King of Hawthorne Prep Page 6

  Now that I’m outside, the distant strains of music hit my ears. I turn toward the sound of voices as they carry on the wind. It’s not a massive party, but there are probably a dozen people hanging out next door. There’s a mix of higher-pitched female voices and deep male baritones. My steps falter as I glance over at the neighboring property, but the trees and shrubbery obscure my view. After what happened at the store earlier this evening, there’s no way in hell I’m going to creep over there and spy.

  Or, God forbid, introduce myself.

  For all I know, it’s the same party those girls were yapping about.

  As curious as I am about our new neighbors, I’m more concerned with self-preservation.

  Ignoring the noise, I cut across the lawn and head to the far side of the property away from the neighbor’s house. It takes a moment to scout out the area and find the perfect spot before arranging the blanket on the lawn. As I settle on my back and take in the view, my breath gets clogged in my throat. My gaze skims across the vast expanse of solar system that stretches across the sky.

  It takes effort to empty my mind and focus on my inhalations as I remind myself to breathe deeply from my diaphragm. I repeat the process a dozen times until every muscle loosens and my body sinks further into the green carpet that cushions me. Only then does a sense of peace steal over me. When I’m out of sorts, this is one trick I use to help center myself.

  Hands down, this has to be one of the most breathtaking skies I’ve ever gazed at. It almost feels like I could reach up and trail my fingers through the pinpricks of light illuminating the inky blackness.

  What’s most mind-boggling is that scientists have only discovered four percent of the universe and that it stretches far beyond what anyone can possibly conceptualize. Or how about that it’s billions of years old? In reality, the earth is an insignificant speck in the universe. And the people who fill it are even less consequential.

  I blow out a steady breath, emptying my lungs completely. Those thoughts are usually enough to put my problems into perspective and settle everything rioting inside me.

  But that’s not the case tonight. The dread pooled at the bottom of my belly stubbornly remains.

  Chapter Eight

  At precisely six o’clock the next morning, my alarm goes off. With a groan, I roll over and grab my phone before hitting snooze. Even though I’ve been awake since five, I stayed in bed, hoping to fall back asleep.

  No such luck.

  Those two snots from the store are all I can think about.

  My greatest fear is that they’re the norm and not the exception. How will I survive an entire year of that? The thought is enough to make my stomach tighten with nerves. They roil in the pit of my belly making me feel like I might throw-up.

  After I returned home from the store last night, I dropped off Austin’s supplies. With a laugh, he had asked if anything eventful happened in town. For a split second, I considered telling him about the girls, but immediately nixed the idea. He’s already pissed off about being here. There’s no reason to add fuel to that particular fire. If I know my brother, he’ll stride into Hawthorne Prep with an even bigger chip on his shoulder than there already is. And that’s the last thing we need.

  When the alarm goes off for a second time, I realize there’s no delaying the inevitable. I drag my ass to the bathroom and jump in the shower. As warm water sprays over my body, I’m hoping it’ll wash away the lingering dread that fills me. Once I dry off and slip into my panties and bra, I grab the outfit that was waiting at the house when we arrived yesterday.

  Mixed feelings churn inside me about being forced to wear a uniform. I’ve always attended public school and could wear whatever I wanted within reason.

  I pull on the navy, green, and gold plaid skirt until it settles around my waist and then shove my arms through the sleeves of the white button-down before tucking the excess material into the waistband. I run my hands over both the shirt and skirt to smooth out any visible wrinkles. I shrug into the navy blazer with the gold crest stitched on the upper left corner and pull on the matching knee-high socks before staring at the bathroom mirror.

  The girl who meets my gaze in the reflection brings a smirk to my face. If my friends could see me now, they would be on the floor rolling around with laughter. And I can’t say that I would blame them for it. I look like I stepped off the set of Gossip Girl.

  I rotate one way before turning to the other side to check myself out from every angle. When I catch a glimpse of my ass, a frown pulls at the corners of my lips as I tug at the material in back.

