CHAPTER 22

Jameson was gone in a blink. He disappeared into a crowd of burgundy blazers and shiny hair, and I was left still buckled into my seat, unable to move.

“It’s just a school,” Oren told me. “They’re just kids.”

Rich kids. Kids whose baseline for normal was probably “just” being the child of a brain surgeon or hotshot lawyer. When they thought college, they were probably talking about Harvard or Yale. And there I was, wearing a pleated plaid skirt and a burgundy blazer, complete with a navy crest embossed with Latin words I didn’t know how to read.

I grabbed my new phone and sent a message to Max. This is Avery. New number. Call me.

Glancing at the front seat again, I forced my hand to the door. It wasn’t Oren’s job to coddle me. It was his job to protect me—and not from the stares I fully expected the moment I stepped out of this car.

“Do I meet you back here at the end of the day?” I asked.

“I’ll be here.”

I waited a beat, in case Oren had any other instructions, and then I opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.”

Nobody was staring at me. Nobody was whispering. In fact, as I walked toward the twin archways marking the entrance to the main building, I got the distinct feeling that the lack of response was deliberate. Not-staring. Not-talking. Just the lightest of glances, every few steps. Whenever I looked at anyone, they looked away.

I told myself that they were probably trying not to make a big deal of my arrival, that this was what discretion looked like—but it still felt like I’d wandered into a ballroom where everyone else was dancing a complicated waltz, twisting, spinning around me like I wasn’t even there.

As I closed the distance to the archways, a girl with long black hair bucked the trend of ignoring me like a Thoroughbred shaking off an inferior rider. She watched me intently, and one by one, the girls around her did the same.

When I reached them, the black-haired girl stepped away from the group—toward me.

“I’m Thea,” she said, smiling. “You must be Avery.” Her voice was perfectly pleasant—borderline musical, like a siren who knew with the least bit of effort she could sing sailors into the sea. “Why don’t I show you to the office?”

“The headmaster is Dr. McGowan. She’s got a PhD from Princeton. She’ll keep you in her office for at least a half hour, talking about opportunities and traditions. If she offers you coffee, take it—her own personal roast, to die for.” Thea seemed well aware of the fact that we were both getting plenty of stares now. She also seemed to be enjoying it. “When Dr. Mac gives you your schedule, make sure you have time for lunch every day. Country Day uses what they call modular scheduling, which means we operate on a six-day cycle, even though we only have school five days a week. Classes meet anywhere from three to five times a cycle, so if you’re not careful, you can end up in class straight through lunch on A day and B day but have practically no classes on C or F.”

“Okay.” My head was spinning, but I forced out one more word. “Thanks.”

“People at this school are like fairies in Celtic mythology,” Thea said lightly. “You shouldn’t thank us unless you want to owe us a boon.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so I said nothing. Thea didn’t seem to take offense. As she led me down a long hallway with old class portraits lining the walls, she filled the silence. “We’re not so bad, really. Most of us anyway. As long as you’re with me, you’ll be fine.”

That rankled. “I’ll be fine regardless,” I told her.

“Clearly,” Thea said emphatically. That was a reference to the money. It had to be. Didn’t it? Thea’s dark eyes roved over mine. “It must be hard,” she said, studying my response with an intensity that her smile did absolutely nothing to hide, “living in that house with those boys.”

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Oh, honey.” Thea shook her head. “If there’s one thing the Hawthorne family isn’t, it’s fine. They were a twisted, broken mess before you got here, and they’ll be a twisted, broken mess once you’re gone.”

Gone. Where exactly did Thea think I was going?

We’d reached the end of the hallway now and the door to the headmaster’s office. It opened, and four boys poured out in single file. All four of them were bleeding. All four were smiling. Xander was the fourth. He saw me—and then he saw who I was with.

“Thea,” he said.

She gave him a too-sweet smile, then lifted a hand to his face—or more specifically, to his bloodied lip. “Xander. Looks like you lost.”

“There are no losers in Robot Battle Death Match Fight Club,” Xander said stoically. “There are only winners and people whose robots sort of explode.”

I thought about Tobias Hawthorne’s office—about the patents I’d seen on the walls. What kind of genius was Xander Hawthorne? And was he missing an eyebrow?

Thea proceeded as if that was exactly nothing to remark upon. “I was just showing Avery to the office and giving her some insider tips on surviving Country Day.”

“Charming!” Xander declared. “Avery, did the ever-delightful Thea Calligaris happen to mention that her uncle is married to my aunt?”

Zara’s last name was Hawthorne-Calligaris.

“I hear Zara and your uncle are looking for ways to challenge the will.” Xander gave every appearance of talking to Thea, but I got the distinct feeling that he was really issuing a warning to me.

Don’t trust Thea.

Thea gave an elegant little shrug, undaunted. “I wouldn’t know.”