Bad Boy Hero - Tanglewood Academy

“Will there be anything else?” the guy asks, actually bowing.

I glance at his name, embroidered on his jacket. “Err, no thanks, Jason.” He’s about to leave when I hold up a hand to stop him. “Sorry, one question actually. Do you work for Tanglewood, or…?”

His smile tightens around the edges, almost imperceptibly. But if you’ve worked in customer service as long as I have, you learn how to recognize a forced smile when you see one. “No, I’m a student here too,” he says. “I’m on the work-study admission package. They lowered my tuition rate in exchange for me working here on campus.” That fake smile widens. “It’s a great deal, actually. If you’re interested in more information about it—”

“No,” I cut him off, my voice rising a little too high. I clear my throat, get my voice back under control. All the while, my mother’s warning echoes in my head. Pretend you’re one of them. I can see why she told me to, if this is how people who aren’t rich get treated here. Asked to act like bellboys in a hotel lobby escorting the wealthy students home. “Thank you, Jason. I was just curious. But I don’t need the… help.”

“Of course,” he replies, though I notice him do a quick little side-eye to check out my bags before he turns to descend the stairs again.

Judgy, much? I want to bark after him. I hold my tongue, though. I know better than to piss off anyone on my first day. If the people here are as stuck up as Mom warned me, then I have a feeling I might need all the allies I can get.

With a sigh, I finish hauling my second bag into the room and toss it onto my bed. Then I pull open the closet and stick my head inside. It’s almost half the size of the room itself. The whole thing is way bigger than my bedroom at home, which I shared with Jake until he turned 9 and decided he wanted to build himself a makeshift bed in the upstairs hallway instead.

He still sleeps there, behind a sheet and a curtain of fairy lights. Though, now that I’ve moved out, I wonder if he’ll claim my bedroom for himself.

The thought makes me smile, in spite of myself. I miss him. And Mom. And my friends back at Noland. What I wouldn’t give for just one—any kind of friend right now.

At that moment, someone raps lightly on my door. I jump, startled by the sound, and whirl around to find an impeccably dressed girl leaning against my door, surveying the room. She’s wearing a pressed shirt, and jeans that look like they must have been custom tailored to fit her curves—which, I have to admit, are just as perfect as her outfit.

Next to her, I feel like a scrawny, wrinkled frump.

“I wondered who they were going to put in here.” She catches me staring and smiles, without offering a hand. Do rich people not shake hands, I wonder? “Bette Kross,” she says. “And you are?”

Something about her last name sounds familiar, although I can’t figure out why.

“Missy.” I smile at her, no teeth. Let her wonder about my own last name. If I don’t share it, maybe she’ll just assume I’m from some wealthy, mysterious family. “Pleasure to meet you,” I add, after a moment, when it becomes clear she isn’t about to speak again.

Am I doing this right? I’ve never actually tried to act wealthy, whatever that even means. I’ve served plenty of bougie customers at the bar—a lot of Boston’s elite enjoys slumming it after hours, once they restaurants they frequent close. But that’s one thing. Pretending to be one of them is quite another.

“Going for the Marie Kondo approach, I see?” Bette nods at my bags.

I draw myself straighter and look her dead in the eye. “I figure why lug everything I own all over the place?” I shrug one shoulder, let it fall. “If I forgot anything important, I can just buy something new.”

Bette grins. Maybe I’m better at this than I thought. “You know, you’re so right. I’ll have to remember that next time I’m packing—I’m the worst, Keanen always says.”

When I don’t react, she tilts her head to the side, as if I’ve made another social misstep, although I can’t imagine what.

“But you do know Keanen, of course. Keanen Kross, my older brother… The quarterback of the Jaguars.”

Oh, of course. As if I should have memorized the entire roster of every sports team on campus before I arrived for my first day of classes. Still, I did think her name was familiar. And at least she’s being nice to me about all this. I don’t want to put her off. So I force a broad smile. “Right. Wow, he’s your brother? That’s so cool.”