  Why the hell is this so short?

  Isn’t showing off this much skin at a private school considered sacrilegious? All I have to do is put my hair in pigtails with matching plaid bows and I could star in a creepy schoolgirl porno. That’s definitely not the look I’m going for. My plan is to fly under the radar, the last thing I want to do is invite unwanted attention. At least all the other girls will be wearing the same thing.

  Not in the mood to mess around with my hair, I pull the inky-colored strands into a topknot and fasten it with a rubber band along with a few strategically placed bobby pins. I swipe on a bit of golden eyeshadow and some pink lip gloss before calling it a day.

  On my way down to the kitchen, I rap my knuckles against Austin’s closed door. When it’s met with silence, I call out, “You up?”

  All I get is a grunt in response. It’s not like I’m excited and in some big rush to get to school, but I don’t want to be late for the first day either. My goal is to blend in with the masses until I can get the lay of the land.

  I head down to the kitchen where Mom and Dad are enjoying their coffee at the table. Sunlight filters in through the bank of windows overlooking the backyard. Mom is wrapped in her fluffy white robe and her ebony-colored hair is a tangled mess around her shoulders. Dad is already dressed in a gray suit and looks ready to take on the day.

  They both perk up as I enter the room.

  Mom quietly surveys the outfit. It doesn’t take long for her shoulders to shake with silent mirth. A smile quirks Dad’s lips.

  “Don’t say a word,” I mutter.

  “Ahh, the old Hawthorne uniform. I see nothing has changed in that regard.” He eyes the hemline with a frown. “Seems like the skirts have gotten a tad shorter.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that,” I grumble before tugging self-consciously at the fabric, but it doesn’t budge an inch. My legs are on display for everyone to see. I ran cross-country and track my freshman and sophomore years, so I’m used to shorts that leave little to the imagination. The difference is that I wasn’t walking around in school with them.

  “My advice is that you try not to bend over, sweetie. I’ll call the office and see if we can get you a skirt in a larger size.”

  “That’s not the problem.” I slip my fingers beneath the waistband and tug it away from my abdomen. “It’s the length. I need a tall or extra long.”

  Her brows scrunch as she considers the situation. “Maybe we can let out the hem an inch or two.” She drums her fingertips against the table. “We’ll play around with it when you get home from school. Unfortunately, for today, you’re stuck with it.” A smile lifts the corners of her lips. “It’s one of the curses of having long legs, I guess.” She pauses. “I was about to start the griddle and make pancakes for your brother.” With her coffee in hand, Mom rises from the chair. “Do you want a couple?” Before I can answer, she tacks on, “I have a fresh pint of blueberries. We can add them to your pancakes.”

  Under normal circumstances, I would be all over that offer, but not this morning. Food of any kind sounds like a disastrous idea.

  I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ll stick with coffee.”

  Mom clucks her tongue in disapproval. “Are you sure? I want you to be well-fueled. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  “Yup, I’m positive.” I go to the glossy cherry cabinets before pulling open the fi
rst door and peering inside only to find plates and bowls. I slide over to the next cabinet and try door number two only to find a stack of glasses.

  Irritation bubbles up inside me. “Mom, where are the mugs?” How is this place supposed to feel like home when I don’t know where anything is? It’s like I’m a guest in someone else’s house, forced to live someone else’s life.

  You know what?

  I want my old one back. I want to go home and stop this farce. But that’s not possible. So I do the only thing I can and stuff all the sadness and frustration deep down inside where I can’t dwell on it.

  “Next one over.” She points, oblivious to the misery swirling inside me.

  I huff out a breath and pull open the cabinet only to find a row of neatly stacked mugs. I grab an oversized one, already able to tell that it’s going to be a shitty day. With my mug in hand, I pour a gigantic cup of coffee and dump two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into it before stirring. Today, I’m going to need all the help I can get. My eyelids flutter shut as I take my first sip and allow the java to course freely through my veins.

