on me, so I know it’s more surprise than brute force that made him turn around.

Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, bitch?” He glares down at me, his lips curling in a sneer.

I smirk. “Wow. Filthy mouth for a rich boy.”

“That’s because he’s not a rich boy,” Max hisses. The guy who first slapped her ass is standing now too, and she shoves at his chest before turning to face me. “He’s a scholarship student.”

Her glare is piercing, and my eyebrows shoot up as my gaze flicks back to the guy I pulled away from her.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, just like you. Jesus. Don’t take it so seriously. All the scholarship kids get shit. It’s a rite of passage.”

“Oh, so that makes it fucking okay? Somebody did it to you, so now you do it to the new kids?” I glare at him. “What are you, second-year with a chip on your shoulder? Third-year too full of yourself? You know what—I don’t care.” I level a look at him that actually makes him pull back. “You think fucking around with the new meat is going to make anyone here think you’re anything other than broke scholarship trash? You’re pathetic.”

One of the first things you learn in the system is solidarity. Not with your foster parents—almost never with them.

But with the other kids, that’s a different story. One of the worst things possible is when another kid turns on you or does something really fucked up to you, just because they can. Just because they want power over you that they can’t get anywhere else.

That’s all this is. A couple of little boys trying to pick on girls because we’re easy targets for them.

And I’m not gonna fucking stand for that bullshit.