Chapter 1

The taxi reeked of stale cigarettes and sweat, but at least it didn’t have my father’s name printed on the side.

I shoved a crumpled wad of cash into the driver’s hand, yanked my duffel bag across the cracked leather seat, and practically launched myself onto the curb.

My relief from the awful stench was momentarily, when my next discomfort became obvious; the sun was a vengeful bastard.

My wig—expensive, realistic, and drenched in sweat—itched like hell under my cap. My boobs were squashed flat by enough bandage to mummify a body, and thanks to PMS, the pain was next to unbearable.

Also, I had to pee.

God, I’m gonna die here.

“Welcome to Halston, Sam,” I muttered, dragging my feet toward the ornate black gates. They creaked open like something out of a horror movie, except instead of fog and fangs, I got sun-glaring pavement and a bunch of smug boys in uniforms.

They all turned to stare.

Because of course they had nothing better to do than judge the sweaty, scrawny “new boy” dragging a tattered duffel like he’d just escaped juvie.

I kept my head down.

Let them think I was a nobody. Let them look right through me.

The longer they thought I was some broke-ass loser with no social capital, the better. Nobody pays attention to the kid with duct-taped sneakers and no last name worth remembering. At least—I hoped.

A few steps in, my phone buzzed.

The screen lit up with a name I hated more than the current discomfort I had to endure.

Patrick Wilder.

Ugh.

I answered but didn’t say anything, waiting for him to speak first.

His voice came cold, clipped, and vaguely annoyed—like he’d just remembered I existed and resented the fact. “Did you arrive?”

I glanced up. A few boys had stopped walking to eavesdrop. One leaned against the pillar like he was posing for a preppy thirst trap.

I snorted. “Yeah. I’m here.”

My voice came out scratchy from disuse. Or maybe just the effort it took not to scream.

“Good. I wired your stipend. Don’t embarrass me.”

Classic Patrick. No how are you? No good luck, pumpkin. Just here’s the money, don’t screw it up.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied dryly.

He hung up without another word.

Typical.

I shoved the phone into my hoodie and dragged my duffel up the stone steps like I was heading to my own funeral. Maybe—I was.

The admin office smelled like fresh paint and too much lemon cleaner.

I stepped inside, blinking under the sudden shift from sun-scorched hellscape to over-air-conditioned lobby. Behind the reception desk sat a woman with tight curls, bejeweled cat-eye glasses, with a smile that tried for warm but landed somewhere near ‘cult recruiter.’

“Samuel Collins?” she asked, already reaching for a manila folder.

I nodded stiffly. Speaking still felt dangerous.

“Excellent. Welcome to Halston Academy, Mr. Collins.” She handed over the folder with ease. “Here’s your class schedule, locker assignment, and dorm key. You’re in East Dorm—Room 306.”

She paused, fingers tapping the folder. “You’ll be sharing with… Marcus Knight.”

Then, a cough.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Good kid,” she added too quickly. “Very… spirited. Big personality.”

Translation: He’s probably the reason that cough sounded like a cry for help.

I didn’t say anything. Just accepted the folder and the laminated campus map she slid across the counter.

“You’ll find the dorm past the quad, left of the chapel. Follow the map markers—Halston can be a bit of a maze your first week.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, and turned before she could sprinkle on any more fake cheer.

Out in the sun again, I scanned the map. Dorm East was a short walk away—assuming I didn’t get lost, pass out, or get clocked by a rogue lacrosse stick first. I adjusted my duffel on my shoulder and set off, keeping my head down, my body language small.

I just needed to get to my room and survive through today. By tomorrow, I’d be invisible.

I followed the stone path past ivy-covered buildings and obnoxiously perfect landscaping, navigating by the map with one hand and shielding my eyes with the other.

Then I almost walked straight into a body.

Hard. Solid. Male.

Shit.

He took a step back, and I took a mental one.

Blond. Tall. School-uniformed perfection with cheekbones sharp enough to be illegal and a mouth made for sin. His tie hung loose around his neck like he wore the rules just enough to bend them. One brow arched as he looked me over.