  Better. Much better. If I’m lucky, it’ll be enough to help me survive Hawthorne Prep.

  As I lift the mug to my lips for another sip, Austin strolls into the room wearing his navy blazer, crisp white button-down, and tan pants. His dark hair has been combed into an effortlessly messy style.

  “Well, don’t you look all School Ties,” I can’t resist mocking.

  “Huh?” He blinks as his forehead wrinkles in confusion, not getting the movie reference.

  Our parents snicker before Mom says, “Let’s hope real life doesn’t echo cinematic expression.”

  True that.

  I search my brain for an updated reference he’ll understand. “You’re channeling Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl.”

  Not thrilled with the comparison, he scowls his displeasure. I’m saved from a barbed rebuttal when Austin’s attention gets snagged by Mom flipping a fluffy pancake onto a plate next to the stove.

  My brother stabs a finger at the three-stack tower already glistening with butter. “Please tell me that’s for me. I’m starving.”

  “All yours,” she says with a smile.

  “Awesome.” He grabs the plate and a fork from the drawer before settling at the table. We all stare silently as he plows through the hot cakes with record speed. It’s almost impressive the way he can demolish a plate of food in a matter of minutes. I’ve never witnessed anything like it. Somewhere out there is a food challenge circuit missing their crowned champion.

  Once he pops the last bite into his mouth, he glances up. “Are there anymore? That didn’t even make a dent.”

  With a strange mixture of amazement and disgust filling her face, Mom shakes her head. “How is it that you don’t weight three hundred pounds?”

  Austin flashes a grin before patting his flat belly. “Fast metabolism.” It’s a rare bit of happiness from him that we’re dazzled with.

  For a moment, it’s like everything is normal again.

  “Well, you certainly didn’t inherit that gene from me,” she grumbles.

  After my brother demolishes another plate of pancakes, we grab our backpacks and head to the front door.

  “Wait a minute, I almost forgot,” Dad says, tossing a set of keys at us.

  Austin snags them from the air before I have a chance. He smirks before opening his palm. I expect to see the keys to the Volvo with their familiar four-leaf clover key chain that my dad has had forever, but it’s not there.

  My brother frowns before we both glance at our parents in confusion. “What are these?”

  Huge smiles break out across their faces.

  Dad shrugs, enjoying every moment of this surprise. “Beats me, maybe you should look out front.”

  Austin and I stare at each other for all of two seconds before scrambling through the kitchen to the foyer. The slap of shoes striking the marble echoes throughout the house. When we reach the front door, Austin elbows me out of the way and flies through the entrance before skidding to a halt under the portico. I slam into the wide expanse of his back before peeking around him, trying to catch a glimpse of the surprise.

  “Holy shit!” Austin exclaims, hands going to the sides of his head as if to keep it from exploding. “No way!”

  There, in the middle of the brick drive, sits a shiny black Mercedes G-Class SUV.

  I grin and wait for Mom to reprimand Austin for his language, but she ignores it.

  “This is just a little thank you. We know that neither of you wanted to uproot your lives and move here. Hopefully, a brand-new set of wheels to share will make everything a little easier to contend with.”

  All I can say is that it doesn’t hurt.

  “I can’t believe you bought us a G-wagon!” Austin crows, echoing my thoughts exactly, before whipping out his phone and snapping a few pics to add to his Insta story.

  “Thanks,” I say, rushing toward my parents before throwing my arms around them.

  They squeeze me tight before Mom whispers, “All right, you two better get moving. We don’t want you to be late for your first day.”

  Since Austin is already sliding behind the wheel with the keys in hand, I head for the passenger side door before settling onto the buttery soft leather seat.

  Mom bites her lip before waving a hand at us. “Should I come with and make sure there aren’t any problems with your registration?”

  Good Lord, no. Sometimes Mom forgets that we’re not in kindergarten anymore.

