Savage Royals (Boys of Oak Park Prep 1)

I blinked. This isn’t as good as the rest of them?

Maybe it was because I’d lived in a crap hole for almost as long as I could remember, but I had no idea what she was talking about. The place was huge. It was a full, self-contained apartment unit, and a hell of a lot nicer than anything I would’ve been able to afford even in Sand Valley.

The living room area was sterile but large, with a huge TV mounted on the wall and dark gray furnishings. A kitchen stood ready for use, and the bedroom was twice the size of my room in the old apartment.

I can’t believe people actually live like this. And this is just the tip of the fucking iceberg.

“The furniture’s kinda shitty,” Leah said, running a finger along the back of the couch, which looked perfectly fine as far as I could tell. “But, see? Awesome view, right?”

My room was a corner unit, so it had windows on two sides. One side faced the rest of campus, where the other dorms could be seen in the far distance. The other side faced the woods. The thick trees were interrupted by the perimeter wall and continued on beyond that.

She was right. It was pretty. And Prentice Hall might be removed from everyone else, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. I was used to it just being me and my dad and a bunch of neighbors who didn’t give a shit. Living in a super packed dorm might’ve driven me nuts.

“Yeah.” I ran a hand through my long hair, tugging it over one shoulder. “It’s great.”

“Yay!” Leah clapped her hands together. Then she tugged her phone out of her bag, grimacing. “Fuck. I gotta get to class, my free period is almost over. You’ll be okay?”

I nodded. “Thanks for the tour.”

“Anytime. See you around. I was serious about studying for chem together.”

Once she left, I lugged my duffle, which had been delivered as Jacqueline had promised, into the bedroom and unpacked it. Several more identical copies of my uniform had been delivered too, which was a relief. If I was going to be forced to wear this schoolgirl shit every day, I’d at least better be able to wash it.

I’d already missed the first class on my schedule, and according to my phone, second period was halfway over.

I should at least try to make it to my third class on time, I guess.

My enrollment was already a week late. I’d be playing catch-up no matter what, but I didn’t want to get any more behind than I already was. Especially since I had a feeling the classes would be a lot harder here than at my crappy, overpopulated public school back home.

No more delaying the inevitable.

I hefted my backpack again and set off across campus, holding onto my schedule with a death grip and trying to make it look like I knew where I was going.

Without the buffer of a friendly, talkative buddy, I quickly became aware that everybody I passed stared at me. The looks weren’t hostile, but they were curious and assessing, and my stomach twisted as I kept my gaze focused straight ahead. I fucking hated being the new girl. I hoped the novelty of me wore off quick, because this sucked.

I made it back to the main school building with no problem—I would’ve had to be blind to miss it—but once I got inside, my confident footsteps slowed.

Dammit, where is it?

Glancing down at the schedule, I compared the listed room number to the ones I walked past. I was supposed to have US History in room 304C. But there were no letters at all on any of the rooms nearby.

Fucking fuck.

It’d taken me longer than I expected to get here from the dorms, and I only had about ten minutes left before class started. I really didn’t want to walk in late if I could help it.

I stopped a guy who was rushing in the opposite direction, clearly late for class himself, and he pointed me to a set of stairs before vanishing.

Clutching my schedule, I slipped through the access doors and was about to start up the stairway when a voice on the landing above made me jump.

“Jesus Christ, Cole! You think this is fucking okay?”

Whoever was speaking sounded pissed off, and the sound of footsteps rang in the stairwell, like maybe he was pacing or something.

“No.”

The second voice was deep and almost deadpan, as if the owner couldn’t make himself feel anything but a sort of detached amusement.

“Good. Because it’s not. I can’t fucking believe—”