“New?” he asked, his voice smooth and confident—like he already knew the answer and just wanted to see how I’d say it.

“Yeah,” I replied, keeping my voice low and gruff, sounding like a teenage chain-smoker.

He studied me a moment longer, then offered a hand. “Hale Ward.”

I blinked at him, then at his hand, more than half-expecting him to pull it away the moment I reach for it. Except, to my surprise, he doesn’t.

I shook his hand briefly, nodding like I’d seen boys do when they greet each other. “Sam.”

“You look lost.”

I bristled. “I’m not.”

He smiled, amused. “You sure about that?”

“Room 306,” I muttered.

“East Dorm?” he asked, already turning to walk that way. “I’m headed in that direction. Come on.”

I hesitated. The duffel strap bit into my shoulder. Sweat ran down my spine. I could see more boys in the distance—laughing, tossing a football, watching.

Nope.

Panic clawed at my ribs.

“I got it,” I said sharply, stepping past him. “I’ll figure it out. I don’t need your help.”

He looked surprised but didn’t stop me. Just raised his brows, seemingly amused, and let me go.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

My heart jackhammered against the bandage strapped across my ribs, and every sweaty step felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of knives.

But just when I thought I escaped…

“Hey,” Hale’s voice called out behind me, lighter now—maybe teasing. “Didn’t mean to offend you. Just thought I’d be nice.”

I picked up my pace.

Nice was dangerous. Nice asked questions. Nice noticed details it shouldn’t.

“Seriously,” he carried on, catching up way too easily. “East Dorm’s a maze until you figure it out. I’m not trying to babysit you or anything, but you’ll thank me when you’re not late for your first class.”

“I said I got it,” I snapped, more harshly than I meant to.

He slid in front of me this time, not close, but enough to block my path. Arms crossed, brows raised, his face unreadable. “I’m just trying to help. No need to be an ass about it.”

My throat dried instantly. More boys were watching now—two near a bench, one leaning against a tree, pretending not to stare. My skin felt too tight. Like any second now, they’d see through me. Spot the curve of my hips or the way I didn’t carry myself like them.

I tried to sidestep him.

He reached out to stop me—fingers catching the back of my collar.

Something inside me snapped.

Don’t touch me!

I reacted without thinking, grabbing his wrist and shoving him off—harder than I meant to.

Hale stumbled a step back, eyes narrowing. “Are you for real?” he bit out. “You shove me after I try to help you?”

My heart crashed against my ribs. Shit. Shit. That looked bad. That looked aggressive.

I could already feel the weight of their stares digging into my back. The kind of attention I couldn’t afford.

So I did the only thing I could do—I turned and walked. Fast.

But not before hearing Hale’s sharp voice behind me: “Watch yourself, new kid. Next time you pull something like that, I’ll kick your scrawny ass all the way back to wherever the hell you came from!”

Maybe if I moved quick enough, I could outrun the humiliation… and the crushing sense that this was already spiraling out of control.

By the time I reached East Dorm, I felt like I want to faint from overextension.

Great start, Sam. Gold freaking star.

The dorm room smelled like feet, toilet spray, and boy. Not a specific boy. Just… boy.

I hovered just inside the doorway, clutching my duffel like it would save me from the mess I’d gotten myself into as I scanned the space I’d apparently be calling home. Two beds, two desks, one closet, and not enough air freshener in the world to erase the smell of testosterone and junk.

The window was open, probably for ventilation, but the late summer heat still clung to the space.

“Yo!” a male voice hollered from behind the closet door, followed by a loud thunk and a very colorful string of curses. “Shit—damn hanger—anyway, you the new dude, right?”

The door slammed shut, revealing Marcus.

He was tall, wiry, with dark curly hair and a grin that said I’ve never once taken anything seriously and don’t plan to start now.

He wore pajama pants covered in cartoon avocados, one sock, and absolutely zero care in the world.

“I’m Marcus,” he exclaimed, already plopping down onto the bed across from the one with a crumpled towel and three empty chip bags. Guess that one was his.