  “Nah,” Austin says, dumping his backpack into the backseat, “we’re good.”

  My brother and I grin at each other as he slips the key into the ignition. The engine purrs to life, smooth as silk. That new car smell inundates me, making me almost dizzy. It’s all sumptuous leather, smooth natural grain wood trim, and expensive additions. I can’t even imagine what this vehicle costs. Or that my dad bought it. He’s been driving our Volvo for at least ten years. Austin turns on the radio and cranks up the music as we roll to the end of the driveway. Mom and Dad wave before heading inside the house.

  As we’re about to leave, a red convertible flies past us going way over the subdivision speed limit. My brother slams on the brake and grumbles under his breath as I whip forward against the seat belt. If Austin had pulled out a couple seconds sooner, we would have been T-boned.

  I stare at the red taillights and wonder if that was the neighbor I heard having a party last night. My assumption is that anyone who lives in a fancy subdivision probably attends Hawthorne Prep rather than the public school. As long as it’s not those nasty girls from the store, I don’t give a damn who it is.

  “Sweet Mustang,” Austin mutters, begrudgingly admiring the car as I try to get a look at the driver.

  As soon as the sports car is a couple hundred feet away, Austin’s lips pull up into an impish grin as he presses his foot against the gas pedal and the Mercedes shoots onto the road. When the Strokes come on, he cranks up the volume until its eardrum splitting as we belt out the lyrics. It’s doubtful Julian Casablancas has anything to worry about as far as us taking over the band.

  Twenty minutes later, we turn onto the paved drive that leads to the school parking lot. There’s a line of traffic waiting to get in. With wide eyes, I stare at the elaborately gated property. On either side of the driveway are ornate stone pillars. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but nothing this fancy in the middle of nowhere.

  “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” my brother murmurs, breaking into my thoughts.

  I almost snort.

  No, we most certainly are not.

  I notice the red Mustang that had whizzed past earlier is a few cars ahead of us. The top is down and all I can make out is that it’s a boy with short dark hair. As intrigued as I am by our neighbor, I’m more concerned about how the next couple of hours will play out.

  Austin drives through a sea of high-priced sports cars and SUVs. He crows in disbeli
ef, rattling off the price tags of vehicles as we pass them. It takes a few minutes for us to find an empty spot and park. These people are in a league all of their own and I don’t understand how we’re going to fit in with them. As if in a dream, I turn and fumble around in the backseat for my bag before hauling it onto my lap. Not making a move to exit the Mercedes, I glance at my twin who stares silently out the windshield.

  “Austin?”

  My gaze slides from him to the sprawling gray stone building looming in front of us that looks like it could belong on a vast estate in England. There’s something charming and idyllic about the ivy that clings to the walls.

  “Why are they staring?” Austin mutters from beside me.

  “Huh?” I rip my gaze away from the three-story building and realize there are pockets of students watching us. If it were simply curiosity on their faces, it would be one thing. Their expressions remind me of the girls from the store last night. A shiver of unease slithers down my spine.

  “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t get a lot of new people here.” Let’s hope that’s all it is. I glance at my phone and realize that we need to get moving. “We’re supposed to be in the office already. It took us longer than expected to get here and the first bell rings in fifteen minutes.”

  Austin hands over the keys since I’ll be driving home by myself while he stays after for football practice. I drop them in my bag and take a deep breath before forcing myself to get out of the vehicle.

  Now that we’re standing in the parking lot, more people stop and stare. They bend their heads close together as their lips move. Hushed tones fill the air but don’t quite reach our ears. The strange fascination they have with us continues to grow as we move toward the entrance of the imposing stone building.

  From beneath my lashes, my gaze scans the crowd. There’s not a friendly face to be found. This feels like a nightmare and a punch of nausea hits me full force. Thank God, I didn’t eat breakfast. Blueberry pancakes making an encore appearance on the front lawn is not the first impression I want to make.