“Sam,” I muttered, adjusting my cap and lowering my voice a few notches.

“Cool, cool,” he replied, like we were already friends. “Heads up, I snore. Also, if you see a stash of Sour Patch Kids hidden in your sock drawer, do not eat them. I’ve booby-trapped that drawer. Serious casualties, man.”

I frowned, eyeing the drawer in question. Oookay.

“You’ve got anything valuable in there?” he nodded at my duffel.

I clutched the strap of my duffel tighter, lying, “Not really, why?”

“Legend move, man,” he breathed out a relieved sigh. “Peeps around here like to break into rooms and steal shit. So, I suggest if you do invest in anything valuable later on, hide it—and hide it good.”

My brain stuttered, immediately flashing to the tampons wrapped in socks and the tight bundle of ‘just-in-case-I-blow-my-cover’ girl clothes in a plastic bag. Well—shit on stick. I had another problem to solve. And I’d have to do it fast, if I didn’t want anyone discovering it. There was no way I was going to be able to explain why I had that with me. “Good to know.”

He grinned wider and leaned back, fishing something out from under his mattress with all the grace of a raccoon robbing a trash can.

A moment later he pulled out an entire zip-lock bag stuffed with weed.

“You smoke?” he asked casually, leaning back on the mattress.

I shook my head so fast my wig almost slipped. “No.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, tucking it back. “You want the top drawer? Or you wanna risk the Sour Patch death trap?”

I mumbled something that might’ve been “top’s fine” and tried not to die on the spot. I’d made it ten minutes and already had contraband under a mattress in the space I’d have to live in, a roommate with the energy of a caffeinated squirrel, and boobs dying a slow, painful death.

Marcus got up and started changing. Just. Like. That.

Pajama pants off. Boxers went next.

OH MY GOD. I turned around so fast I nearly dislocated my neck.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Do. Not. Look.

“Heading down to the lake,” he announced cheerfully, apparently unfazed that he was butt naked in front of a complete stranger. “Some of the guys do this thing where they try to swim across and back. Loser buys slushies. You in?”

I was definitely not in.

“No thanks,” I replied quickly, focusing very intently on the cracked corner of my phone screen. It reminded me I needed to get it replaced.

“Cool, man. I get it. You gotta, like, settle in and stuff. Just yell if you need help. With anything. Like finding the bathrooms. Or locating food. Or figuring out how not to die here. It’s an art, really.”

I risked a glance at him and immediately regretted it.

I got a good eyeful of naked back and ass before he pulled up his swimming trunks.

“Thanks,” I muttered, my face growing hot.

He gave me a thumbs up like we were bros, then bounced out the door, whistling.

I groaned, flopped face-first onto my bed, and screamed silently into my pillow.

This was a mistake. A huge, stupid, doomed-from-the-start mistake. I couldn’t even look at my roommate without risking a full-on aneurysm.

A knock at the door jolted me upright.

“Do I even want to know?” I muttered to myself, getting up from the bed.

I yanked the door open and found myself staring into the polite-but-unimpressed face of the secretary from earlier. “You forgot your ID badge,” she stated, handing it over like it was covered in something gross.

It might as well have been.

I took it with a sweaty hand and a forced smile. “Uh. Thanks. Do I—do I have to wear it?”

She blinked. “It’s mandatory. Check the pamphlets I gave you. It will explain the dress code and all the rules. Have a good day, Mr. Collins.”

She turned and vanished, heels clicking down the hall like a countdown to my inevitable doom.

I stared down at the plastic rectangle in my hand.

HALSTON ACADEMY

Name: Sammule Collins

Status: Scholarship Applicant

“Hey!” I called after her. “You’ve got the name spelled wrong. It’s not—”

My voice died in my throat when I realized she was already gone. Great. The jocks of this place was going to have a field day with Sam the mule.

Another damned thing I needed to get fixed. I tossed the stupid ID card onto the bed, deciding I’ll have it taken care of after I unpacked.

I sat down on the edge of the mattress, rubbing my face inside my hands.